#simon ghost riley x fem!reader

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Six

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, medical examination

Word Count: 5.2k

Ghost brings you to the safe zone. You find out the meaning of reintegration.

Chapter Five // Chapter Seven

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

“Oh, dove,” purrs Lieutenant Riley. “You’ll look bloody gorgeous choking on mine.”

Honey should be sticky—have a hint of sweetness. This is putrid and rotten, a foul thing that deserves to be discarded. It is regret. Entrapment and regret. Over and under and sliding between bone.

Housed within you are two warring voices. One rebukes the idea of you submitting to Ghost, to fall to your knees and present yourself in obedience. The other preens at the notion, knowing that you would look a gorgeous mess with a stuffed mouth and aching throat.

Lieutenant Riley’s words fuel an itch—a manifestation of a twitch in the tips of your fingers. It is all the realization you have before your flattened palm swings toward Lieutenant Riley’s face. Full comprehension comes like an exploding bullet. Ghost maintains eye contact and seizes your forearm, halting the slap in its tracks.

“Careful,” says Lieutenant Riley, keeping that sultry purr in his voice. “Or it’s a public punishment.”

The muted roar of the room widens, swallowing you into reality. Ghost’s hand shifts, easing its grip, guiding your arm back to your side. Sliding down, the tip of his index finger slowly traces a line along the underside, pausing at your palm before retreating. It’s a fleeting caress, but it sends a shiver through you.

“I’m done with this conversation,” you breathe, backing up, hands trembling slightly as you grasp the sides of the tray.

Retreat is rearing its head. This place is too bright, too loud, too much. Lieutenant Riley’s imposing figure doesn’t help. The way he looms over you, nearly trapping you against the counter, is cage-like.

Lieutenant Riley hardly blinks. Hardly breathes. He is a statue, and that intensity pins you to the spot. “Tell me you’ll stay away from him.”

Tooth and claw and bite.

Gentle doe. Submissive dog. Survival instinct.

Two sides. And the venom wins.

“Jealousy isn’t an attractive quality,” you reply sharply, staring right back.

Ghost is unmoved by your irritation. “Say it,” he growls, and there is so much authority in his voice it gives you pause.

Lieutenant Riley is a stranger. Sergeant Noah Fields is a stranger. Everyone in this room is a stranger. This place is strange. You’ve been wedged into a tight space with little room to turn and face both walls. You’re stuck forward, propelled toward a choice you didn’t make for yourself.

“Fine,” you mutter, the agreement nearly an exasperation. “Fine.”

Better to relent, to ease Ghost’s fears if it gets you to your breakfast faster, to end this conversation. Not that your stomach is growling anymore. Even that has abandoned you.

“If it makes you happy, Lieutenant,” you sigh. “I won’t speak to him.”

“No. You won’t go near him,” corrects Ghost.

“Can I eat now?” you ask, irritation clear in your tone.

“Say it.”

You exhale heavily, rolling your eyes. “I don’t understand you,” you whisper as a young man wearing black fatigues walks past. “Or this possessiveness. I don’t belong to you, Lieutenant.”

Ghost pushes in, and you lean back to maintain eye contact. “You’re under my care and protection. What I say goes.”

“I am not your property.”

His response is a bolt of lightning. “On base, you are.”

On base, you are.

You don’t belong to me.

Maddening. Infuriating. You specifically asked Ghost if the mandate made you his, and he told you no. Now here he is, marking you as a piece of property as if it’s perfectly okay and not a slap in the face.

No choices. No options. You’re nothing more than a penned animal. Worse, actually. You’re the mud in the pen that’s more shit than wet earth. The urge to lash out rises, snapping and hissing like a rattlesnake. You want to strike him, to kick and scream and shriek like a banshee. Burn it all down. Throw a fucking fit.

“Well, your property wants to eat her fucking breakfast.” You say it slowly, adding all your seething anger. “Does she have your permission?”

Lieutenant Riley is silent a long moment, that piercing whiskey-brown gaze of his slicing right through to your marrow. It’s tactical. On purpose. The silence widens and it only squashes whatever resistance you’ve mustered up. Your question dangles in the air—a tempting bite. When you think he won’t speak—that Ghost will say nothing, give no ground—he inclines his head, clearly indicating that you’re finally allowed to sit down, and fucking eat something.

“Great,” you say through clenched teeth.

With hands grasping the sides of the black tray, you lift, turning toward all the tables in the communal dining hall. The overwhelming sensation from earlier reappears to wrap itself around you, hugging you in a vice. A fleeing rabbit stalked by prey. All those eyes on you. Mouths moving, whispering to each other, urging you to drop your tray and fucking bolt. Your vision narrows to a tunnel, and your chest heaves, each inhalation sharp and biting.

Lieutenant Riley’s hand finds your lower back. It flattens. Presses to urge you forward. His touch is enough of an anchor to ground you, to slow some of the racing adrenaline. Your feet are phantoms, moving only at his beckoning touch. Ghost could lead you right out the main doors and back to the cabin and you’d go without hesitation. Like cattle, you are herded, forced into a seat that is isolated and away from everyone. No one even glances in your direction.

Ghost lingers but he doesn’t sit.

“Are you not staying?” you ask, suddenly nervous.

This man might annoy the fuck out of you but not having him around in a room full of strangers is worse.

“I’m staying,” he affirms.

You gesture at the empty seat across from you. “But you’re not sitting?”

“No.”

With that one word—no—Lieutenant Riley disappears. Walks away. Leaves you utterly alone. You sit, stunned, fork clenched in your fist as you attempt to figure out where he’s gone. Scanning the room reveals nothing. He is shadow, melting in until you can’t tell the difference between faces. Turning away from the lingering looks, you focus on the food in front of you.

Fork to plate to mouth to plate again.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Fork. Plate. Mouth. Plate.

Breakfast is all silence. It is you sitting alone at a table while everyone watches but refuses to approach. It’s fucking isolating—almost embarrassing. It’s like you’re a child again, separated from your friends during lunch for misbehaving. And you still sense Ghost. You know he’s nearby, lurking, but just out of sight. There are brief flickers. Fleeting glimpses. You’ll glance up, catch sight of his balaclava. Then he’ll return to the crowd like he was never there at all. But the man doesn’t come sit with you, doesn’t come to tamper with your mood or to aggressively flirt and piss you off. Lieutenant Riley removes himself entirely.

And you?

You’re a machine. Feeding yourself even though you taste nothing. It’s all instinct now. Fueling your body instead of enjoying what’s in front of you.

Sucking your fork clean of syrup, you rest it on your plate, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

“Left you here by yourself?”

The familiar, Scottish accent draws your gaze upward. Soap stands next to the table, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow slightly arched with amused concern.

“I’m sorry?” you choke, startled.

“Lt.”

Lt. Lieutenant. Ghost.

You shrug. “He’s around,” you reply, giving the dining hall a once over.

Soap shrugs, a sheepish expression on his face. “Apologies for interrupting this morning.”

You almost spit out your water. “Nothing happened,” you say quickly, wiping away a dribble of liquid with the back of your hand.

Soap’s lips purse slightly. “Wouldn’t let me join. He always lets me join.”

“He—what?”

“Means he likes you.”

“Sergeant,” you squeak, a little wave of dizziness rising.

Soap opens his mouth, prepared to continue, but Lieutenant Riley appears on your other side as if he snapped into existence, summoned by the fact that you dared speak his name without him around.

“Johnny,” he grumbles.

Soap beams, clearly unaffected by Ghost’s gruff tone. “Came to find you. Thought you’d be with your woman.”

“I’m not his woman,” you growl.

Soap keeps talking. “Convoy’s ready. Price wants to head out soon. Go home.”

Lieutenant Riley nods, his attention turning on you. “Finished?”

“Yes?” you answer, and you have no idea why it comes out a question.

Behind the balaclava, his eyebrows rise slightly. “Not enough?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“It was,” you quickly correct, standing. “Where do I put this?” You gesture at your tray.

Ghost answers by picking it up and walking away. You follow him, Soap snorting with amusement as you try to keep up with Lieutenant Riley’s large strides.

“I can do that,” you say, nearly catching up to him.

All you hear is a muted grunt, and then Ghost is handing the tray off to the dishwashers at the far end of the buffet line. He turns abruptly, almost knocking you down.

“Ready?” he asks.

No. No, of course not. What the fuck kind of question is that?

“Would it matter?” you breathe, defeated.

“No,” he states plainly, because it doesn’t, and you know this. He knows this.

Your choice is obsolete, and autonomy only matters to you. No one else cares that you’ve been dragged away from your previous life, that you’re going to places unknown. They all appear unfazed. Lieutenant Riley certainly doesn’t seem to care. The “mandate” is a duty to him, and you should be thankful for it.

What a fucking honor.

“We should go,” says Ghost, voice gentle and soft like he’s trying to ease your worry.

The soothing nature of his tone fails to pacify. There is no calmness in your heart. Only defeat and anger.

He places his hand on your lower back again, drawing you away, escorting you toward the main doors. You press into his side, seeking shelter and comfort because it’s all you have. It’s not fair. It’s not right. As much as you loathe him, there is a kindness there that chips away at your shell, exposing the fracturing interior.

The crisp air stings your skin. You keep your gaze ahead, staying pace with Ghost and Soap as the three of you head toward the convoy.

“Ghost! Soap!”

You slow, and Ghost glances over his shoulder at you as the two men move ahead. Gaz approaches, but you’re not part of this group. It feels odd to stand beside Lieutenant Riley. You give a quick shake of your head at Ghost. He turns away.

They grasp hands in greeting, speaking in low voices. If they aren’t paying you any attention, can you slip away? How quickly would they lock this place down in search of you?

“Dove.” Lieutenant Riley’s gruff voice washes over you.

You close your eyes. Inhale. His warm hand slides over your neck to cup your cheek. As your eyelids flutter open, Ghost gently guides your face around to him. He’s standing so close, almost on top of you.

“You shouldn’t touch me like this,” you sigh, hating that you’re enjoying this.

“Why not?”

You lick your lips. “Haven’t earned it.”

The pad of his thumb brushes over your chin, traces the underside of your bottom lip. “You hate me,” murmurs Lieutenant Riley.

“I do,” you agree.

Ghost lowers his head, hovers like he’s waiting for a kiss. “In time, you won’t.”

His touch becomes a firm hold.

Ghost’s hand shifts to the back of your neck, squeezing, fingers lightly digging into your skin. It’s possessive—domineering. And you resist, pulling back just as Lieutenant Riley pulls.

“No, love,” he growls. “Behave.”

“Fuck you.”

Though he wears a balaclava, you know he’s smirking. You see it in the way the skin around his eyes wrinkle. “Think you’re cute?”

“I don’t belong to you.”

Ghost’s hand on your neck tightens even more, the fine hairs there catching in his grip, the roots stinging as they’re pulled. “You will,” he breathes. You smack at his arm but he’s immovable. “And now we’re leaving.”

With Ghost gripping the back of your neck, you’re half-walked, half-dragged to the convoy. This is the shit you hate.

“I can walk,” you growl, attempting to yank yourself from his grasp.

Lieutenant Riley says nothing as he brings you to a stop beside a Humvee. His hand on the back of your neck remains until he opens the back passenger door.

“Get in,” he nods.

This is a demand. No room for arguing.

As his hand falls away, you smack it, deliberately forcing Lieutenant Riley to draw back. You shoot him a death glare. “I’m sick of you touching me.”

“A lie,” he drawls. “Now, get in the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Get. In.”

You stand tall, shoulders back, spine straight. “Fuck. You.”

“More than happy to toss you in.”

“You—fuck.” You glance away, unable to stay strong.

Lieutenant Riley rests his arm against the side of the Humvee. “You worried?”

“Of course I’m fucking worried, Lieutenant.”

“Just asking,” he mutters.

“Why can’t you take me home?” you breathe.

“The man—”

“The fucking mandate. Yes. I know.” You shake your head. “But that’s not an answer.”

“It is,” insists Ghost.

“Not to me,” you gasp, almost choking on a burst of hysterical laughter. “Do you even understand how I feel right now?”

Lieutenant Riley remains silent.

“Fine. Fucking fine,” you mutter, sliding into the Humvee, moving to the far side to give yourself space.

Ghost casually glances over his shoulder before sliding in after you, shutting the door. The front driver and passenger doors open, two soldiers hopping in. You discreetly check their arms. While the United Nations flag is the same, the two country flags are different from the two that drove the Humvee on your way to base.

“Ready to head home, Lieutenant?” asks the driver as the Humvee roars to life.

Ghost nods. “Are you?”

Shifting gears, he answers. “Ready to see my wife. Hug my kids.”

The Humvee rolls forward.

“How old is your youngest?”

“She’s three now.”

“You’ll see them soon,” replies Ghost.

You keep your gaze averted, not wanting to engage in conversation with any of them. It only makes you yearn for home, for your hammock and your books.

As if sensing your discomfort, Ghost leaves you to your solitude. Space is another matter. He spreads out, stretching his legs, and you find yourself pressing yourself against the Humvee door to regain some of that bubble. Distance and quiet is what you crave, to be alone with your thoughts, to fucking brood and be left alone.

Staring out the window, you watch the base become a dark spot in the distance before disappearing entirely. It is open road and overcast skies. Like yesterday, the roads are astoundingly clear and uncongested. Weathering has created holes and cracks, the tarmac sometimes raised or sunken in some areas where the ground has shifted. A few times, the convoy slows, navigating around craters that could easily swallow a vehicle. It’s still strange how the roads themselves aren’t exactly maintained yet are somehow completely clear of cars. Those you do see are pushed off into the medians or ditch, allowing for a clear path.

A question blooms.

You begin to lean toward Lieutenant Riley, the words ready to leave your tongue. His head turns as if sensing your eagerness to ask him a question. Gazes meet. Pupils dilate. Ghost matches your movement, sliding closer to you.

Sudden panic rises.

You think better of it, twisting away from him at the last second to deliberately stare out the window. From your peripheral, Ghost shifts to the right, scooting closer to you. He knows you wanted to say something, and he’s trying to draw your attention back to him.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The overcast skies dissipate—becomes sunny. The convoy halts briefly to refuel from the tanker. You’re able to stretch your legs, to walk a bit, to enjoy the sun against your skin. Ghost keeps a respectful distance, but you feel his gaze with every step. The respite is brief, a flicker of relief before you’re back in the stuffy Humvee. It’s more road. More silence. At some point you drift off, jerking awake when the Humvee hits a deep dip in the road.

“We’re five miles out, Lieutenant,” says the driver.

“Use the long-range radio.”

He presses a few buttons on a panel embedded in the front dash. He brings the microphone to his mouth. “Eagle this is Bravo. Over.”

He pauses. The vehicle is silent.

“Again,” instructs Ghost.

“Eagle this is Bravo. Over.”

A few seconds, then the radio crackles.

“Bravo this is Eagle.”

“Convoy returning.”

“Heard. Convoy returning. Welcome home, Bravo.”

All three men sigh, their relief palpable. You do not share in their joy. A creeping dread settles in, starting in your stomach, unspooling to claim chest and lung and limb.

“You’re nervous,” murmurs Ghost, and you nearly jump at how close his voice is.

You turn abruptly, finding him in your space. “Why would you think that?” you whisper.

Lieutenant Riley nods downward toward your lap. You follow that nod, and find your hands clenched into fists, the skin taut over the bone from tension. Shaking out your hands, you stretch your fingers to ease the ache.

The convoy crests a hill, and whatever snarky reply you were going to say evaporates.

As the vehicles ahead slow, so does the Humvee as the convoy reaches a checkpoint. It’s not a makeshift box with a gate. The structure consists of two large guard towers connected by a wide overhang that arches over the road. The sides extend outward into a solid stone wall before giving way to high electrical fencing. Machine guns face the road, aimed at some point in the distance. You expect the convoy to come to a stop, but it only creeps through. Several men on the ground wave, but it’s fleeting, and then you’re back on the open road again.

But it’s not empty. There is no barren landscape or desolation. On either side are vast fields full of growing food. People work, moving along the rows, crouched or bent over. Harvesters roll through another.

The world is supposed to be broken. Shattered. But from your current viewpoint, humanity appears to be thriving. Are any of the things you know the truth? Is it all a lie?

“Didn’t expect this?”

This time, Ghost’s voice doesn’t startle you. You lean toward him, so many questions blooming, eagerly wanting to burst forth.

“How?” you whisper, voice breaking slightly. “How is this possible?”

“Not what you thought?”

“No.”

Fields give way to a few low buildings and pastures full of animals only to return to fields again. Through the windshield, a sharp forms. A wall. Not makeshift. Not like the one your little community built. This is a true barrier. This is a city.

“Ghost,” you whisper, as the convoy breaks away from the main road, heading right along the exterior wall. You press your face to the glass, looking upward. “What is this place?”

“The safe zone. Home,” he answers.

You draw back from the window. “But—”

“You’re surprised?”

“Yes,” you hiss.

“You know nothing about the safe zones?”

“Of course I don’t. I thought we already established this.”

“What do you know?”

You lick your lips, not wanting to admit how little you do.

“This is the farthest I’ve been from home since everything…collapsed.”

Lieutenant Riley’s expression is passive. “There’s time to talk about this later.”

“Don’t dismiss me.”

“I’m not,” he growls. “But this conversation deserves space. I can’t give you my full attention right now.” Ghost glances away from you, gazing out the windshield. “When we stop, follow my lead.” He returns his attention to you. “Do not speak to anyone. Do not stop for anything. Stay at my side until I hand you off.”

“For processing?” you deadpan.

“Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you snap.

What’s the point in fighting? You can’t go back. You can only go forward.

Ghost has his door open the moment the convoy stops. Sliding out, he turns and gestures at you in a “come here” motion with his hand. You shimmy across the bench seat. As you swing your legs to hop out, Ghost grasps your waist and lifts you right out of the Humvee. The move is so startling that your hands grasp his shoulders to steady yourself.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Ghost gives you a flirty wink. Someone whistles in appreciation.

You promptly drop your hands. “You did that on purpose,” you mutter.

“I did.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Lieutenant Riley ignores your irritation, placing his hand on your lower back. “Follow me.”

The ground beneath your feet is paved, and where it isn’t is mud, the grass either dead or worn away. Soldiers move about, many in all black, faces covered. They move amongst the buildings and tents, their gazes raking over you but their voices silent. But looming over everything is that wall. It’s not monstrous yet it’s tall enough that you have to look up at a sharp angle to see the top.

Ghost tugs you along, guiding you toward a plain building in a faded army-green. The two of you pass under a partially enclosed awning, but Ghost doesn’t go to open the door. Another sharp tug, and you’re pressed up against the tarp-like fabric of the awning.

“When we pass through that door, I won’t be able to come with you?”

He presses in, enclosing the space until it feels like it’s just the two of you in the world.

“What do you mean?”

“You have to go alone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you ask, voice rising slightly. “All this and now you’re going to abandon me?”

Ghost’s brow softens, his gaze shifting to a sultry look. “Thought you hated me?”

“This is not the time, Lieutenant.”

His gaze softens even further, rushing toward a concern that you want to wish away. There is no reason for this affection.

Grasping the sides your face, Ghost cradles your head in his hands. “You’ll be fine. But you promise me you’ll do as your told behind that door. Don’t resist.”

Tears start to form. “What’s going to happen to me in there?”

“Nothing bad,” he murmurs. “Promise.”

“But you can’t tell me?”

“You’ll hate me more if I do.”

You shake your head, hands grasping Ghost’s muscled arms. “No,” you whisper. “Just take me home. Please.”

“I’m sorry, dove,” he replies softly, brushing a single tear with his thumb.

He pops that thumb into his mouth, swallowing your tear.

You shove at him even as he grabs your elbow, guiding you to the door, entering a code in the keypad. The buzzer sounds. The door clicks open.

“No.”

You dig your feet in but Ghost is so much stronger.

There’s a bite of where your heels catch—then a stumble. You’re thrust into a small, enclosed atrium, no larger than a bathroom. A plain, grey door leads to an unknown place while a balding man sits at a desk behind a glass panel.

Caged. A trapped animal.

“Have an outsider for reintegration.”

Ghost’s voice is completely detached, like you mean nothing to him, as if he wasn’t between your legs just this morning, kissing you like he wanted to devour you.

The man behind the desk nods, reaching off to the side, pressing a button. “Reintegration. Female,” he says flatly.

Ghost tugs you a little closer, his gaze serious and unreadable. You count the seconds, each passing tick bringing with it a growing fear. Lieutenant Riley is your safety net even if he’s your enemy.

The grey door opens, and a blonde woman with a severe bun steps through. She wears a white coat, and a stethoscope hangs around her neck. Her smile is nice. Happy. No maliciousness lurks beneath.

You turn to Ghost, eyes widening.

“You’ll be fine,” he insists with a whisper.

I don’t lie.

You give a slight shake of your head. Ghost grasps your hand, squeezing it in reassurance. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

He releases your hand. Steps back. There’s a softness in his gaze that you recognize. Ghost knows he’s ripped you away from everything. It’s a silent apology.

“Through here, dear,” the woman urges.

You step toward her, and she moves to the side to allow you to pass. Every step is shaky, but you go, looking back over your shoulder, looking at Lieutenant Riley until the door shuts. With it’s closing comes a coldness. A numbness that settles into your limbs.

“I’m Doctor Roe.” She extends her hand and you take it, giving you name in turn. “It’s lovely to meet you.” She gestures ahead. “We’ll go down this hall, show you where you’ll stay the next five days.”

“Five days?” you ask, voice cracking.

“Did Lieutenant Riley not tell you about quarantine?” Dr. Roe sounds genuinely surprised.

How does she know Lieutenant Riley?

You shake your head. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

Dr. Roe inclines her head, her mouth forming a small frown. “That’s unfortunate. But you don’t have anything to fear.” That frown melts away. “It’s standard procedure. We don’t want to release you into the general population if you’re carrying something.”

“Wouldn’t I have exposed the soldiers?”

“Yes, but they’re fully vaccinated. They’re also tested more often, especially those that go beyond the exterior checkpoint. Stricter requirements.”

The two of you pass by several doors. All of them shut.

“So I’m locked in a room for five days?”

“Oh, no,” she laughs, waving her hand in front of her. “Nothing like that. It’s just where you’re staying. You’ll be pulled periodically. Once the five days are up and you receive a clear bill of health, you’ll meet with someone to talk about your transition to life behind the wall.”

She comes to a stop at the second to last door. There is no lock, no keypad, and at first you think it odd. But where would someone like you go? You wouldn’t get far even if you tried.

The room is small but spacious with a private bathroom and no visible cameras. There’s a queen bed shoved against the wall, a small kitchenette, a lounge chair with a spare bookshelf.

“It’s not much,” Dr. Roe sighs. “But it’s something.”

“I’m a science experiment,” you mutter.

“It does seem like that, doesn’t it? I’ve been asking for more activities to put on the bookshelves, but do they send me anything? No.”

She’s making conversation like this is all completely normal.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll get three meals a day. And snacks.”

“Lovely,” you mutter, poking your head into the bathroom.

Dr. Roe clasps her hands in front of her. “I’ll leave you for now.”

You only nod, because there is little you want to say. When the door shuts and you’re left in silence, you sink to the floor, curling in on yourself. Tears come, and you cannot contain them. They fall and go dry and then you choke.

When someone finally comes to fetch you, it’s another doctor accompanied by a security guard. Their presence is a silent instruction. Comply, or be dealt with. Instead of fighting it, you hesitantly go along, Lieutenant Riley’s words repeating in your head. You’re taken for a full physical with a blood draw. The next day are vaccinations. Then a dental exam. Then a psych eval. You’re poked and prodded and questioned, but the worst comes last.

“Is this necessary?” you ask, staring at the vaginal speculum.

Dr. Roe replies while looking at her chart. “It’s just to ensure everything looks good. We’ll do a swab, check for any abnormalities and sexually transmitted diseases.”

The door opens, the security guard entering the room. He shuts the door, standing just inside like he’s supposed to be there.

“I don’t want to.”

You sound pathetic. Weak.

Dr. Roe side-eyes the guard. “Can you wait outside. Please.”

“Protocol—”

“I’m aware,” she interjects. “Wait outside.”

“I’ll have to file a report.”

“Then file a report.”

He leaves with a grumble. “I’m so sorry,” she sighs. “This entire process isn’t pleasant, and they certainly don’t make it easy.” She settles on her stool. “You had an examination like this before, yes?”

You nod.

“It’s the same thing,” she says with sweet reassurance. “I won’t do anything different. I’ll talk you through everything I’m doing. Okay?”

“Okay.”

It takes all of three minutes. And then it’s two days of silence. Just you in your room with your meals brought to you.

“Congratulations!” You sit up in bed as Dr. Roe bursts through the door. “You’re clear!”

“I’m—oh.” Standing just inside the doorway is Lieutenant Riley. “I’m free to go?”

“Yes,” replies Ghost just as Dr. Roe says “no.”

She shoots him a look. “You’re free to go from here,” she corrects. “But Lieutenant Riley is going to escort you to the Commander.”

“To the who?” you ask, looking toward Ghost for guidance.

“We’ll talk on the walk,” he says firmly.

Dr. Roe’s smile doesn’t faulter. She’s a beaming ball of energy as the three of you return to the grey door you entered from.

“Good luck,” she whispers, waving.

You step outside and into the dark.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” you state, turning on him.

“It’s exactly…” Ghost checks his watch. “0300 hours.”

With an annoyed growl, you punch his chest. “Fuck! Why are you so solid?”

“You listened to me, dove,” he says, voice full of affection.

“It was five fucking days! Five!” You punch him again and wince. “You could have warned me!”

“You’d bolt.”

“I might have,” you admit. “But that is not the point.”

“Still hate me?” he asks, a little croon in his question.

You ignore him. “And who is this ‘commander?’” You make quotation marks with your fingers. “Is he the man in charge?”

“No,” replies Ghost, that sweetness in his tone evaporating.

“Then who is he?”

“An arrogant wanker with a title,” he mutters.

Oh. This is interesting. “Since you hate him, does that mean he’s on my side?” It’s a tease. A poke.

“If you find something redeemable about Commander Graves, keep it to yourself.”

You hold up your hands in a placating gesture. “Heard, Lieutenant.”

As your hands drop, Ghost grasps them, pulling you against his hard body. His shoulders hunch forward, creating an intimate barrier from the outside world. It’s just the two of you beneath the awning, obscured by the flapping tarp.

“What comes next?” you ask, energy deflating slightly.

“I take you to Graves. You’ll talk. Then you go to your new home.”

“My home?”

“Yes.”

“Is that with you?”

Ghost lowers his head, the fabric of the balaclava brushing against your cheek. “It can be.”

“That’s not what I want,” you breathe.

“Stop lying to yourself, dove.”

“You don’t know me,” you murmur. “This morning meant nothing.”

Ghost grasps the back of your neck, cradles your cheek. The balaclava presses against your lips. You feel the outline of his mouth beneath.

“You’ll want me,” he states with such confidence you almost believe him. “In time, you’ll want me.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Simon going with you and you two’s toddler to a seafood restaurant, then spending the entire time peeling shrimp for your kid to eat rather than eating his own food.

You try and get him to let you take a turn so he can eat his food before it gets cold, but he says no and insists you get to eat first.

So you end up trying to finish quickly to take over shrimp duty from him, mean while he’s painstakingly removing every leg and section of shell before cutting each shrimp into bite size pieces for your ravenous toddler.

[outoftheseine]

- SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY FIC RECS 2 -

my big, broody husband | note: this is COD so there are some trigger warnings like: blood, guns, injuries, military stuff, death so please beware of them. there also also 18+ content so minors DNI. don't forget to read the authors' warnings | more will be added!

part one | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

yes, lieutenant • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sinkovia (very very angsty, violence, smut)

forcedhusband!simon x reader

↳ by @suimon (sooo much fluff, comfort, slow burn, mutual pining, lots of bantering)

unexpected | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @dammn-dean (pregnant!reader, angst, comfort, fluff)

the roommate • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world (angst, fluff, smut, kidnapping, simon here made my heart so fuzzy)

please love me | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @rowarn (angst, smut, comfort, tw’s like depression, sa and suicide)

actions have consequences | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!civilian!spouse!reader

↳ by @mrweh (heavy angst, mean!simon)

office romance • supervisor!simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @hecateslore

you had his baby and he didn’t know | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sgrplumditz

ghost distribution system | part two | part three • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @katz-chow

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

his heart, his light, his world • dad!simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @thexsilentxwordsmith (so so fluffy)

no judgement • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @blingblong55 (so so so fluffy, dad!simon)

consequences • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sinkovia (very angsty, tw: miscarriage)

a place to be weak • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @cherryredstars (fluff, little angsty)

superficial wounds, deep devotion • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @tacticaldiary (fluff)

tormented by a ghost • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @shotmrmiller (mean!simon, little explicit)

lights • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @babygirl-riley (dad!simon fluff, angst, childhood trauma)

sunshine • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @sgtcosmo (fluff)

whispers and words • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @dammn-dean (angst, slightly suggestive, happy ending)

secret haven • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @lightwing-s (fluff, secret relationship)

gentle love • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @floatingfireflies (fluff)

his girls • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @casiia (dad!simon, domestic!simon, fluff, slight angst)

migraines • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @mockerycrow (fluff, physical hurt/comfort)

family ties • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @lundenloves (angst, dad!simon but not a cute dad ahaha)

longing • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @yawnderu (fluff)

hold it together while the world is on fire • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @unreliablesnake (major character death, grief, angst, tw: drug abuse)

is it too soon? • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @unreliablesnake (fluff, simon is whipped, grief)

in another life • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @suimon (very angsty, hurt but no comfort)

over his shoulder • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @imperihoe-writes (tooth rotting fluff)

sweet dreams, my love • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @qtboni (so fluffy)

the sacrifice • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @bravo4iscool (medic!reader, fluff, angst but happy ending)

wrong words • simon ‘ghost’ riley x 141!reader

↳ by @milf-murdock (hurt/comfort)

being chosen… by a baby • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!single mom!reader

↳ by @southernbluebellereader (fluff)

big guy • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @kivino (fluff, jealous!simon)

gentle giant • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @asph6lt (fluff, soft!simon)

girl dad • dad!simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @thexsilentxwordsmith (very fluffy)

home invasion • neighbour!simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @oceantornadoo (hurt/comfort, violence, fluff)

everything’s gonna be okay • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @pearlofthesirens (hurt/comfort)

meet the family • simon ‘ghost’ riley x civilian!reader

↳ by @sim0nril3y (angst, comfort, family issues)

oh muse, tell me of the things done by golden aphrodite • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sprout-fics (smut, greek mythology au)

late night embrace • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @mondaysoct (fluff, slightly explicit)

[kittywhimsical]

nsfw! mdni

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

simon riley x roommate!reader who just cannot finish by herself.

roommate!reader who does everything she can from her fingers to vibrators but to no avail, she can't come.

roommate!reader who goes to simon's room, shyly peaking her head in, wearing just panties and simons an oversized shirt.

roommate!reader who asks for simon's help, but he barely heard her because she whispered.

simon, who made her speak up and his cheeks immediately flushed red as she did.

simon, who agreed to help her. what harm would it do if he did?

roommate!reader, who thought simon's fingers were much better than hers.

simon riley x roommate!reader who are now roommates with benefits.

simon and reader who both want more than that.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

holy crap!!! tysm for 100 notes on my previous post!!??

[mockerycrow]

thinking about ghost who thinks too much and oral is the only way to shut his brain up sometimes

ghost x fem!reader nsfw below — filthy. only warning.

at first, it was never a method either of you thought of to try. in general, sex of any kind was just never on the table as it wasn’t something either of you really brought up. the first time it happened, it was completely by accident. ghost’s mask was pressed up to the crooked bridge of his nose, pressing greedy kisses to your lips which you frantically returned. you grabbed at ghost’s shoulders and upper back as he backed you up onto a table, his strong hands grabbing below your thighs and hoisted you up onto the edge of the table with a quiet grunt against your lips.

it felt natural, really. so natural he didn’t realize it until the second time this happened. ghost’s lips trailed down your jaw and down your neck as his fingers unbuttoned your pants, murmured “up” to you—you lifted your hips—and he swiftly tugged down your pants and put them aside. your breath stifles in your throat for a moment as you propped yourself up on your forearms to watch his huge hands grasp right under your knees to spread your legs. a hot pulse flowed through your lower abdomen down to your clit, and you’re sure it lead to a dribble of your wetness.

his eyes are dark and wide. his pupils nearly overtaking his dark brown eyes, and you shudder under his gaze as this large, burly man slowly lowered to his knees—his arms reaching up to tug you closer to the end of the table. “ghost..—“ you breathe out but he cuts you off the second he leans forward and he buries his face into your clothed core, his nose pressing against the fabric and he inhales. “jesus!” you huff, your face burning as you aren’t able to tear your eyes away from him. ghost huffs and inhales your intoxicating scent and you want to smack him when a low, needy groan leaves his throat.

“fuckin’ hell—“ he snarls, his voice uneven before he presses his tongue against the fabric of your underwear, a shaky breath leaving him as he licks, licks, licks, his tongue wetting the thin layer between him and your sweet pussy. before you get a chance to complain, his fingers are already tugging your underwear down. and after that, you watch the way his eyes glaze over like a cat pinning it’s prey right before he leans in for his meal.

[thebigbadbatswife]

The Mask... Take It Off...

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary - You ask Ghost to take the mask off.

Warnings - 18+ ONLY! Smut. Vaginal sex. Rough Sex. Unprotected sex. Creampie. Blindfold.

A/N - An old one shot I found in my backlog. Enjoy 💜

Word Count - 1.4k

The small room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin slapping against skin and soft moans. Each roll of your hips brings you closer and closer until you are teetering on the edge of what truly feels like insanity. Your body is hot. Pleasure is burning through every nerve in your body while sweat drips and runs down your skin; the taste of salt filling your mouth. 

Ghost has been working you all night. Bringing you toward the edge over and over again, but never actually letting you reach it. You are starting to get the feeling that he does it because he likes to torture you.

His back is against the wall. While his hands rest on your thighs. Occasionally they move from their place to slap your ass or roughly play with one of your tits. 

Those deep brown eyes of his, framed by equally dark eyelashes, watch you intensely. It’s the only part of his face that you can see. It’s the only part of his face that you have ever seen. Except maybe Soap. He’s always wearing a some sort of balaclava or skull mask. It drives you mad. All you want is to feel his lips and tongue on your skin. His lips wrapped around one of your nipples or his tongue lapping at your drooling pussy. 

With how hot and bothered you are you have no freaking clue how he’s even still able to wear the damn thing. If it was you underneath that balaclava you would feel like you’re suffocating. 

Out of breath, with your legs aching, you slow your movements down, but don’t stop completely. You lean forward and press your forehead against how, doing your best to ignore how much you hate the feeling of the material against your sweat soaked skin. Your hands come to rest on the tops of his pecks.

“Ghost?” 

“Yeah, lovie?” he asks. His voice sounds strained. It comes as no surprise to you considering how hard he is inside of you. His cock twitching each time your walls flutter around him. He’s got to be as close to his own climax as you are to your own. 

You hesitate for a moment before taking a deep breath and asking the question you always ask.

“The mask? Take it off? For me?” 

You don’t expect anything to come from your asking. It never had done before. He usually flips you onto your front and fucks you into the mattress until you’re shaking from the after effects of your own orgasm and dripping with his. Before he unceremoniously pulls out from you and leaves you to deal with the mess all alone. Usually avoiding you for weeks afterwards until the next time he needs a release.

He looks at you for a moment, completely silent. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t quite recognise. It’s a long moment. One where the only things you can hear is your heart beat thumping in your ears and the squelching noise that your cunt and his cock make together sounds even louder than it did a few minutes ago.

He’s never looked at you like that before, you quickly realise. There’s no time for you to question it or figure out what that look means as he reaches for the bedside cabinet. Where his knife is laying. Ghost uses it to slice a strip of cloth out of the bedsheet and sets it aside. He brings the piece of scrap cloth up to your eyes and covers them, tying it behind your head. 

You can’t see shit now, but you don’t question it. You trust him and that extends to whatever the hell it is he is currently doing.

“How many fingers am I holdin’ up?” 

“The fuck am I suppose to know?” you whine. Your pace slows further and you can feel your incoming climax fading away. Your legs are really starting to kill you.

“Just checkin’.” He slaps your ass, hard. Making you yelp.

The next thing you know there’s a rustling and you hear something hit the floor. Ghost takes hold of your hands and brings them up to his face. 

Holy fuck. He actually took his mask off for you.

Your fingers trace his face, mapping out every little detail you come across. You want to commit all of it to memory. While you can’t see him, this is certainly a step in the right direction. 

Ghost has pleasantly full lips and a sharp jawline. Already you’re thinking about how nice it will feel to kiss him. Those lips moving with your own in perfect harmony. 

You move away from the thought and continue your exploration. His nose is crooked and there’s a bump in the bridge from where it’s been broken countless times in the past. And you know exactly where his scars are from the way his skin is raised and rough in places. There’s not as many as you thought there would be. The biggest one that captures your attention is on the side of his face. Starting at his forehead, snaking just past his eye and down his cheek, toward his mouth. 

None of them shock you. At least, not completely. And you don’t think that they take away from how handsome you think he must look. 

As you’re tracing his face, you can feel Ghost shifting and moving beneath you, adjusting your positions slightly. Before you can ask what he’s doing he roughly thrusts up into you.

You moan loudly as your hands slide up to grip his hair. It’s a little bit longer than you were expecting it to be, but that makes it perfect for grabbing and tugging on. And you imagine it to be as dark as his eyes.

Ghost sets a hard and fast pace and builds your pleasure back up tenfold. Your moans quickly grow into cries as he fucks you. The grip that you have on his hair tightens as you desperately try to ground yourself. After being edged all night long you honestly feel like you might spontaneously combust. 

Suddenly you feel as if you are falling. With another yelp, this time out of fear not surprise, your fingers leave his hair to grab hold of his broad shoulders as your heart skips a beat. Your back hits the softness of the mattress and, for the first time ever, his lips meets yours in a passionate kiss. Even now you take note of how this is your first kiss ever with him and it’s completely and utterly perfect. You moan into the kiss as his tongue pushes past your lips and into your mouth. He tastes like peppermint gum. 

His pace remains just as relentless as before. The bed starts to creak with every thrust that he gives you. Your body jumps as the pad of his calloused thumb presses against your clit and he starts rubbing it in time of his thrusts.

All of that tension that has been building up inside of you all night long finally snaps. Euphoria rushes through every inch of you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your back arches and a wordless cry, muffled by Ghost’s mouth, leaves you. The feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock has Ghost falling over the edge straight after you. His hips stuttering as his cock twitches and he fills your pussy to the brim, so that you’re overflowing with his cum. He collapses against you, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

With the absence of your bodies moving, the room is now only filled with the sounds of heavy breathing.

“Thank you. For trusting me, Ghost.” you finally say as you run your fingers through his hair.

There’s a pause. You expect him to pull away and to leave. Like he always does. But tonight is a night of firsts apparently. 

“It’s Simon.”

It’s your turn to pause for a moment. A part of your brain almost has you looking at him before you remember the makeshift blindfold you still have on. 

“What?” you ask, not sure if you had heard him right.

“My name,” he replies. “It’s Simon.” 

You truly feel honoured by the amount of trust that he is showing you tonight. First with removing his balaclava and letting you feel his face and now with telling you his real name. You know that it must take a lot for him.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Simon.”

[mehidktbh]

Hare!Simon "Ghost" Riley HC's

Pairing: Hare!Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Bunny!Reader Summary: Some head cannons I’ve whipped up while slouching in bed. Warning: Slight mention of sexual themes but overall nothing much. A/N: I’ve awoken from the dead and been inspired by @emonatural191 to finally move my ass. But this whole thing was also inspired by another creator who for the life of me I could not find. But I will keep searching to bring justice and credit!! >:(

Taglist: @captainsbaby, @feedthefandoms995, @kyuupidwrites, @fatedeniedhope, @bangirl134, @blueoorchid, @iimfae, @a1nazzz, @motherofreposts, @emi-flaces, @liliumbosniacum, @whore-for-anime, @zeyzeys-stuff, @greenhornphotography, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @simonsslvt, @bunky101, @gisselleherrerposts, @natchayaphorn, @xdarkcreaturex, @theunknownartistsworld, @somelikeitmaat, @mxtokko

- Hare!Simon who is scruffy, hard and always on the lookout. Who has hard thin fur and scars buried beneath said hair. With long legs and piercing eyes, Simon is a hard worker and fast on his feet.

- Hare!Simon who loves you dearly. He loves his mate, his bunny… his wife.

- He loves your luscious fur and soft fluffy ears. He adores your white hair and big pleading eyes - even when you don’t mean to plead - and most of all he loves your constant need to stay fluffy.

- Hare!Simon who is happy to help you with cleaning yourself.

- Hare!Simon who is such a big provider for his wife. He’s the one leaving in the early mornings before any other animal can wake up and disturb his morning scavenging.

- Hare!Simon who always brings home scraps of clovers and long grass. He wants to make sure you're full and healthy, and seeing your face light up when he trudges down the borrow with bundles of leafy greens is just the reason he does it.

- Hare!Simon who fucks you roughly after breakfast. He’s just as fast as he is in bed as he is up above ground. With trapping you under him and on your stomach. His cock hammering into you quickly.

- Hare!Simon who always makes sure to spill his seed inside you. No matter the time or day. His dream is to see you swell with smaller bunnies.

- Hare!Simon who is the man of cleaning your fur, as he licks you all over. Making sure to watch you fluff yourself up too and dry the areas he’s left most wet.

- Hare!Simon who loves to know when you finally surface above ground you probably smell of his scent.

- Hare!Simon who is not afraid to get physical and use his kick. As he’s always on high alert, Simon is not one to complain when you want to take a trip down to the river.

- Knowing you're thirsty, he’ll first check the river for any alligators or water snakes. As they’re known for hiding themselves so well in the dark murky water. Ignoring his own dehydration if it means that you are safe. Which goes with him having his head high as you sip from the lake. Making sure no one is around to sneak up on you with your head turned down.

- Hare!Simon who is a big snuggle monster. At the end of the day when you're both exhausted and spent. He’ll happily bundle up right beside you in the small comfortable nest you’ve made for yourselves in the warm borrow you’ve made as homely as you can.

[loganbcrnes]

A Birthday to Remember

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader x Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

genre: smut

words: 4,855

summary: It's readers birthday and Simon and Johnny make it special.

warnings: nothing, just pure smut with some fluff

The morning light filtered through the thick curtains of Ghost’s flat, casting a soft golden hue over the plush bedding where you lay nestled between your partners. The scent of their combined presence—leather, spice, and something distinctly them—wrapped around you like the most precious gift. Your birthday had only just begun, and they were determined to make it a day you wouldn’t forget. 

“Morning, love,” Johnny murmured, his deep brogue thick with sleep, slipping into Gaelic as he spoke. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you against his broad chest as he nuzzled into your neck. “How’s my wee lass feelin’ today, mo ghràdh?” 

You smiled, stretching slightly against them. "Perfect," you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep. "Best way to wake up on my birthday." Before you could say more, Ghost’s low, rumbling voice joined in from behind. “She’s feeling spoiled,” he predicted, his large hand sliding over your hip in a slow, possessive stroke. “And we’re only getting started.” 

They made sure you stayed in bed, tucked beneath the softest sheets while they took over the kitchen. The rich scent of freshly brewed tea mixed with the warmth of frying bacon and buttery pastries. When they returned, Ghost carried a tray laden with your favorite breakfast, while Soap followed behind with a small, elegantly wrapped box. 

Your heart swelled at the effort they had put into making this special for you. Growing up, birthdays had never been a big deal—your father and his wife barely acknowledged them, and over time, you stopped expecting anything at all. So when Soap and Ghost made it clear that they wanted to celebrate you, to make this day truly special, you were surprised, touched in a way you hadn’t expected. "You two really went all out," you said, running your fingers over the delicate wrapping. "I love it." The food was perfect—fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup, fresh fruit, and just the way you liked your eggs. Every bite was accompanied by soft murmurs of appreciation from them, gentle kisses pressed to your temple and shoulder. 

And then came the presents. 

Ghost set down a sleek, velvet-lined box before you. When you lifted the lid, a delicate necklace with a small pendant gleamed under the soft lighting—a subtle claim, a mark of devotion. “To remind you that you’re ours,” he said simply, watching your reaction with those piercing eyes of his. 

Soap, ever the showman, produced an entirely different kind of gift—an exquisite set of silk and lace lingerie, in the color he swore looked best on you. “I couldn’t resist, mo chridhe,” he admitted with a cheeky grin. “Thought it’d be a nice way to end the night.” 

After breakfast and presents, they whisked you away for a cozy day out. Bundled up in warm layers, the three of you strolled through the city streets, exploring quaint bookshops and sipping hot chocolate from a small café tucked away in a quiet alley. Soap insisted on taking you ice skating at the local rink, laughing as he tried to keep his balance while Ghost, ever steady, kept a firm grip on your waist to make sure you didn’t fall. The afternoon was filled with laughter, playful teasing, and the warmth of their presence. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they led you to a charming little restaurant, the atmosphere intimate and welcoming. The three of you settled into a cozy booth, the dim lighting casting a warm glow over the table as you perused the menu. 

"Everything looks amazing," you mused, glancing between them. "What are you two getting?" 

Soap leaned back, smirking. "Think I’ll go for the steak. What about you, mo ghràdh?" 

Ghost studied the menu in his usual quiet way before answering. "Lamb for me. And you?" 

You hummed, tapping a finger against your chin. "Maybe the roasted chicken... or should I get the pasta?" 

"Go for both," Ghost suggested smoothly, one hand resting against your thigh. "It’s your day. Whatever you want, you get." 

Soap grinned. "Aye, we’ll just eat whatever you don’t finish. Though I doubt there’ll be much left once you see how good it is." 

The conversation flowed easily as the meal arrived, warm plates filling the space between you. Between bites, Soap entertained you with a story about one of his more ridiculous training exercises, his animated gestures making you laugh. Ghost, ever the observer, watched with fond amusement, adding in the occasional dry remark that made Soap swat at his arm. 

At one point, Ghost reached across the table, brushing a crumb from the corner of your lips with his thumb. "Not used to this, are you?" he observed quietly, his eyes scanning your expression. 

You shook your head slightly, offering a small smile. "Not really. Birthdays were never a big thing for me growing up. It was just another day." 

Soap frowned, setting his fork down. "Tha sin searbh, mo chridhe. Should've never been like that." 

Ghost’s hand rested against your thigh, warm and grounding. "Well, that changes now. From here on out, you get the kind of birthdays you deserve." 

Your chest tightened with emotion, the warmth of their care wrapping around you like a shield. "You two are ridiculous," you murmured, but your smile gave you away. "And I love you for it."  

Soap suddenly smirked, turning toward Ghost. "We should toast to that, eh?" 

Ghost rolled his eyes but picked up his glass, clinking it against yours and Soap’s. "To spoiling our girl," he murmured, taking a sip. 

Soap leaned in, brushing a quick kiss to Ghost’s cheek before catching his lips in a brief but undeniably possessive kiss. "And to us," he added with a grin. 

You felt warmth spread through you as you watched them, a smile tugging at your lips. "Best birthday ever," you murmured, and they both turned their attention back to you, making it clear the night was far from over. 

Soap’s fingers traced slow circles over the back of your hand. "Aye, but the night’s no’ over yet, mo ghràdh. We've still got somethin’ special planned for ye." 

Ghost nodded, his thumb brushing idly against your thigh. "You didn’t think we’d let your birthday end without a proper send-off, did you?" 

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eye. "And what exactly do you two have planned?" 

Soap smirked, exchanging a glance with Ghost. "Let’s just say, mo chridhe, you’ll be ending the night feelin’ just as spoiled as when you woke up. And I expect ye to be wearin’ that lingerie I got ye, ‘cause it’d be a shame not to see you in it." A candlelit dinner was the perfect way to wind down, their hands never far from yours as they made sure you had everything you wanted. 

The day was spent wrapped in warmth and comfort. They kept you close, fingers intertwined, kisses stolen whenever they pleased. They had nowhere else to be, no responsibilities other than making sure you were happy, well-fed, and absolutely drenched in their love. 

By evening, the flat was dimly lit, candles flickering against the sleek, dark interiors of Ghost’s home. The air had shifted—no longer playful but something heavier, laced with intent. The heat in their gazes sent a slow shiver through you as you stood between them. "And what exactly does this final present involve?" you teased, breath catching when Ghost traced a finger along your jaw. 

Soap’s lips curled into a slow grin, his hands sliding down your sides and pulling you closer. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough, mo ghràdh,” he whispered, his voice thick with anticipation. “But first, we need you to feel every bit of the love we’ve been saving for you.”  

Soap’s hands slid down your sides, resting at your hips, pulling you flush against his firm body. “It’s about time we do, mo luaidh,” he murmured, voice laced with promise. 

The intensity between you heightened, and you allowed them to guide you toward the bedroom, where the soft flicker of candlelight danced across the walls. With a shared glance, Soap and Ghost exchanged quiet commands. "Go on, lass," Soap urged, his thumb brushing over your lips with a gentle, teasing touch. "Get changed. We want to see you in what we got you." 

The lingerie he had chosen lay on the bed, delicate silk and lace in shades that made your heart race. You slipped out of your clothes slowly, feeling their eyes on you as you dressed in the seductive ensemble. The fabric clung to your skin, every inch of it a whisper of luxury, and as you turned to face them, you caught the raw hunger in their gazes. 

Ghost’s low voice broke the silence. “You look breathtaking, Luvie,” he rasped, his tone thick with desire. “Now, let us spoil you properly.” 

Ghost sat casually on the couch, his long, muscular legs spread out comfortably, the weight of his imposing figure adding an undeniable presence to the room. His balaclava remained in place, but the edge of his black button-up shirt was slightly open at the collar, revealing the tension in his shoulders and the intricate tattoos decorating his forearms, a subtle reminder of his ruggedness.  

One arm rested across the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally tapping against the fabric as his eyes, cold and calculating beneath his balaclava, remained fixed on you. 

Soap, on the other hand, leaned casually against the armrest of the couch, his mohawk styled with a hint of messiness that only added to his charm. The eyeshadow around his eyes gave him a bold, almost mischievous look, his white button-up shirt hanging open at the collar, revealing a patch of chest hair that contrasted with his fair skin.  

He was the picture of relaxed confidence, one leg draped casually over the other, his posture easy but laced with an undeniable tension—he was the playful contrast to Ghost’s brooding demeanor. He shot you a knowing grin, his hands occasionally running through his mohawk as he watched you, eyes glittering with something more than just desire. 

————— 

The air between you and your partners felt electric, thick with anticipation. Ghost’s gaze never left you, his body languid but alert, exuding quiet dominance in every movement. The dim lighting accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw, hidden beneath the balaclava, but it was the weight of his stare that made you shiver. Every glance was a silent command, a promise of what was to come. 

Soap, on the other hand, was all energy and warmth, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. He leaned forward, his voice low and teasing as he broke the silence. “C’mon, mo ghràdh,” he purred, his fingers brushing the back of your hand. “We’ve been waitin’ all day. Don’t keep us waitin’ any longer.” 

Your breath hitched as Soap’s lips curled into a smirk, leaning in close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His hand slid to your waist, fingers tracing the delicate lace of your lingerie. “You’re looking even better than I imagined,” he murmured, voice thick with desire, the words sending a tremor through you. “But we want to see it all.” 

Ghost’s voice was a low growl from across the room, his hand still resting on the couch beside him, but the tension in his posture was undeniable. He was watching Soap’s every move, his piercing eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite read. “Touch her, Johnny, and you better make it count,” he warned softly, but the command in his voice was unmistakable. There was an undercurrent of something possessive in his words, something that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

Soap chuckled, the sound warm and dark. “Don’t worry, LT. I plan on makin’ it unforgettable,” he replied before turning his attention back to you, cupping your face with his hands, tilting your head just enough to kiss you deeply, his lips warm and insistent. His tongue danced with yours, teasing, exploring, but never rushing. The kiss was an invitation—a slow burn that had your body responding with a growing heat. 

Meanwhile, Ghost’s gaze never faltered, and you could feel the intensity of it as he observed. You couldn’t help but glance back at him, your lips still tingling from Soap’s kiss. Ghost gave you a sharp nod, his fingers twitching slightly as though he was battling some internal struggle. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and those tattoos that spoke of battles fought and won. 

His voice was hushed but thick with the promise of what was to come. “I won’t wait forever, love,” he murmured, his hands now resting on his knees as he leaned back, stretching slightly, his muscles shifting under his skin, like a predator about to pounce. “You’re ours. Let us show you what that means.” 

Soap’s lips brushed over your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Ready, mo chridhe?” he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe, sending a shiver through you. “Let us spoil you like you deserve.” 

You could feel the warmth of both their bodies now, Soap’s body pressed against yours, his hands gliding down to your waist as he pulled you closer. You felt the weight of Ghost’s stare still on you, the heat of it never leaving. His fingers drummed slowly against the couch as he waited, the space between his commands and his actions building the tension even more. 

Your heart raced, and you knew you were ready—ready to let them show you just how much they cared, how much they were willing to give you. The evening had only just begun, and you were already lost in them, in the way they made you feel cherished, desired, and completely adored. 

——————— 

The tension in the room shifted as Soap’s hands gently guided you backward, the soft pressure of his palms on your back as he slowly lowered you onto the bed. His movements were steady and purposeful, every action calculated to make you feel safe and cared for. His lips hovered above yours for a brief moment before he pressed a soft kiss against them, tender yet filled with the promise of more. 

“Rest back, mo ghràdh,” Soap murmured, his voice low, reassuring. His fingers traced along your sides, pulling the delicate lace of your lingerie gently, as if savoring the way it clung to you. The weight of his body followed as he leaned over you, his presence surrounding you like a warm blanket. He settled beside you, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze never wavering from your face. 

You met his eyes, feeling a flutter in your chest as the intensity of the moment grew. The room, with its dim light and the faint hum of the world outside, suddenly felt small, cozy, like it was just the two of you in the universe. The way Soap looked at you made your heart race, a mixture of affection and something deeper—something primal, something that only an Alpha like him could bring out. 

Meanwhile, Ghost went to stand beside the bed, his figure a quiet, looming presence. His mask remained in place, but the way he watched you, the way his posture was so controlled yet full of intent, made your pulse quicken. He didn’t need to speak—his silence said more than any words could. He was waiting, watching, letting Soap take the lead for now but ready to step in when the moment called for it. 

Johnny’s lips found your neck, his kisses tender and slow, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, pressing against your thigh.  

“Mmm, John, you feel so good.” You moan out as he grinds against you.  

“Aye, and I’ve only just begun, mo ghràdh,” Soap’s voice was a low growl, full of desire, the words leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes locking with yours. “I want to worship every inch of ye.”  

As Soap's kisses trailed down your neck, his hands began to explore, sliding to your covered breasts and down to thighs. His touch was electric, and you arched into him, craving more. Ghost, ever watchful, stepped closer, his presence a silent demand for attention.  

“Let me,” Ghost murmured, his voice low and commanding.  

You shivered as he took Johnny’s place, his fingers brushing against Soap's. There was a silent communication between the two men, a wordless understanding, as they both sought to pleasure you.  

Soap's hands moved to unhook your bra, his fingers deft and sure, while Ghost's lips trailed down your neck, his kisses sending shock waves of pleasure through your body.  

Simon’s breath hot against your skin as he leaned in to take a nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, his teeth gently grazing it, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.  

Ghost's hands cupped your other breast, his thumbs teasing the nipple, making you moan with pleasure. You were lost in a haze of sensation, your body on fire with desire. Soap's mouth left a trail of kisses down your stomach, his hands sliding down to your underwear, while Ghost's lips claimed your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue danced with yours, his hands holding your face gently as if you were something precious.  

And you were, both you and Johnny were precious to him, but with you it was different. He’s often rough around the edges and was mean to people, pushing them away with his distant demeanor and biting words. He’s the kind of man who prefers solitude, letting no one in, keeping a wall of coldness between himself and the rest of the world. 

But then there’s you. You, who walk into his life like a soft, gentle presence, an angel who somehow slips through the cracks in his armor. With you, Simon is different. The usual harshness fades, replaced by a quiet tenderness that he only shows you. His words, usually so blunt, soften around you, and when he looks at you, there's something in his eyes that isn’t there with anyone else — a mix of admiration, protectiveness, and a vulnerability he can’t seem to hide. 

You’re his sanctuary, his safe place, the one person he feels he can let his guard down with. He wants to shield you from the world, to protect you like something precious, because in his eyes, you are. You make him feel things he’s spent years burying, emotions that are as raw and unfiltered as the man himself. To him, you’re not just someone he wants by his side; you’re the one thing that makes him feel human again. 

———— 

Ghost positioned himself at the foot of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.  

“I want to watch, I want to see you come apart for us.” Simon said watching you with his intense brown eyes. He sits down on the chair in front of the bed. 

Johnny nodded, doing as he was told. His hands traveled lower, sliding under your panties, his fingers finding your wetness and stroking you with slow, deliberate movements. Ghost's eyes darkened as he watched, his breath coming in sharp rasps.  

“Please, I need to cum.” You moan out as your legs begin to shake due to the pleasure building up. 

“Impatient, are we? Well, I've got a treat for ye’.”  

With that, Johnny shifted, moving down your body until his head was between your thighs. He ripped apart your panties, and you felt his breath on your sensitive flesh, and then his tongue, hot and wet, stroked you in long, slow licks. You cried out, your hands tangling in his hair, as he teased and tormented you with his skilled mouth.  

Soap's fingers joined his tongue, his thumb circling your clit as he sucked and licked, driving you higher and higher. Your pleasure built, a crescendo of sensations, until you were on the edge, teetering on the brink of release.  

“Ghost, please. I need you.” You turned to Ghost. 

Ghost didn't hesitate. He moved to kneel beside you, his hands gentle as he caressed your face.  

“What is it, luvie? You want to cum?” he asked petting your soft cheek. 

His words were all it took. You cried out, your body convulsing as pleasure washed over you in wave after wave. Soap continued to lap at your core, drawing out your orgasm, while Ghost held you, his touch soothing and possessive.  

As your tremors subsided, Soap moved up your body, his lips finding yours in a deep, possessive kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and the thought only heightened your arousal. Ghost, ever attentive, began to undress, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were performing a ritual.  

Johnny leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, his body still warm beside yours. He reached for a bottle of water on the nightstand and offered it to you with a lazy smile. 

“You look like you need this,” he said, his voice still thick with desire. 

You accepted, taking a long drink, realizing just how thirsty you’d been. The cool water slid down your throat, refreshing and grounding. You wiped your mouth and leaned back against the pillows, catching your breath. 

After a few seconds, you were ready to get back into it as you watched Simon undress. 

You reached for him, your hands trembling as you traced the tattoos, burn scars, and the light chest hair that adorned his muscular chest and arms. His skin was warm and rough, and you felt thrilled at exploring this powerful man. Ghost's eyes closed briefly at your touch, his breath catching, and you knew you had the power to affect him, too.  

You leaned in, pushing up his mask, your lips finding him in a tentative kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, and he tasted of desire and something wild. You kissed him deeply, your hands exploring his body, feeling the hard planes of his muscles. You unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear, leaving him in all of his glory. 

Soap, after taking a sip of water, let out a low whistle. "Look at ye, big man. Tryin’ to put on a show for us?" 

Ghost rolled his shoulders, kneeling on the bed with a smirk. "If you’re gonna stare, might as well come over and touch." 

Soap grinned, squeezing your right breast. "Aye, but it’s different when we’re gettin’ to enjoy the view together. Not every day we get treated to a sight like this, eh?" 

Your cheeks warmed as your gaze roamed over Ghost’s form, your lips parting slightly. "Definitely not complaining," you murmured, voice teasing but laced with admiration. 

“Good.” Ghost said, placing himself between your legs. He starts jerking his cock. It was a beautiful sight, the head glistening with pre-come, and you couldn't help but sit back up on your knees to lean in, your breath ghosting over the tip.  

“Ah, that’s it, Luvie, wet my cock,” 

You didn't need to be asked twice. You leaned forward, taking him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head as you sucked him deep. Ghost's hands tightened in your hair, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic thrust as he fucked your mouth.  

“Your mouth feels like heaven.” your mouth started working on him faster, your hands stroking his length until he was panting and cursing, his body rigid with pleasure. Soap, ever watchful, moved to kneel behind you, his hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you slightly.  

“We want to feel ya’ lass. Both of us, inside ya’. Johnny said as he rubs your clit. 

You moaned, your body aching with need as Soap positioned himself at your entrance. Ghost, still pulsing from your mouth, leans forward to grab Soap’s cock. 

Your body welcomed Soap's thick length as he slid into you, filling you with a delicious fullness. At the same time, you took Ghost into your mouth again, sucking him deep, you went back and forth in a rhythm that matched Soap's slow, wet, and steady thrusts.  

“Oh, fuck. You feel so good, lass. So tight.” Johnny moans out from behind you. Slapping noises fill the room as his thrusts begin to quicken up. Ghost's hands tightened on your hair, his hips moving in time with Soap's, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth in a wet, sensual dance. Simon’s pubic hair brushes against your nose as you suck his entire length. You could feel their pleasure, their desire, and it only heightened your own.  

“Mmm, feelings fucking amazing, Love.” Simon rang praises through the air. 

Soap's hands gripped your hips, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each stroke, his balls slapping against your clit making the pleasure intensify even more. Ghost pulled out of your mouth and his lips found yours, his kiss possessive and hungry. 

“I’m close, so close.” Soap grunts out, his grip on your waist tightening. 

“Go ahead, cum inside of her.” Ghost demands as he starts fucking your throat again. 

Your body convulsed around Soap's cock as your orgasm crashed over you. Soap cried out, his body tensing as he filled you with his warmth, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Ghost followed, his body shuddering as he came, his cock pulsing in your mouth, his taste flooding your senses. You savored the moment, your body humming with pleasure, as the three of you lay entangled, breathless, and sated.  

After around 15 mins of recovery, Simon's hand trailed down your spine, sending a shiver through you. "You're not done yet, Angel," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He guided you to straddle him, his cock hard and ready. You lowered yourself onto him, feeling him fill you up, stretching you most deliciously. 

Soap layed beside Ghost to watch your ride his cock, his hands running over your breasts and down to your clit. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. He ran his fingers through your cunt, bringing you closer to the edge.  

Simon's hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you rode him. You grab onto his massive biceps, as he thrusts up and down. The way his muscles clenched was so hot, it turned you on more.  

"That's it, lass. Ride him," Soap urged, his voice rough with desire. 

The room was filled with the sound of your moans, skin slapping and mingling with the heavy breathing of the two men. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with every thrust. Simon's grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Fuck, you feel so good around my cock," he groaned, his voice muffled by the mask. 

Soap's fingers continued to work their magic, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for us," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. His words sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You cried out, your body shaking as you came. 

Simon wasn't far behind, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release. With a final thrust, he came, his cock pulsing inside you. You could feel his hot cum filling you up, a sensation that sent another wave of pleasure through your body. 

Simon pulled out once his cock softened inside you, and the three of you lay next to each other on the bed. 

————— 

Afterward, tangled in the sheets, with their scent surrounding you, a lazy warmth settled over your limbs. Ghost pressed a kiss to your forehead, his usually sharp eyes softened in the dim light. "You alright, luvie?" 

You hummed in contentment, curling into Soap’s side as he traced absent patterns over your back. "More than alright," you murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. 

Soap chuckled, reaching over to brush damp hair from your face. "Tired, mo chridhe? We might’ve overdone it a wee bit." 

"Might’ve?" You gave a breathless laugh, stretching your sore muscles. "I don’t think I can move." 

Ghost smirked, running a soothing hand down your thigh. "Then don’t. We’ve got you." 

Soap pressed a kiss to your shoulder before slipping from the bed, and padding toward the bathroom. Moments later, he returned with a warm, damp cloth, his touch gentle as he cleaned you up. "Let’s get you comfortable, mo ghràdh." 

Ghost tugged you closer, wrapping you up in the thick duvet as Soap joined you again, pulling you against his chest. "Next year, we’re topping this," he murmured into your hair. 

You let out a sleepy chuckle, warmth flooding your chest at their care. "You two are impossible." 

Ghost kissed the top of your head, his voice a soft rasp. "And you love us for it." 

[lieutenantsluvr]

Cough Medicine & Kisses

❝ consumed by you ❞

pairing: sick!simon riley x fem!reader

tags/warnings: NSFW, Undefined relationship. (Unprotected p in v, mentions of overstimulation.)

synop: sub!simon who isn't actually a sub, but just so overworked he wants to fuck himself dumb.

w/c 3.8k

Sick. It’s a word you never thought you’d hear from your Captain’s mouth. “Sick?” You repeat, like a broken record. It only earns a small nod from Price, followed by a short breath of annoyance. Yeah, Okay. You can practically read the older man's mind, “Go check on him yourself if you’re so worried.” Is what he would say if he had any less humanity in him. But, he saves you the hit to your already fragile ego. Did you even want to see Simon? The feeling of seeing him in a state any less of… cold? makes your stomach churn in an uncomfortable turmoil. 

Softly knocking on the door to his barrack, peeling your knuckles away from the cold wood frame. Noise within his barrack ceases, only for a few seconds before you hear a groan. Followed by a cough. Maybe two, or three more. Simon opens the door. He's still sporting his usual balaclava - But, his eyes are deep, darker and glossy. Dark circles line the bottom of his lids, similar to that of a raccoon. Blonde hair slightly tufted up, messily sprawled over his head. Sure enough, he looks sick as a dog. 

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. Still dark, gravelly, but it has more ache to it. The way his voice strains almost sends you to your knees. Vulnerable. It’s the only word that comes to mind as you look at him right now. Would he tear the limbs from your body if he knew you thought of him this way? Absolutely. But, as much as the big brute tries… you care for him nonetheless. “I’m here to check up on you.” You state, voice coming out a little bit more weakly than anticipated. Nice one. You try to recover, eyes briefly flicking somewhere else in the dimly lit hallway to escape his unrelenting gaze down. “You haven’t come out of your room in two days,” You add with a small tut of your lips, breaking the silence that seems to only make you uncomfortable. “Have you been eating?”

“I don’t need a nurse.” He states, flatly. His eyes languidly trail against your body, as if sucking up every detail, and then spitting it back out. Simon has taken a comfortable position in his doorway, his arm hiked up above himself to lean against the frame of the door. He has a fever. In fact, you know he has a fever. Tiny sweat beads forming above his brow, barley in sight from the way his balaclava is messily dragged across his face. He heaves for a second, as if trying to conceal a cough. Then, he spits it out - Coughing again, throat dry and raw. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, blinking away the blur that choked itself into his vision. “And, I eat when I feel like it.”  Despite the sickness, he doesn't step down from his authoritative role. Big fuckin’ baby. 

“I can practically feel your fever from here.” You huff, a quick folding of your arms to defend yourself from his princess attitude. “Have you taken medicine?” You continue, feeling the urge to take care of him swirl in your gut. No, you weren’t a mommy to the men of the taskforce, but more often than not, you found yourself stirring up a pot of soup to soothe their aching throats. Or placing a cold cloth on their foreheads when they ignored the chill in their bones. As much as you loved to tease them about their uselessness when it came to taking care of their bodies, part of you actually enjoyed the play. Okay, maybe you were mommy. 

“I can take care of myself, thank you.” He chuffs, a small wheeze from his constricting lungs. You can feel the heat radiate from his body. The smell radiating from the inside of his barrack is deep, and musky. A mixture of his sweat and natural scent. Something about it makes your skin rise, and your heart scutter. You remind yourself that he’s sick, and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the thought of getting you sick either. The sound of him clearing the phlegm from his throat quickly pulls you from your thoughts - now, no longer turned on. . . just a little more empathetic, you sigh. It’s like the man can feel your persistence from where you stand in the doorway. You just won’t back down. His head slightly lowers, eyes shutting for a second before they reopen and stare back at you. “No.” He says, flatly. All you do is quirk an eyebrow in wake of his question, and he’s shifting in front of you. Clearly his sickness is wearing down his resolve, and he’s almost submitting to your obvious request to take care of him. It's like a cowboy stand-off. Two idiots staring each other down, too stubborn to admit they just want to cuddle. 

The stare is only broken as he wheezes out a choked out cough, eyes fluttering shut against the tears that build against his lid. “Fine,” Another cough, “You win.” He slides his arm down from the frame of the doorway, fingers flexing for a moment before resting at his sides, now unmoving. A single stare, until he crosses the room to his bed, sitting on the edge - almost robotically. Clearly he’s uncomfortable with your presence. Clearly he’s uncomfortable even having someone in his room. 

You step into the room, eyes taking in the unfamiliar sight. A sight you’ve honestly been dreaming of. It’s a larger room, one that comes from the privilege of being Lieutenant. There aren’t really any decorations, perhaps a plant or two. Mixtures of grays and blacks littering the color scheme of his room. From there, your eyes drift to his bedside table - a tiny bite of what seems to be four crackers on a paper plate, an empty glass of water, and a multitude of used tissues. Not the… good kind of used. Nonetheless, your brain wracks with the sudden realization. He’s sick. Not just, sniffly, but genuinely sick. 

“Go on,” You prompt, a soft wave of your hand, “Lay down.” He’s quick to obey you, though, not without protest. He grumbles to himself, incoherent sick whining. Eyebrows furrowed, and an ached whine as he slides himself into bed. “I’m not tired.” He chuffs, but even he knows that’s bullshit. His eyes are barely opened, glassy, and the dark circles that line them almost look painful. “You’re tired.” You reply, knowingly. It’s a quick walk across the room, opening his bathroom door and searching for a washcloth. Once found, you wet the rag, wringing it from excess water and then trotting back over to the side of his bed. Eyes falling down on his sicken frame, you see the way his muscles contract with every labored breath. Simon seems in pain. His scowl visibly softens, his eyes flicking between the soft hold you have on the rag, and your face. A quick quirk of your eyebrow, as if saying, are you going to let me do this? His eyes lower, and a pained chuff emits itself from his scratchy throat. You’re already at the side of his bed, there’s no stopping you now. “I’m not a child.” He reminds you, though, it’s clear he could use the coddling. “Yes,” You begin, leaning over and lowering the cloth to his forehead, “Such a big boy.” Tone lacking malice, and only harboring love for the sick man. He's stubborn - even as sick as he is, Simon doesn't want to be babied, even if he knows he desperately needs it. He keeps his lips clamped tight, trying to stay stoic. Stilling even when he feels the cool washcloth press to his forehead, when his skin is flushed and on fire. It takes a great deal of willpower to stay quiet when the cool cloth soothes his aching body. He's breathing deep, and slow now. It doesn't matter how he feels about you, his body needs the rest. 

He’s out like a light. Unmoving, and slow breathing. Broad shoulders, and firm chest rising with every sickly breath he inhales and exhales. A quick glance around the room, and you plan your next attack. Simply cleaning up his barrack, and preparing him a small meal. Though, the tasks do take awhile, having thoroughly cleaned the place. It’s the least you could do. Right? 

It wasn't until he stirred in bed that you finally approached him again, a small groaning emitting from his lips as he stretched the sleep from his aching muscles. “Hey..” You cooed, fingers haunting the area of his forehead to check his temperature. He was still quite warm, definitely entering the cusp of breaking the fever, but still quite sick. His eyes take a moment to register your presence, glossed honeyed gaze rising up and taking in your concerned gaze. 

“You stayed?” The words were like a knife to your gut, twisting, sinking, and ripping it out. Stayed? Why the hell wouldn’t you stay? The realization hits you even harder, a freight train dragging your body the whole span of the track. “Of course,” You sigh, your hand softly trailing down his face, thumb grazing in wake of his jawline, “Why would I leave?” The touch brings him peace. A wake of molten arising on his very skin, eyes clamping shut. Your touch - It's a gentle, comforting gesture, one you seldom see in your line of work. “I don’t know.” He croaks out after a moment, eyes only opening enough to watch as your thumb ghosts the fabric of his balaclava.  He wants to respond, he can feel the words forming at the tip of his tongue. But, they're caught when she drags her thumb down his chin again. He swallows hard, looking around for a way to avoid a response, but finds none. “Shut up,” You interrupt before he can grasp on to the feeling in his chest, “Take this.” 

You’re quick to reach over to the bedside table, handing him one or two pills from the bottle, and holding the glass of ice water in your other hand. He looks at it, awkwardly before taking the medication from your palm. His hand raises to his balaclava, hooking a thumb underneath and raising it up just enough to place the pills on his tongue. You try not to look. Keyword, try. Soft stubble from days of not shaving, sharp jawline, and lips full enough to lay claim against. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Eyes flicking down your face, then down to the glass of water. Simon takes hold of it, his fingers grazing against your own as he slips the glass into his own hand. The contact sends shivers down your body, now aching from the servitude you’ve dove into. It’s like fucking shell-shock, the way his touch rattles up and down your nervous system, until the only thing you can think about is pushing him against the bed, and stuffing down on his cock so- “Are ya gonna give me the glass?” He mutters, a slight pressure as he tries to take the glass. You sputter, only for a moment, before letting him take it. Simon makes quick work to the glass, putting it to his now, unclothed lips, and taking a few swigs - soft drops of water forming against lips. Lips so soft you can almost feel the sensation. Lips so soft you can hear the demons in your head screaming to roll it between your teeth. 

You avert your gaze, hushing the demons that claw themselves from the pit of your stomach. It was like something in your body shifted - a sense of you shouldn’t be here eating up your consciousness. Quickly, you stand up, eyes flicking over only to catch the clink of Simon setting down the glass. “Where are you off too?” His words are thin, and hoarse, as if he can barely speak against the sickness building inside of him. You actually had no clue where you were going, only crossing over to the kitchen to make yourself look busy. Being away from him was helping, though, the butterflies in your stomach pitter pattering against gummy insides. “Just gonna do some of your dishes, no big deal.” You chide, the heat you once felt on your back from his stare very quickly becomes real heat. “Why are you acting weird?” Simon asks, placing a hand down on the countertop beside you, his body loosely caging your presence. You could walk away, simply move from the spot you’re in, and he’s giving you that option. But you don’t. “You’re sick, go lay down.” You usher, trying to get him to back up. Hand slipping to push on his waist, only a little, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his tight gray t-shirt. He’s quick with his movement, a single hand snapping up to grab hold of your wrist - the same wrist linked to a hand pressed a little higher than his hip. “I thought you were nursing me back to health, yeah?” He chuffs, the reverberating ache in his throat causing his usual tone to deepen by an entire octave. So, there he is, caging you to the kitchen countertop. A hand on your wrist, and the other placed against the granite, fingers visibly curling. I might just take him on this countertop, you think to yourself, the demons practically chewing on the bars of your brain. Deep in thought, he takes a small movement in your daze, his hand cascading up from your wrist to your shoulder - a soft grip, but one that still drips of possession. “I asked you a question.” He asks, head dipping down to meet your height. Dilated pupils, a small form of sweat against his brow, and the remaining flush of his fever. His jaw is clenched so tight you swear it’ll stay locked like that forever. It’s really the only tell that he’s affected by the sight of you. The warmth dripping from his body is scorching. Tickling down your entire body, as he inches and inches closer it’s like molten lava clawing at your very flesh. But, there isn’t a single syllable you’re able to utter in response. You don’t know why you react this way when he’s close. You don’t know why you feel your heart slam against your ribcage when you make eye contact. You don’t know why you wish to map out the entirety of his back and use your hands as the ink that cascades down on paper. “I don’t know.” A simple, and blunt answer falling from your still parted lips. 

“Well, figure it out, yeah?” Simon chuffs, before leaning back. The sudden loss of heat is what gets you, knees practically buckling from the cool air kissing at your skin. His eyes drift down, still glassy, and far - but, looking at you, nonetheless. “Si,” You utter, softly. It’s like the gods got tired of looking at the way you pathetically stare at him - deciding, hey, give this one a little push. He tenses, an almost growl as he glances down at you. Fuck, that nickname. “You’re right,” You murmured, feeding into his words, hand sinking back down against his hip, “Let me take care of you.” 

It was like an apparition entered his fucking body. In seconds, hands your wrist, backing you up into the countertop. He falters for a moment, head dipping down to your shoulder - an almost soft inhale of the shampoo you use. The smell alone is practically creating a tent against his sweatpants. Finger curling against your wrists. You glance up at him, only seconds as you catch those dangerous honey-like irises inspecting you. Dilation. Quick to hike up his mask, he kisses you. It’s messy, desperate, and almost clumsy. Giving in, you part your lips - an immediate attack of his teeth drawing in your bottom lip, biting down with a force. Groaning into the kiss, he pushes his hips against yours - the cold granite of the countertop pressing into your lower back. A desperate, “Fuck..” as he flattens his tongue against your teeth. Being sick has obviously caused something in his brain to rewire, something to calm the constant ache in his head - or the warmth your body projects feels like healing. 

His hands cascade up to your hips, a tight grip as he lifts you - almost effortlessly even in contrast to his sicken state. Almost delirious, setting you down on the bed - hands attacking the hem of your own sweatpants. “Lovie,” Simon exhales through a tight groan, fingers shimmying down the fabric to your ankles, “need this… ‘so fuckin bad.” Maybe it’s the cough medicine rewiring his brain, but he’s practically whimpering for your touch. You feed into his head, hand lazily dragging down the fabric of both his sweatpants, and boxers. Obviously, he’s not going to go for any sort of foreplay. He’s too fucked dumb, eyes desperately searching your gaze as you realize just how drunk he wants to get off of your pussy. His hand slides up to the valley between your breasts, pushing down until your back hits the soft plush of the mattress. “so ‘fuckin pretty.” A tightening of his hands against your hips. His eyes flick down, simply just staring at the state of that pretty fucking pussy. A bite to his bottom lip, before placing himself against you. Still watching you closely, he drags the crown of his cock up and down in slow lines - shuddering against the slickness that oats your entrance. 

The sight continues to make him whine. He’s practically teasing himself at this point, only using your body as a means to soothe the sick ache in his head and push his cum so deep into your cunt that he’s the only thing you’ll think of for weeks. You stare up at him, hips circling slowly to further the teasing he plants upon himself. The hand not placed against his cock is quick to snap against your stomach, pushing down until you reside still on the bed. Oh. The crown of his cock latches against your entrance, a shudder from his flesh as he pushes his hips against yours. The motion is slow, sensual and you can practically feel the air leaving your body against the fit. Tight. “fuck, lovie.. ‘so good.. ‘so fuckin good..” Simon whines, his head tipping back from where he stands. The build up is astronomical, in and in, and.. In, until you almost can’t believe he’s not even halfway fucked into you. The tight fit sends electricity to every nerve in your body, gummy walls barely able to clamp together as they get filled. “Fuck, Si-” You choke out in hesitance, only for it to be met with another whine from his throat. Somewhere between a cry, and a whine, he lowers his torso down to meet yours - within seconds he’s buried fully inside of you. 

He’s plunging into you like a man starved. Back, and forth - creating his own whimpers. He likes to drag it out, pulling his cock all the way out, leaving only the tip - stirring there for a moment until his own body constricts, and then slamming in as hard as possible. Hands vice gripped around your thighs, bringing you to and from him like a pocket pussy. “fuck, such a good girl.. Oh my god..” Simon whines, his face burying itself deep into your locks, inhaling deeply to consume every last fiber of your scent. Lazily gasping between every fluid motion of his hips, clumsiness peeking around the corners as he fucks into you. “oh, lovie.. jus’ what I need.. ‘so fuckin good.” He whines again, his hand curling into a fistful of your hair just to stop himself from jerking about. Simon constricts for a moment, pulling out, and then circling his tip at your entrance - his body twitches, and convulses as if overstimulating himself on purpose. Pussy sloppy around him, already drenching the area between you two - wet squishing noises as he drags back the mixture of pre and slick, just to bury it back inside of you. “sweet girl, oh fuck.. fuck..” He sputters out again, another whine into the crook of your neck as he clumsily slams his hips down against yours. What the fuck was in this cough medicine. Lifting himself up, a hand placed at the side of your head, fingers curling into the sheets. His eyes trail down to your connection, and now you’re painfully aware of just how pussydrunk he’s become. Bottom lip taken between his teeth, glossy eyes staring down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out. “Up.” He shudders out, his other hand slipping from the sheets and placing itself behind your lower back, holding you up against the edge of the bed. His knee sinks up onto the comforter, and now he’s plunging into you even deeper. Fucking the same spot, over and over again - abusing the gummy wall he seems to be intent on murdering. “sweet girl,” He practically wheezes, the reminiscent of his sore throat, “just like that ‘yeah.. milk my ‘fuckin cock.” You’re too busy blissfully indulging in the art piece in front of you. A man, who is usually cold and stoic, so pussy drunk he’s whining. 

The feeling is quick, sweeping, and hits like a freight train. Your insides curl into a tight coil, and release like the snap of a rubber band. A simple, “S-Si!” Sputters from your mouth, earning a jagged groan from his throat. Simon’s fucking into you like an animal, rutting in and out to ride out the way you clamp down on him. Practically whining, and crying - every time he pulls out, it earns a quick, “Hnng-” from his tickled throat. “fuck, please.. right there, oh fuck, lovie..” He practically cries out, hips clumsily and weakly slipping against your wet meeting point. A continuation of the rutting, followed by a small cry of relief. He cums, and a lot. So hot and filling it practically burns. Simon continues his sloppy pushes in, and out - using the cum to push deeper, and deeper. He’s a writhing mess on top of you, his muscles twitching and contorting as he grinds out the sensitivity. “Ha- Ha.. fuck, lovie.” A quick sputtering, until his face is once again buried into your shoulder.  Simon doesn’t bother pulling out, instead basking in the heat. Soft, and absentminded twitching of his tight muscles - whimpers still slipping from his mouth as he rests against you. Vulnerable.

“Ya’ tired?” You ask softly, eyes flicking down to see his head still buried in the depths of your hair. A few seconds of silence, before you’re met with a small hum of acknowledgement.

“Alright, big guy, let’s get you a nice shower, yeah?” You chide, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his jawline, fingers making their way down his spine - slight tickling of your nails against the aching muscles.

[lethalchiralium]

Dial Tone | Happiness Series

a/n: here we go.

warnings: kidnapping, babies, mentions of pregnancy and sickness, mentions of violence. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+.

summary: It’s the afternoon, rain thundered against your home so you couldn’t hear the footsteps that backed you into a corner.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

“Repeat after me. Stay within sight.”

“Stay in sight!”

“Have fun.”

“Have fun!”

“Don’t play with boys.”

“That’s not fair!”

Simon smiled under his face mask at his four year old, her curly hair unruly after she pulled off the sock cap she demanded to wear earlier. “I’m kiddin’, love. But stay in sight of Mum or I.” He pulled her little hand, forcing her to come close before he pressed his cheek to her forehead. She squirmed and he let go, a mumbled, “Okay.” was the best he was gonna get from her.

Winnie ripped her light coat off, tossing it into her father’s lap before she sprinted away to play on the playground with the other kids her age. Simon watched her intently, detail in his memory how she smiled at every kid who passed her by. She’d wave, begin to speak, and play with whatever kid was in the closest vicinity. She certainly didn’t learn social expression from him.

He sat back on the bench, his spine prickled with displeasure as he tried to relax. It seemed to be reflex for him to be on edge - straightened back, clenched fists, jaw so tight it could be wired shut. It was windy, not too many parents weren’t out and about to let their children play on a Tuesday afternoon; school was in session, plus this park was off the beaten path. Hidden and safe, just how he preferred. There were about four kids playing with Winnie, only two sets of parents.

Your hand then settled on his thigh, warmth pooled in his belly as he looked down at your perfect hand. A bracelet gently hung from your wrist, your preferred metal with four colored gems. It was your latest gift from your husband, it meant so much to you - having the four birthstones of your family on it. He was proud of how you smiled when he gave it to you, upset that he made you cry - even if it was tears of joy. He settled his cold hand over yours, you laughed a little.

“Your hand’s freezing, Si.” Your shoulder pressed against his, his nose scrunched a little as you squeezed his thigh.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, moving to pressed a clothed kiss to your hair. “Didn’t think it’d be this cold. Shoulda worn gloves.” There was a small sneeze, Simon looked down at your lap to see Mellie, bundled up and warm as she watched her sister play. With his free hand, he poked her button nose - she giggled before she leaned back, trying to get a glimpse of him.

You squeezed his thigh again, watching your oldest like a hawk as you gently spoke, “I’ll hate you forever if you miss Winnie’s birthday party.”

Simon smirked. “I won’t.” He wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“Or your birthday party.”

He rolled his eyes, his good mood began to sour but he took in a breath, flushing it from his system. He always knew you mean well, even when you drop things like this, knowing he doesn’t want a party since he swore them off at nine. So, he changed the topic. “Why haven’t we had one for yours?”

“I’ve had plenty of them, Simon. You haven’t let me throw you one. And the ones you told me about, they weren’t good.” You rubbed his arm then looked up to him. With your best puppy eyes, you asked, “Please let me throw you one so I can show you how fun a birthday can be.”

“…Fine.”

“Thank you.” You placed a kiss right where his lips were - no matter the mask, you always knew where to kiss his lips. It’s like they were magnetized to fit his perfectly. “You know, there was this post I read the other day, talking about kindness and gentleness doesn’t need to be so flowery and gentle like the movies.” Your hand turned to hold his, linking your fingers together as you turned back to watch your daughter on the playground. Simon couldn’t tell keep his eyes off of you, hanging on every word you said. “And I thought about you.” There was a moment where Simon felt warmth flush his cheeks, his chest, his hand that held yours. “I think about my 21st birthday and how you made me cry when you walked in that restaurant, you were nervous and your tie a bit crooked - that was kindness.”

“That was love.” He corrected, his voice gentle and low. “I loved you since that day. You were so happy to see me.”

“I was. I always will be.” You squeezed his hand, the one you were never scared to hold. “I think about how you bring me things you thought I would like, and I always do. It’s like you’re in my head, like you know everything about me.”

Simon smiled under his face mask. Not the small smile he would usually show you, the cheek straining smile that would make your face ache after a while. “I always want to know everything about you.”

You sniffled a little, a small laugh left your lips. What he couldn’t see were the warm tears that threaded down your cheeks. “I didn’t spend too much time on the post because I thought about how you were cold to me when we first met. And how you have changed so much since then, in such little time. That…” You sniffled again, leaning your head to rest against his shoulder once more. “That I loved you enough for you to recognize that you’re safe with me.”

He squeezed your hand, pressing his cheek to your hair.

“Just like how you’ll always be safe with me.”

He let go of your hand, moving to settle it on Mellie’s chest - her little gloved hands instantly grabbed his fingers, moving to chew on one of them. He didn’t mind. Your hand squeezed his thigh again.

“Ten more minutes, then I want to go home.”

He nodded a little, cheek still pressed to your hair. “Whatever you want, my love.”

•••

You barely got any sleep. With a crying Mellie who wouldn’t settle down and a clingy Winnie, you were amazed you had gotten a wink of sleep when you woke up at 7am to a cry of discomfort from your baby.

You checked the time, noticing that you had a couple of notifications but tossing your phone back on your nightstand before pulling Mellie into your arms. Her little fingers scratched at your sleep shirt, which was one of Simon’s old shirts, and her little face was buried in your neck. Her forehead felt so much warmer than last night, you were almost instantly in the bathroom - with one hand, you wet a washcloth with cold water. A gentle movement of Mellie’s head and the wince of a cold washcloth on your neck gave you chills. You pulled it away from her nose and mouth, holding it to the top of her head to try and give her relief and cool down her temperature.

“Mama?”

You looked up to see Winnie sitting up on your bed, her hand rubbing her eye as she started to wake up.

“Yes, baby?” You asked, Mellie still crying on your chest.

“Wanna sleep more.” She toppled backwards, dragging your pillow over herself. If you weren’t so worried and tired, you would’ve cackled, you did give her a small laugh. You looked back down at your baby, whose little face was scrunched up as she cried. You were swift as you made your way out of your room and downstairs, hating that you were most likely waking everyone in the house-

“Morning.”

Laswell was already sitting at the kitchen table, coffee on a coaster as Roach sat beside her, eagerly scarfing down a bowl of Cheerios. You were startled a little, not used to more than just Simon in your home. You made your way to the medicine cabinet. “Sorry if she woke you guys up, she-“

Laswell interrupted you. “She’s fine. Don’t worry about her, she’s still a baby.”

That made your heart swell a bit, you whispered a gentle, “Thank you.” You grabbed her medicine, preparing her syringe of bitter liquid while you heard the front door open and close. Heavy boots that sounded nothing like your husband’s entered the kitchen, you didn’t even glance to know that it was König. He was taller and most likely heavier than Simon, so it made sense he would also be louder. You were sure he was making noise to ease your mind.

“Guten Morgen.” He spoke, Laswell mumbled something into her coffee as you sat the baby on the counter in front of you. She sat up, face still stained with tears and her wails turned into whines as you took her little hand - you administered the medicine, Mellie gave a sour look and her eyes swelled with tears again. Not long after, her whines turned into wails again. There was no winning.

You were quick when you grabbed a small snack for yourself, carrying your infant back upstairs. The only plan you had was to keep a cold cloth against her head and debate whether or not taking her into A&E was a good idea. She’s terrified of new people, she’s screaming and crying non-stop, you weren’t sure if the added stress of new people would do her any good. But at least she had some prospect of getting some relief from this.

You swiftly gathered a cold wash cloth, Mellie grabbing your hair and t-shirt in distress as you did, wailing. You didn’t react to the hair pulling, you squeezed the water out from the cloth into the sink before letting the small cloth rest on top of her head. The baby squirmed, squealed, and whined - but the wails instantly ceased. Her tear stained face looked up at you before she slammed it into your collarbone, you winced in pain. “There we go, girlie. That’s gotta feel good.”

Winnie was still passed out in the middle of your bed, snoring away. You brought your baby back towards the bed, sitting down on it so you could keep an eye on both of your girls. Whines escaped Mellie for a few more moments before she finally calmed down, your hand cradling her head and arm holding her to your chest. You kissed her head then leaned back onto your pillows, trying to fight the exhaustion in your body but it was too much. Your eyes fluttered closed with your five year old beside you and your almost one year old finally napping on your chest. With every breath, you felt more comfortable - even with how much your head and lungs hurt, you would always feel comfortable when your girls slept beside you.

•••

“Paying attention, LT?” Gaz whispered from beside your husband. Ghost threw him a dirty look in a casual side eye, going back to marking up his map as Price continued to present on the mission. Ghost’s phone was in his hand, he was waiting for a call or text from you, like you usually do. It’s not abnormal for you to forget, Mellie can get clingy and he knows first hand how demanding Winnie can get.

“More than you are, Sergeant.” He answered, pencil dragging across a section of London suburbs where the target was likely to be hiding. Brent and Tower Hamlets. He vividly remembered finding his father on the streets in Tower Hamlets, fucked on some drug but still conscious to recognize that his thirteen year old son shouldn’t be in London. Simon still has that scar on his forehead from how hard his father hit him that night. The pencil skritch-ed around in a circle, those two suburbs seemed the right area the target would hide in. Easily to slip in and out of alleyways, a lot of drug activities and violent crime. When you’re an outcasted former Russian Mob drug mule, you can’t exactly sip the finest champagne on a balcony in The Ritz.

There was something bugging him in his head. Something he was missing. He had gone through his Ghost rituals in the car on the way to base, then on the plane to the small Piccadilly Circus safe house. Simon was not even a thought in his mind, nothing about Simon’s life was supposed to be distracting him - yet, all he could think about throughout this meeting was you.

How scared you must have been, giving birth to Mellie alone all those months ago. How hurt you were when you had lost your son. How happy you were that Simon finally got to know that you were pregnant again. How you were graceful in knowing he was leaving again. How he could recognize the pain in your eye when he told you, how his heart felt like it was being repeatedly stabbed when he watched you fight back tears.

Simon loved you. Ghost was not meant to love. He was meant to be a soulless monster, but after the nine months he spent at home with you and his children, the lines between Ghost and Simon Riley seem to bleed together. Where the mask couldn’t cover seemed to stay the devoted husband and father, while underneath the fabric balaclava, Ghost was ready to find his prey like the hunter he was.

“Dismissed.” Price’s voice broke Ghost from his thoughts, he instantly closed his folder of information and stood. He shuffled out of the briefing room, his hand crept to his phone in his pocket.

One phone call wouldn’t hurt.

•••

You felt nauseous when you woke up, but it passed easily after you sat in your dry bathtub, cheek to the wall of it. Maybe Mellie’s cold was passing, you wouldn’t be able to function if morning sickness caught you this time. You narrowly escaped it with Mellie and with your miscarried son, so you were genuinely praying you wouldn’t be throwing up every chance your body had for the next three months. Your baby monitor sat in your hand, Mellie was placed in her crib around 9am when she finally cried herself to sleep.

Laswell and Roach had taken Winnie to the park after lunch, which Laswell was gracious enough to make. It seemed the three operators were comfortable in your home, it made the stress of it all seem to ease. König stayed behind, stating that he was here to help with Mellie - which you thanked him but told him it wasn’t necessary. He had a job to do, which was to protect your family until the whole… whatever was blowing over. You weren’t sure if it was necessary that they were there, but after coming face to face with your supposedly non-existent father-in-law, the added security was more than welcome.

You only had one more day until the doctor’s appointment, you had given yourself by mid-afternoon to decide to take your daughter to A&E to get checked out sooner. If she got worse, you’d pack up your self, your baby, and your security detail and go. But now, you were cleaning up Winnie’s room. Making her bed, putting away what little toys she had gotten out.

It seemed like last week that you were putting a ten month old Winnie down for a nap, nestled in her Winnie the Pooh themed nursery. Now her soft yellow walls were a soft green, a color Winnie begged for to her father. He bent with little resistance, now she gets to hang her drawings of flowers and dinosaurs on her green walls. It wouldn’t be long before Simon would paint Mellie’s room whatever color she wanted, then the last upstairs room from its nursery yellow to your last baby’s favorite color. Your hands gripped Winnie’s duck patterned comforter, tucking it up to her pink pillow. You patted the soft object, just reminiscing on how much your life had changed in such little time.

There was barely any time for you to rest in your daughter’s room before you heard your baby begin to cry. You rose to your feet, moving out of Winnie’s room and crossing directly into Mellie’s nursery - where a cool breeze brushed through the room. Your eyebrows furrowed.

The window was open.

Mellie had stood up in her crib, hands gripped onto the side and screaming, face full of little tears. You were over to her in only three strides, pulling her up into your arms. She was still so warm, you were very worried now - you bounced your baby on your hip for just moment before you made a move towards the changing table. “Oh baby, baby, Mama’s gonna help.”

You tried to lay her on the table but she rolled towards you, still screaming and crying like someone was burning her ears off. “I know, honey, give Mama just a second-“

Something in your head clicked. Your hands instantly picked up your daughter, running your hand over her hair to try and smooth her as panic settled into the center of your chest. You needed to hold her, something in your body demanded you keep your hold on your daughter.

The window was open. When it wasn’t before. You did not open it, you would have heard her door opening on the baby monitor if König had come up to open a window. You never even thought it could be opened, you never tried. You took a step back, going to turn towards the door of the nursery. If you get downstairs quick enough, you may be able to warn König to tell Laswell and Roach not to come back. To keep Winnie away.

There was a loud thud from downstairs, your heartbeat in your throat as you heard it again and again and again. The air around you turned cold, goose flesh invaded your skin as you held your breath, waiting for König to come upstairs and tell you it was a false alarm. Mellie’s crying was loud in your ear, but the voice that came from downstairs was deafening.

“Y/N! RUN!”

You took one look towards the door and solid metal was pressed against the back of your head. Your body went still, your daughter screaming in pain right next to your ear. You heard a gunshot muffled by the walls of your home, your eyes squeezed shut as you cradled your daughter closer. With your heartbeat in your throat, you heard a low growl,

“Don’t move.”

••••

Simon pulled the phone away from his ear, watching the time begin to tick as your voicemail began to play.

“Hey love, I know you probably napping with the baby but jus’ wanted to check on ‘er. And you. Love you, see you soon.”

He settled the phone down on the table of the mess hall, a late lunch was what he was used to with planning extensive missions. Price gave him a curious look from across the table. “You usually don’t call her.”

“I know.” He answered, metal fork pushing around mushy peas on the tray. Something was scraping away in his chest, he couldn’t place the feeling.

“The girls will be fine.” Price assured Simon, taking a bite out of his stew. “There’s two operators and Laswell there. If anything were to happen, your girls would be safe.”

Simon glared at Price. “Still don’t appreciate being called in from my paternity leave.” The fork pierced a piece of cut up potato, eyes never leaving Price’s face.

“You didn’t have to agree.”

“If I didn’t, I’d get a disciplinary.” Simon took a bite of the stale potato, it was bland and soggy. “Can’t exactly lose my only income for my family.”

The table jostled as Soap ripped a chair out from beside Ghost, he didn’t even react as Soap dropped into his seat and his tray clattered onto the table. He began to chatter with Price, a happy smile on his lips and he ripped apart his bread roll to place on half on Simon’s tray. Simon took his phone back into his hand, opening it to a picture of his daughters. He gazed at it, tracing the shadow on your hand as it held up Mellie - your engagement and wedding rings glittered in the sunlight. He could remember that small smile on your face from that picture.

There’s no need to worry. They’ll be fine.

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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[gloomwitchwrites]

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

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

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

Chapters: Ongoing

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

** indicates a Community Label

ao3 // main masterlist

[lonewolfwriting89]

PRIMAL

Alpha!Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: His skin was scarred, mapping his dangerous past, displaying his masculine strength. A true Alpha. His hair, dirty blonde, was wild, stray strands dipping into his molten gaze.

Warnings – Language. Smut. NSFW. Alpha theme. Hints at Werewolf!Simon

A/N: A very late kinktober fic, hope you all enjoy 👻😈🐺 apologies for missing in action lately xoxo

————

Maybe it was the sunset.

Maybe it was the impending rain.

You didn’t know what it was, but there was something different. Something electric. The dying light bled down through the trees across the face of a man that you thought you knew. There was something in that filtered light of early evening that made him even more desirable. A way that urged you to act on those fantasies that you had kept hidden in your secret heart.

You could smell the coming rain on the wind as it drifted lazily through the maze of trees and brush, the smell of summer. Maybe spring was known as the time for lovers, but the summer had always done it for you. Hot and moist, at times; pungent. Like the light scent of his sweat that teased your nose.

Simon exerted a kind of benevolent control over you. He had since the day you had met him, standing against a tree and watching you walk along the worn path beside the creek that led through the deep, dark woods. You’d asked his name many times, but he would never tell you, and he never asked for yours. How many weeks had you been walking with your new friend? Three? Four? And yet you still didn’t know what to call him.

This day had been different from the start. For one thing, the way he was dressed. He was leaning against his tree, as always, but gone was the rugged flannel shirt and heavy boots. He stood there nonchalantly in nothing but his faded black jeans. His feet were bare against the floor of the forest and his broad, triangular shaped torso disappeared into the narrow band of his pants. For the first time you were being given the opportunity to take in the sight of the muscles that had teased your waking dreams for the last few weeks. You were tortured with wonder at the thoughts of what was under his tight shirts, the muscle apparent, but modestly covered.

You liked what you saw. He was well built, rippling muscle tense and solid. His skin was scarred, mapping his dangerous past, displaying his masculine strength. A true Alpha. His hair, dirty blonde, was wild, stray strands dipping into his molten gaze.

“Can I walk with you?”, he asked. He always asked the same question, never presuming. You smiled when you said yes. Could this handsome man really be so naïve as not to realise that the only reason you walked in the woods everyday was to see him?

Your hair was tucked deftly away from your face, underneath the hood of your red sweatshirt. The red of the shirt was the only splash of colour to stand out amid the lush greens and earthy browns of the woods. You wore cut off denim shorts and trainers below the red sweatshirt, enjoying the silk of air as it brushed your bare skin. The flapping tails of your white cotton blouse fluttered in the breeze where they hung from under the sweatshirt.

You both walked along the edge of the creek together for some time, watching as the sun began its descent in the western sky and the rain clouds began to gather darkly in a line to the east. The scent of copper came on the wind as the smell of the distant rain blew through the forest. The leaves turned their white undersides skyward with the updraft of the wind.

And that was when you came to the full realisation that you wanted this man. Right now. This quiet, unassuming man who walked and spoke with you for hours, never needing anything from you in return. That he didn’t seem to need you, made you want him more. Simon wasn’t aloof; he was just comfortable, confident. The smoothness of his walk and the grace with which he moved belied a sense of pure unselfconsciousness. The Man in the Woods was truly at home in his skin. At home in the forest.

Simon looked you in the eye and knew what was on your mind immediately. You looked away nervously, wondering how much truth he had seen in your face. You had nearly been lost in his frosted steel gaze. Lupine eyes.

“I want you—I’ve always wanted you”, he said matter-of-factly, “Will you have me?”.

“What?”, you asked, incredulously. You knew you heard him, but his words had stunned you momentarily.

“What did you say?”.

He stepped closer to you and you involuntarily backed away from him. When your back came into contact with the trunk of a large oak tree you abandoned your thoughts of flight. Where would you run anyway? Did you even want to run? The unexpected nature of his advance caught you off guard. It wasn’t how you were used to being approached by men. It wasn’t a corny line in a city bar. It was an honest, up front statement and a serious question, spoken with a purity of mind and an innocence that was out of place in such a lustful proposition.

“I said, I want you. Was that clearer for you?”.

You didn’t move, the stability of the huge tree at your back helped to hold you up on wobbling knees. You didn’t speak, your lips merely trembled.

He leaned against the tree, an arm on either side of your head, as he leaned slowly down, putting his face level with yours. His scent surrounded you, drowning you in an overwhelming lust. Simon whispered again, “Will you have me?”.

You lowered your glimmering eyes and reached your hands out, taking his hips and guiding him against your body.

You felt Simon’s muscled chest pressing against yours, forcing your shoulders back against the curve of the tree trunk, making your breasts stand out, high and proud. He took the zipper to your red sweatshirt and brought it down slowly, in one fluid motion, sweeping it from your shoulders. He stripped you of the sweatshirt and discarded it at your feet. Your nipples pebbled under your flimsy blouse, poking out under the white cotton.

His hand snaked up your body from thigh to breast, his fingers capturing your nipple, rolling it, pinching it. You mewled softly, turning your head and closing your eyes, taking in every sensation.

He leaned in and you tilted your head to receive his kiss, your mouth slightly open, lower lip still trembling. You felt the familiar hot, wet sensation in the juncture of your thighs, but rarely this heated or this soaked. Your pussy pulsed along with your pounding heart and you began to subtly thrust your hips forward, grinding your mound into the hard bulge in his pants.

Just short of completing the kiss, he stopped, extending his tongue slowly and softly, tracing it delicately along the edge of your lips. Feather soft and deliberate, his tongue stretched out and licked your full lips. Your tongue waited impatiently, desperately wanting to reach out and welcome Simon into your mouth, but you held back. The longing was exquisite torture and you were about to burst when he finally crushed your lips to his.

Too soon he broke the passionate kiss, pulling away from you with a quick, soft bite to your lower lip, tugging it gently with his sharp teeth. Had they always been that sharp? Your mind was hazy with pleasure. With one hand he pulled your hair, maybe a bit too roughly, but you had no complaint. With the other hand he began working the button and zipper of your denim shorts, expertly opening the front of your pants to his exploring fingers. Your soft cotton panties were pink and offered no resistance as his hand dove beneath the thin elastic waistband, to your boiling centre.

Simon’s thick fingers nudged and teased your engorged clit, stroking it softly. He nibbled at your neck, drawing your skin into his mouth and brushing it lightly with his tongue. The pressure of his teeth and the softness of his tongue combined to drive you over the edge.

Buttons be damned, you thought, ripping open your blouse, exposing your firm, peaked breasts. Your own hands found their way to his head, entwining fingers in his silken hair and urging his head down to your breasts. Simon happily complied, moving down and sucking one pert nipple into his mouth. As you moaned from the new sensation at your breast, he slipped a finger tentatively inside of you, eliciting an even stronger moan.

As with your lip, he bit softly on your nipple and tugged, slowly rolling his tongue over the puckered skin surrounding it. He pulled you away from the tree, just far enough to slip the white cotton blouse completely from your body, and then he pushed the bare skin of your back against the rough bark, as he moved to your other nipple. You squeezed and released handfuls of his hair, pressing his face to your chest, as he dropped the white blouse on top of the red sweatshirt. Fabric becoming damp from the dew on the floor.

A small cry escaped your lips when the long, thick finger in your pussy found just the spot. Taking that cue, he concentrated his ministrations in that area, and soon you were cumming, walls spasming around his digit. Your body went rigid against the tree, eyes squeezed tightly shut, as the small spasms coursed through you in slow, undulating waves. You pressed yourself greedily against his hand, wanting the waves to go on and on. The sensations at your breast and core were overpowering, your body shuddering, breath ragged.

The distant rain finally caught up to you both, coming down through the heavy forest canopy, making the woods around you sizzle with every little drop. The cold rain on your hot skin sent up little plumes of steam, and Simon let out a moan of pure ecstasy, low and drawn out, luxuriating in the feel of the water on his flesh. He turned his face up, letting the rain drip lazily onto his face, into his mouth. You cast your eyes down and watched the tiny rivulets making their way down his muscular chest and abdomen, through the little line of hair coming up from the waistband of his jeans and disappearing into them.

Brazenly, you allowed your tongue to follow their trails, dragging your tongue hungrily down Simon’s neck, biting and kissing as you went. Down over his chest, stopping to lick and suck his nipple. Biting and kissing down over his stomach, you soon found yourself on your knees in front of him, eyes fastened on the tautly stretched fabric of the denim over his crotch, the shape and size of his cock obvious as it pressed against his hip. You nibbled along his shaft through the jeans, up to the head and back down, pressing soft kisses against the bulge.

Simon felt he was going to explode when you dragged your teeth firmly along the same path that you had just nibbled, your hands coming up and massaging his heavy balls. He groaned gruffly, fists clenched at his sides, fighting for control.

The button was hard to open, due to the tightness of his pants, but you managed and your fingers took the clasp of his zipper, pulling down slowly, one agonising tooth at a time. When you finally had lowered the zipper enough to allow, his cock sprung out, achingly hard and visibly pulsing. With every beat of his heart it leapt slightly. The head was a dark purple and the shaft had one large vein running across the top. It disappeared into the patch of wiry hair at the base of his abdomen.

A glistening drop of clear liquid formed in the slit at its crown and you darted your tongue out, touching it briefly to the tip of his cockhead. The little drop held to your tongue in a long, thick string before breaking and dropping onto your bottom lip and chin.

Wrapping your hand around his cock, you gripped it firmly, giving a little squeeze and watching with delight as more of the clear liquid oozed out. Simon groaned again, reaching out and placing his hands gently against the sides of your head, urging you forward, pleading wordlessly. You looked up and met his gaze, staring down at you with pure black eyes, hungry and needful, almost violent in their gleam. His lips were parted and he breathed slowly and heavily through his mouth, his chest heaving.

One long shiver coursed through his entire body when you finally bent your head and took him into your mouth. Your eyes had been just as hungry as his and you devoured him ravenously, sliding your lips up and down his hard length, feeling every ridge and sinewy knot beneath the skin. You let your saliva pool on your tongue and spread it liberally over his shaft, slipping your mouth down until your nose was pressed into his hair, and then pulling back slowly with a long sucking motion, before diving right back down. You took him into your throat and coaxed him with the muscular contractions you could produce, summoning the load from him. You pulled back once more and heard him grunt and then groan again, feeling his cock swell further in your mouth.

“Not yet”, he breathed, desperately pulling his throbbing hardness from your mouth. He was going to explode if you didn’t stop and he had very precise intentions for his seed. It was not to be wasted.

A few more loving licks along his cock was all you had time for before he grabbed your shoulders and brought your to your feet. Once again, he pressed your back against the oak tree harshly.

Simon slid down your body onto his knees, his tongue delving quickly into your naval, and then dipping down to the edge of your pink panties. As he nuzzled your sex through your shorts, he slipped off your shoes and socks, his big, calloused hands slipped leisurely up your legs. From your ankles to your knees he teased your skin with his fingertips, a slight tickling across the backs of your knees. His hands reached up behind you, grabbing your ass and pressing your body to his face. Simon grabbed the loosened waistband of your denim shorts, brought them down smoothly and you stepped out of them, arching your back against the tree for stability. Just as quickly he brought his hands back up and grabbed the elastic band of your panties and brought them down, baring your completely to his eyes.

Ravenous.

Leaning his head forward, he placed a firm lip kiss above your cleft, inhaling your scent deeply as he pulled away. Driven by your smell, he lunged at you, biting into your hip, the last vestiges of his self-control being all that stood between pleasure and pain. A surprised gasp, followed by a soft moan, answered his bite.

The rain began to come down heavier, the canopy of the forest barely slowing the drops. A cool wind picked up, twisting through the trees like a sentient being, seeking and finding the two lovers. You both shivered, but only partly from the chill.

Simon picked up your right leg and placed it over his shoulder, spreading your for his kiss. His tongue moved out slowly, finding your clit, engorged and reddened. Pulsing with animalistic desire. You raised your head and cried out, one arm bent back along the trunk of the tree, the other holding his head. You involuntarily ground your pussy onto his face, hard against his mouth. Your left leg nearly buckled when he curled his tongue around your clit and gently sucked it into his mouth, coaxing your orgasm in much the same way you had attempted to bring his. He sucked at you softly, yet voraciously. He was a man starving for you, trying to engulf you entirely into himself. A deep, resounding growl rose from his throat, the air vibrating from his lips and sending you once again over that edge.

You let out a small scream just as a distant clap of thunder began to rumble over the forest. You rode the waves of the thunder as it faded away. You cried again, another orgasm ripping through you, pulling your entire being to your centre. To his mouth.

The tree bark was rough on your back, possibly cutting your flesh, but you were beyond caring. You leaned forward, pressing harder to his lips, and then slamming yourself back against the tree in pure wantonness, over and over. There was no pain. Only blinding pleasure.

You didn’t realise it when he brought your leg from his shoulder and back to the ground, so lost in ecstasy. Your body trembled still, the remnants of the climax still rippling outward from your core, as you sagged against the oak, eyes closed. Every nerve in your body refocused its intention to carrying on the devastating feelings coursing through it.

The ripples were coming slower as the thunderstorm grew ever closer. You tried to sink into the tree, to feel everything at once. You felt the cool rain dripping on your skin, a trailing drop running to, and then going around your nipple. You curled your toes into the wet, mossy ground. The soft murmur of the rain on the leaves sang to you.

A loud, obnoxious clap of thunder brought you out of your reverie and your eyes snapped open. You gasped, startled, as you realised that you were face to face with Simon again. He was gazing at you with a predatory gleam in his icy eyes.

In one move he was against your body and inside you, sliding up into you as you stood against the tree. With his hands on your hips Simon raised your body and lowered you onto his cock, thrusting himself madly into you, too insistent to care about anything else.

You turned your cheek against the tree, exposing your neck, and he could no longer hold back. A bestial groan escaped his lips, followed by a snarl through clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body was wire taut, the force of his thrusts lifting you from your feet, suspended between the tree and Simon. You planted your feet firmly on top of his thighs and rode him, taking each pounding stroke as deep as gravity and flesh would allow.

His eyes remained focused on the smooth curve of your neck, the delicate slope to your shoulder. The need began to slip from the corners of his mouth as he saw and heard your pulse. Simon couldn’t take it. He lunged forward and bit you, hard. Too hard. You cried out, but you never broke your stride. He tasted a small bit of your blood on his tongue and it drove him to the point of rage.

Lightning split the sky just above, with an instantaneous crack of thunder. Not far away from you both, a tree fell, burnt and smouldering. The rain was pounding down on you. The wind drove it down and into the forest, hard against your rutting bodies.

You screamed with another orgasm and he howled with rage, pain and lust as he emptied himself inside of you. Thunder and lightning crashed above you, pale in comparison to the rapacious nature of the beast coursing through both of you. Simon looked into your eyes and saw the lightning flash. You looked into his and saw the truth of what he was. Half man, half beast.

You rode out the storm and the passion, moving slowly, kissing and touching. Caressing. You brought your feet back to the ground, pumping your hips slowly, letting him go soft inside of you as the storm blew away, almost as quickly as it came.

At last, he slipped from your core and he stepped away from you. You said nothing. The rain dripping from the forest canopy, the receding thunder, and your breathing were the only sounds. With his hand he softly stroked your cheek, gazing intently into your eyes. Then he turned and walked away, naked, into the heart of the forest.

You watched him go, wondering if you would ever see him again. Touching your hand to the bleeding bite at the bend of your neck, you winced absently. The pain was negligible, but it would surely leave a scar. A scar that would undoubtedly tie you to him.

The thunder rolled on and a wolf howled in the distance, answered by the howls of many others. Through the canopy of trees you could see the moon trying to peek out from behind the lingering storm clouds.

Only now, it seemed to call to you.

————

[outoftheseine]

- SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY FIC RECS -

a lot of dad!simon fics here. i am not sorry. i want to bear this man's child(ren) | note: this is COD so there are some trigger warnings like: blood, guns, injuries, military stuff, death so please beware of them. there also also 18+ content so minors DNI. don't forget to read the authors' warnings | more will be added!

main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

haunted | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @babygirl-riley (heavy angst, tw: depression, drugs, addiction suicide, toxic relationship, please read the warnings!)

too old for you | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x medic!fem!reader

↳ by @lunarw0rks (smut, hurt/comfort, age-gap)

soft spot • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @cordeliawhohung

the red means, i love you • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader x john 'soap' mactavish

↳ by @thewriterg

smashing pumpkins • simon 'ghost' riley x civilian!fem!reader

↳ by @qwimchii

last kiss | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @milf-murdock (angst, unestablished relationship, smut, fluff)

secret lovers | part 2 • husband!simon 'ghost' riley x wife!reader

↳ by @savemefromanepicoftimewasted

my baby swingin' • biker!simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @tojisun (very sexy biker!simon, smut, fluff)

happiness • simon 'ghost' riley x wife!fem!reader

↳ by @lethalchiralium (i feel so fuzzy when i read this series, fluff, sometimes angst, some tw be aware)

i'm with you | keep you close • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @undercoverpena (angst, feelings, explicit)

being yelled at by ghost | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @hxltic (angst! simon is an asshole)

northern attitude | part 2 • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @bubbles-for-all-of-us (enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst)

lights on • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @peachesofteal (single mom!reader, fluff, slight angst, protective!simon)

one night stand | part 2 | part 3 • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @cmncisspnandmore

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC'S

break in, break down • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @hyperactively-me (home invasion, comfort, fluff)

his girls • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @babygirl-riley (so so so fluffy, dad!simon)

one fucking mistake • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @codfanficedits (very angsty, hurt but no comfort for a whilez grieving, tw:depression)

book boyfriend • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @stargirlrchive (fluff)

lime-sized • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @imperihoe-writes (pregnant!reader, very fluffy)

bloodied bullets, soft confessions • simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader

↳ by @ghosts-cyphera (a little mean!simon, hurt/comfort, injuries, fluffy end)

monster • neighbor!simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader

↳ by @rowarn (smut, protective!simon, zombie au)

unmasked love • simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader

↳ by @springtyme (so so so cute! dad!simon)

adoration • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @yawnderu (dad!simon, fluff)

simon 'ghost' riley x sensitive!gn!reader

↳ by @cherryredstars (fluff and nswf content)

this chapter is over • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @colonelarr0w (character death, angst, injuries, some fluff)

simon says • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @unreliablesnake (smut)

salt in an old wound • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!oc!reader

↳ by @ghouljams (hurt/comfort, explicit content, fae au)

blood on my shirt, rose in my hand • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @alwaysshallow (friends to lovers, the continuation is on ao3!)

antique soldiers • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @mangowafflesss

why? • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @riverbutghost (asshole!simon, injuries, slightly explicit at the end)

cold but warm • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @riverbutghost (asshole!simon, injuries, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

pretty pink flowers and bloody cherry blossom tree • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @underscorewriting (really really angsty, ugly cried)

for the last time • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @wttcsms (pregnant!reader, mentions of death, angst but fluff)

welcome home • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @nastybuckybarnes (home invasion, arguing, fluff)

medical leave • simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader

↳ by @kib-ble (mentions of injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff)

no more stars left to count • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @lvlyghost (angst, hurt/comfort)

protective • simon 'ghost' riley x reader

↳ by @ponyosmom35 (medic!reader, protective!simon, tw: sexual harassement)

return • simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

↳ by @bruhrobs (fluff, colleagues to lovers, single mom!reader)

[bravo4iscool]

you’re kidnapped (simon “ghost” riley)

this little os is from this anon right here!

TW: mentions of blood and gore, hints of torture, russians (please get the joke😭), serious injuries

word count: 1.9k

(masterlist)

Ghost storms into the meeting, his eyes blown wide and his chest heavily heaving. He’s still clutching his phone in his hand and any other person would be afraid of breaking it.

Price looks up, clearly confused. But before the Captain can talk Ghost shuts the door behind him.

“They have her,” he says in a low voice and to someone who doesn’t know Ghost it would sound normal, but to Price it didn’t. His best Lieutenant, the man who feared nothing, was anxious. His voice was off and Price could see nothing but pure fear in Ghost’s eyes.

“They got who?” Soap asks, turning his head at Ghost. What the fuck was his LT. talking about?

But Ghost doesn’t pay any attention to the Scot. He keeps staring at Price. “They have my wife,” he then says and Soap’s brain shortcuts.

What the fuck? Ghost had a wife? The Sergeant looks at Price and now he’s even more confused. Price knows about that wife?

Price eyes narrow and he stands up. “You figured where she is already?” he asks and Ghost shakes his head.

“No. But Laswell’s onto it. She still owns me one.”

“Good. Any indication where she could be?” Price starts walking around, his gaze not leaving Ghost.

“Yes.”

Price claps his hands together and nods at Ghost. “Well then, let’s gear up and roll out. We don’t have much time.”

Ghost slightly narrows his head and Price knows that the look in the Lieutenants eyes means ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

Soap hesitantly stands up, still more than confused but as soon as Ghost leaves the room he runs after his superior.

He needs to find out since when Ghost has a wife and why his LT. never told him and Gaz about her.

-

“LT.” Soap speaks into the comms as he carefully surrounds an enormous brick building somewhere in the outer regions of Manchester.

“What do ya want Soap?” Ghost’s voice is on an edge as he answers his Sergeant. His finger, placed on the trigger, twitches. He’s more than ready to slaughter everyone who’s separating him from his wife.

“Since when do ye hav’ a lass? Why’d ye never told us ‘bout ‘er?” Soap carefully lifts his rifle and opens a back door. He was in. It was only a matter of time when he’d engage with the enemy.

“Ya nev’r asked,” is Ghost’s short reply as he skillfully shoots down a tango. He moves further forward, his eyes snapping from left to right.

He wasn’t allowed to make a mistake. Your life was at risk and he would and could never forgive himself if he’d lose you just because he made a damn mistake.

He checked door after door and slowly he was running out of patience but then Gaz started to talk via comms.

“I think I found her.”

“Where are you?” Ghost stops and suddenly his head starts to spin. They found you? Would he finally be able to rescue you?

“2nd floor, three doors from the staircase.” Gaz’ voice was quiet and hushed.

“Are you 100% postitive?” Price now asked and Gaz confirmed.

“Was I ever wrong?” he asks in a playful voice and Ghost rolls his eyes. This was serious. This wasn’t training or anything. This was about you.

“You fell outta a chopper,” Soap snorts and giggles to himself as he continues to clear the building.

“Fuck off MacTavish,” Gaz grumbles the reply, shutting the comms off.

-

Your eyes are heavy and your head spins, your ears ringing as the man opposite to you starts to interrogate you again.

You stopped paying attention and replying god knows how long ago but they didn’t stop. They kept going, even slapping you harshly from time to time. You don’t feel it anymore though.

There’s blood running from you nose, you’re mouth and you’re pretty sure your cheek bones are also covered in bruises. You just want this to be over. You just want Simon to rescue you.

“Так,” you hear the man say and moments later you feel a pair of hands lifting your head to look at him. Another man held your face so you’d look at your interrogator.

“Вы хотите поговорить сейчас?,” he asks you and you give yourself imaginary shoulder pats for actually learning Russian back in school.

You say nothing, only shaking your head. The man laughs. “As stubborn as that husband of yours.” He turns to look at one of his men, motioning at you. “стрелять в неё.” Then he leaves.

Your eyes widen as one of the man, you were pretty sure they called him Vita, pointed his hand gun at you.

You start to struggle against your restraints, fresh tears running down your cheeks. You couldn’t- You couldn’t die. Not yet, not now! What about Simon? What about the life you two wanted to build?

“Little brat,” Vita curses as he tries to follow you head with his gun but you were struggling too much.

“просто нажать на курок” another man, Maxim, tells Vita, obviously nervous. He’s been talking via comms for the last minutes but your Russian was too bad to understand all of it.

“They’re here Vita and it won’t take them long to find us, so cut it short. Now!” Maxim’s voice is strained and he keeps checking the door. You knew what that meant. They found you. Ghost found you. Not Simon, no… now he was Ghost.

“He will kill you, rip you apart,” you then say, feeling blood drip from your mouth. “He will hunt you down and make sure you’ll regret anything you ever did.” You stare at Vita, waiting for him to shoot, praying that he wouldn’t.

“поторопитесь, вита,” Maxim urges again, his eyes flicking to the door. He heard something.

Vita looks at you, then at the door. The moment his eyes flick to the door it’s kicked in and it’s raining bullets.

You shut your eyes, making yourself as small as possible while you hear Vita and Maxim drop dead to the floor. Your body is shaking and you feel tears running down your cheeks.

When Ghost sees you strapped to that chair all his fuses blow. He rushes past the dead bodies and rips off his mask. He kneels down in front of you, carefully speaking to you.

“Lovie, it’s me…” he says and he lets out a relieved breath when you look at him, eyes empty.

When he’s sure you know who he is he quickly cuts you free and carefully takes you in his arms. Your wrists are bruised and bloody, as well as your face but he’s never been happier to have you in his arms.

“Ya safe now. ‘Am ‘ere and I’ll get ya outta ‘ere.” He presses you close to him and a single tears rolls down his cheek. He’s got you back. You’re safe now. You’re with him…

Price walks into the room, tightly gripping his rifle. “Everything’s clear. We’re ready for evac. Is she okay? Does she need a medical?” He walks in further, looking at your fragile form in Ghost’s arms.

“She’s fine f’r now I think,” Ghosts replies and he carefully stands up, holding you close in his arms. “We’ll get ya outta ‘ere,” he mumbles and you warily nod. You just wanted to go home…

Carefully Ghost stands up, his arms around you tightening. “Let’s go?” he says to Price and the Captain nods.

“Gonna watch your six,” Price says. Ghost nods, a subtle but deep ‘thank you’.

With faithful steps Ghost hurries out of the room, his eyes flicking down to you again and again. “You shouldn’t carry me…” you whisper, well aware of the fact that you were probably slowing him down.

He doesn’t look at you, only scanning the surroundings with his eyes. “I fucked ya against a wall. I’ll be able t’ carry ya outta ‘ere.” That’s his answer. Simple and plain.

You try to suppress a small smile but you can’t. You press your face against his vest, whispering a quiet ‘I love you’. And while your husband carries you out of that building your feel your head starting to spin and dizziness overcomes you…

-

“What d’ya mean, internal bleeding?” Ghost paces up and down in the hospital corridor, not caring about the fact that people were staring at him. Of course you would stare at a 6’4 man who’s build like a fucking fridge and wears a skull mask. He often found him staring at himself in the reflection of windows.

“She’s got internal bleeding, Sir. That’s also the reason why she’s in surgery,” a nurse calmly explains, not frightened by the man in front of her. “As soon as I get new information I will tell them to you, but right now, I’m afraid, there’s not much I can do for you, Sir…”

Ghost wants to swear and curse but he knows that he needs to keep himself at bay. He wasn’t alone here, people were watching. He needed to calm himself down. Now.

So, he lets out a deep breath and nods. “Tell me when she’s out as soon as possible, please.” He tries to not show how anxious he is but his but his wife was in surgery right now because he wasn’t able to properly look after her… He wanted to explode.

“Of course Sir,” the nurse gives him a warm smile. “Feel free to sit down or get yourself a coffee. It could take a while…” Ghost absently nodded and she left. What was he supposed to do now?

“Any news?” Price wants to know when the team joins Ghost in the hospital. He just shakes his head and puts it in his hands.

If he’d only looked better after you…

If he’d only was more careful…

If he’d only kept you safe…

“Still ‘n surgery,” he mumbles, trying so hard not to go crazy. He’s been waiting hours now, but it felt like days. His head was spinning, thoughts were crashing in his mind and guilt was almost eating him alive. What had he done?

“She’ll make it son, don’t worry,” Price says in a calm voice, placing his hand on his Lieutenant’s shoulder. “She’s a fighter. Just like you…”

-

Your head hurts when your senses return and you start stirring. Then you feel a hand on yours and your eyes fly open. Where are you?

With panicked eyes you look around, completely ignoring the pain in the back of your head. Was this a…hospital?

“Darling,” you hear a voice. That sounds like Simon… Your eyes follow the voice and you look at your husband. “Hey…” he smiles at you, clutching your hand. “How are ya?”

“Shit,” you whisper in a small voice, trying your best to return the squeezes he gave your hand. Then he gently lifts it and presses a small kiss onto the back of it.

“Am sorry,” he says while he continues to caress your hand and wrist. “Should’ve look’d out bett’r f’r ya…” He averts his gaze and you immediately try to shake your head. You knew he would beat himself up over what happened. It wasn’t his fault.

“Not your fault,” you croak out, intertwining your hands. He looks up with glassy eyes and you swear you’ve never seen him that destroyed.

“I could’ve lost ya…” he whispers. “Could’ve lost ya f’r good ‘nd I wouldn’t b’ able t’ f’rgive m’self.”

“I’m here,” you weakly smile. “And I surely won’t leave…” You would never leave Simon. He was the love of you life. When you’re with him you feel complete and you never wanted to miss out on that again.

[mockerycrow]

HELLO the biggest congrats on 4k, you absolutely deserve that and so many more!!!

Could I see a female!reader x Ghost with the prompt:“I had a nightmare . . . can I stay with you tonight?”

TY and yet again, congratulations 🤍🤍🤍

REASSURANCE (Ghost x Fem!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note; thank you so much anon <3 i hope you enjoy!

[WARNINGS; not proofread (like most of my fics), silent panic attack + light dissociation, implied you’ve never seen his face, hurt/comfort.]

You know Ghost has nightmares—everyone knows Ghost has nightmares. No one really wants to talk about it because he doesn’t, but everyone has seen the man up at ungodly hours of the night, or perhaps beating the absolute shit out of a punching bag at the on-base gym.

No one except for Price knows what Ghost’s been through, but no one really questions him. It’s unrealistic to think Ghost is the only one waking up due to their dreams—even Price does on the occasion. What Ghost doesn’t do is ask for help.

You had a weird gut feeling about tonight; you weren’t really restless, but you weren’t tired. Every time you laid down to try to get some sleep, your eyelids would slowly open back up. You tried multiple methods; white noise, thinking about nothing, thinking about a story, taking a sleep remedy—nothing.

You had a weird tightness in your stomach that you couldn’t shake. It’s no big deal, you’ve had several nights like this. Nights where you stay up, half expecting something to happen. You aren’t sure if its the military-esque anxiety flaring up, expecting an attack of some sort or if it’s just one of those nights.

You’re laying in bed, trying to think of what you have to do tomorrow. Might as well try to think of something useful, right? Let’s see, you have to do morning training and then you have to eat, brief with price, it’s your turn to help the armourer—the weapons master, you like to say to piss them off—and you also have to do paperwork.

A very tame evening, you think, avoiding the Q word everyone oh so desperately hates; including yourself. Because the second you say it, you’re going to be called by Laswell, or General Shepherd, or some other CIA federal agent bureaucrat about some fucking thing that’s happening in the god forsaken world that only, and only task force 141 can handle—

—Someone knocks on your door, breaking your disorganized thoughts. Your eyebrows furrow; no one should be up, maybe Price is, or Ghost. Did you forget some paperwork? You sit up, slip your slides on your feet, and you walk to the door. You unlock the door and open it, wincing from the bright light of the hallway pouring in, and you’re met with the large figure of Ghost.

You blink, unsurprised. “Hey.” You utter. “Did I wake you?” God, Ghost sounds rough. It sounds like he garbled glass—er, maybe that isn’t the nicest way to describe one of your superiors voices right now. It’s clear he just woke up. You shake your head in response, stepping aside. “Here, come in. It’s bright.”

Ghost silently obeys, stepping inside of your room. You close the door and head over to your desk. You feel around in the darkness until you feel your lamp and you click a button, turning it on, illuminating the room just enough for you to see Ghost. He’s wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants with one of his black, long-sleeve compression tops to go with it.

He’s wearing a basic black balaclava without the iconic skull, but.. His eyes are different. Distant and weary, cautious—panicked almost. Your eyebrows furrow together as his broad shoulders are tense, fists clenched.

“Ghost..” You call softly. He seems far away—he needs your help. “Ghost.” You say more insistently and louder, noticing the way his chest is barely moving. “Ghost, hey, can y’hear me? You need to take a breath..” You murmur, slowly approaching him.

He’s frozen but you see how his eyes flicker towards you, taking a moment realize where he is. You offer a soft smile you always show him and you nod. “There you are, big guy. Can I touch you?” You make sure to ask because you never know; a soldier during a flashback, touching them? That can be fatal—you trust Ghost as you don’t think he would ever hurt you, but you never know a person.

It takes him a moment to nod, which makes you promptly and gently grab his wrists. You gently guide him to your bed, and you sit him down. You’re nervous—you’re about to calm him down in one of the only ways you know how to, but you’re worried about the consequences you’ll receive afterwards. Oh well, you don’t care, not when Ghost’s eyes are as unfocused as they are.

The bed dips under his weight and you gently spread his legs, standing between them. You grab his arms; they’re deadweight, but his eyes flicker some recognition, allowing you to guide his arms around your waist. You guide his head to lay against your stomach, your hands cradling his masked jaw and the back of his neck.

Ghost takes in a harsh, shuddery breath which makes you hum in approval. “There you go, Ghost. Breathe, you’re alright.” You say in a mellow manner, your thumb brushing over his masked cheek. Ghost takes in another harsh breath as his arms tighten around you. You continue to try to ground him, talking and praising him for his efforts to stay calm. You know he isn’t in the right mind, but you’re still shocked he’s allowed you to touch him for as long as you have.

Something in your gut unravels as Ghost pulls his head away ever so slightly, ripping his mask off and throws it away like it was constricting his breathing. He buries the side of his face back into your stomach, taking you by surprise. Your met with his blonde hair in the low light, your heart stuttering.

You hesitate only for a moment before you bury a hand in his hair on the back of his head, your other hand returning to his jaw, your heart hammering as you note he has stubble as well as something on his skin, like deep scar tissue.

Ghost lets out a noise which you quickly hum in response. “It’s okay, let it out.. Won’t tell anyone about this, okay?” You assure him, causing another noise to escape him, almost like a laugh. “Kinda hard t’do that when a pretty girl is comfortin’ you.” He croaks, his voice broken—both his voice and sentence making your brain short circuit. You laugh in return, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Shush,” You murmur. “Just relax.”

Ghost nods against your stomach, shakily exhaling. You stay like that for a while; neither of you are sure for how long, and neither of you care. You’re enjoying the rare vulnerability Ghost is displaying, and he’s enjoying the grounding touch you’re currently providing him. The silence is comforting as you comb your fingers through his hair, and you enjoy the weight of his head and his arms.

“I had a nightmare…” Ghost utters. You hold your breath as he looks up at you, and oh god, he’s hot. “..Can I stay with you tonight?” You’re mesmerized by the way his nose is curved—clearly has been broken a couple of times and wasn’t reset right—by the way his eyebrows are furrowed, his big, beautiful brown eyes.. You nearly forget to respond. “Yes,” You push out, resisting the urge to reach up and rub the tension between his brows. “Always.”

[thebigbadbatswife]

Don't Take Her From Me

Pairing(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary - An explosion and a building collapse has Simon begging the universe to not take you from him as well.

Warnings - Major character injury, Blood, Description of injuries, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Established relationship, Potential miltary inaccuracies, Potential medical inaccuracies. (If I missed anything, lmk!)

A/N - First time attempting to write Simon since I became obsessed. Hope you all enjoy 💜

Word Count - 1.2k

Not her. Please. Fucking please. Not her.

Simon finds himself silently begging as he sprints toward the collapsed building. He ignores Soap yelling after him, ignores the chatter on comms and Price’s voice shouting an order that completely falls on deaf ears. His only focus is on finding you. Alive. He won’t accept it any other way.

The explosion took them all by surprise. He and Soap had finished clearing out one building and were getting ready to move onto the next when it happened. It took them all by surprise. The ear shattering noise as the ground shook beneath them and seeing the building collapse in on itself, kicking up a large cloud of dust that made it look like a sand storm had blown on in. It felt like all of it had happened in slow motion, right up until the moment that everything finally went still and silent.

Then he’s sprinting with only one thing racing through his mind.

You’re currently inside of that building.

He yells your callsign over the comms, but the only thing he gets back is the crackle of static. It doesn’t mean you’re dead. For all he knows your radio has short circuited or was damaged either by gun fire or even hit by debris as the building went down. A silent radio doesn’t mean you’re dead, he repeats to himself…

Unless you’re buried beneath all of that rubble. It could have killed you on impact or you’re trapped under there, slowly and painfully suffocating.

Please don’t let that be her fate. Just let her be okay. Just let me hold her again.

He doesn’t even know why he’s begging or who he is even trying to beg to. It’s not like any of his previous prayers were ever heard. Every word or thought falling onto deaf ears as everything is stripped away from him again. History repeating itself and all of that. In spite of all of that though, he continues to hold out hope. Simon refuses to write you off as dead and gone until he has your lifeless body as proof in his arms. And he really fucking hopes that doesn’t happen.

How can he carry on living if it does?

The dust is irritating his eyes, making them itch and burn. He blinks rapidly, causing tears to streak down his face as he does his best to try and clear them without actually reaching up to rub them. Which is impossible to do because of his mask. He yells your callsign again, ordering you to answer him or goddammit he will have you doing pushups for life. But like before all he receives back is static. All it does it make him even more frantic as he searches for you. If it comes down to it he will claw and dig through the rubble, tearing apart his gloves and skin, wearing himself down to the bone, just to find you.

Please don’t take her from me.

Through all the dust that still hangs in the air, continuing to limit his visibility, he starts to make out a silhouette ahead of him. Simon stops in his tracks, his grip tightening on his gun as he watches the figure closely as he reminds himself. While it could easily be you, he is still in the thick of enemy territory and it could just as easily be one of them instead. 

He takes a deep breath as he looks down his scope. His heart is hammering against his ribcage. He still can’t make the person out properly, but he can see the way that they stumble with each step and they’re clutching their arm. Even if they had been a threat at one point, they very clearly aren’t anymore. Still, he doesn’t move a muscle. Watching and waiting until the wind blows the dust, finally revealing the person ahead of him.

It’s you. 

Before he can think, his feet are already moving forward as he starts rushing toward you. You have been plastered white by the dust, the only bits of colour being the red from your injuries and your skin colour coming through the tear trails that streak down your cheeks. 

“Ghost?” you choke out. 

The sound of your voice and the sight of how injured you are has his heart cracking.

“I’m ‘ere. You’re safe,” he says. His hands come up to cup your face, eyes scanning your face and head, taking in the sight of your injuries. There’s blood coming down from your hairline and trailing down the side of your face, your bottom lip is split open and there are numerous scratches and scrapes on your face and neck. The worst of your injuries is the gash in your shoulder. Your clothing and gear is saturated with your own blood. It’s a fucking miracle you’re even able to stand right now. 

“This is Ghost. I need an immediate medical evac now!” He doesn’t waste a second shouldering his gun and scooping you up into his arms. He seriously doubts that you’re able to be stand any longer and he’s got to move quickly. “Johnny, need you to cover us.” 

”You’ve got it, L.T.”

Simon moves quickly, but carefully. Doing his best not to jostle you around too much while also keeping an eye for any threats. Though he trusts that Soap will see and dispatch them long before he sees them. 

“Keep your eyes open, Sergeant,” he orders you when he sees your eyelids starting to drift shut. Immediately your eyes open again, meeting his. Your brow creases, tears falling anew down your face as pain wracks your body. If his heart was cracked before, it’s absolutely shattered now. How badly he wishes that there was a way that he could take your injuries and the resulting pain away from you and give it himself instead. 

“Just a little bit further,” he tells you. The evac zone is in sight and the sounds of helicopter blades is deafening, but very much welcomed. 

Simon keeps you close to him the entire helicopter flight, your head resting on his lap while one of his hands plays with your hair. His other hand has hold of one of yours, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of it. Your injured arm has been immobilised and your shoulder has been packed. Throughout the flight you have just been staring at the ceiling of the helicopter. Your eyes are hazy and every once in a while your brow creases and you swallow thickly; along with new tears falling. Which he gently wipes away each time. He keeps up with playing with your hair and rubbing your hand, hoping that it will help soothe you until you’re in the hospital.

“Hey,” he says. For the first time since getting onto the helicopter, you look at him. He pulls up his mask just enough for his mouth to show and leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

He doesn’t need you reply because he already knows that you love him back. You tell him every chance that you get. And even now, your brain foggy from the agony you are in won’t even stop you. “Love you, Si.”

He smiles, his thumb gently sweeping over your cheekbone, wiping up another tear. 

Thank you for not taking her from me.