#simon ghost riley x yn

[celestialprincesse]

I like to think that when Simon eventually settles down, he marries a slightly strange, mildly autistic super genius who's known for just sort of knowing everything. They're the one person forced to sit out in pub quizzes and asked how to word or spell things correctly when the guys are writing work emails. Their whole thing is knowing something about everything.

Or, most things, at least.

Simon soon learns, that whilst his spouse is killer at trivia and knowing stuff, that's about as good as it gets.

"How do I write a cheque?" Leaves him literally baffled, perhaps even more than the one time they'd revealed to him that they didn't know how online banking worked.

"It tells you - on the paper."

"Yeah but - I don't know my bank details." They respond to his incredulity like an adult not knowing their own bank details is the most natural thing in the world.

"What do - how do you get paid without knowing that?"

"My dad set it up for me - I just figured the money goes in every month."

The sudden realisation that his partner is deadly serious hits Simon like a truck. If they don't even know how to access their bank, how have they done taxes and paid off their credit cards?

"And when the money goes out - like, say, when you pay your taxes?" He questions with anxious patience, sitting opposite them at the kitchen table.

"I thought you paid our taxes."

"But I thought you paid them. That's been like your one job since we got married."

He signs them up for one of those old people online banking courses like a week later.

[lightwing-s]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader

rating: 18+ (MDNI)

It was like the entire room shook with every step he took, his combat boots sending tremors through the floor. A proper man-made earthquake. With his stature, he towered over everybody. His presence was intense, and you could feel him coming even before hearing or seeing him, your head snapping to the entrance of the room to watch the scene attentively.

Wearing his skull balaclava, the Lieutenant returned from his practice alongside Sargeant MacTavish. You watched his chest shaking as he walked, the muscle jumping up and down like a juicy pornstar’s boobs would do, highlighted by the compression shirt he wore sticking to his skin. His sweat left it soaked, making the fabric slightly see through and his nipples easily visible. 

Swallowing deep, you felt your mouth go dry as his intoxicating smell of sweat, smoke and gunpowder filled the air. You were certain you must have looked dumb in front of all the other soldiers, eyeing your Lieutenant up and down. A tingling sensation growing on your cunt as he side-eyed you when he passed your smaller frame.

Fuck me, you wished, watching on as he started to disappear into another room. You were a sinner, of that you were sure, because nothing else could justify such a harsh punishment. Seeing Lt. Ghost Riley in person every single fucking day and all you could ever do was stare. You felt like Dionysius without his wine, or Snoop without his weed. Deprived, dismantled, deranged.

And he wore spandex today. Fucking spandex. Molding his ass and his muscular thighs perfectly, not to mention how much it emphasized the bulge on his groin, as if he knew very well the effect his choice of clothing had on you.

Fuck you, Simon. Fuck you. Fuck me.

Taking a deep breath, you turned around and returned, or attempted to at least, to your exercise. Every movement filled with days of build up frustration. Your arousal, hopefully not evident through your leggings, made its way to your nose, and you rolled your eyes out, exasperated to leave the training room.

Turning a corner, deep into whatever side of the base you stood, you found a darkened alley leading to a dead end. It was quiet, far for anyone. Resting against the wall, you let your mind wonder, thoughts of your Lieutenant crowding your head.

Your breathing was uneven, rushed, but your walk over there wasn’t what caused it. Your core ached, burned, begged for attention. Peeking briefly at your sides, you did something unthinkable, something your shame shouldn’t have allowed you to do. Putting a hand inside your leggings, you touched your aching clit, circular movements dragging soft moans out of your pursed lips.

Enjoying the sensation, the quick relief brought to you by your own fingers, you increased their speed, wanting to reach that so desirable end, the increased sensation making it harder to hold your moans down as you desperately bit your lips to stop them from coming out. 

Your mind darkened as the pleasure spread to different parts of your body, almost making you melt down the wall you were laid on. In your mind, the picture of your Lieutenant and what he could’ve been doing to you instead, crowded your mind. 

You pictured his hands all over your body, leaving purple bruises on your skin. His face buried deep into your cunt, licking your sweetness off of you. You picture his hoarse voice calling your name, but did not picture it dragging you out of your daydreams. Nor did you imagine the door closing right in front of you, revealing to you your own dreams in flesh and bone.

“Yn,” he called and you swiftly removed your hands from your pants, shame burning red up your neck. “I hope you’re aware this is a very unacceptable behavior.” 

The raspiness of his voice would have sent you on overdrive, but now it frightened you to no end. Taking slow but steady steps in your direction, Ghost had his eyes locked on you, drowsy and darkened, as yours, instead, filled with tears. Fear of what was about to come next filling you up. “Especially when your Lieutenant is right here.”

Staring down at you, he tugged at the hem of your legging, pulling it away from your skin and peeking into it, spotting the red underwear you were now thankful for selecting. He slid a hand you didn’t notice was ungloved down your pants, inside your panties, feeling his way down through your trimmed hairs and soaked folds. When he reached the spot your own hands had just been playing at, his cold fingers caused you to jolt, unused to the strange sensation.

“These naughty new recruits, always causing me some trouble,” he stated, sight still locked into your eyes.

Starting to move, his movements were much rasher than yours, rubbing at your clit ferociously from the start, dragging out moans muffled by your pursed lips out of you. Not long later, just as your vision was starting to spot, you felt him park his hand at your entrance. You had to hold his arm for support once you felt him entering your pussy, his palm fractioning against your already sensitive clit as he pushed his fingers in and out of your leaking core.

With speed, you let out moan after moan. Your legs started to tremble, as you felt your release knocking, begging to come out, and you barely held yourself up before his low raspy voice guided your eyes up to his. “With only one finger?” he stared you down, voice too close mocking for your liking.

“That was only one finger?” you cried out, a bit louder than you’d expected.

“Now it’s two.”

He resumed his movements, the new girth tearing you apart, the pain mixing with the pleasure making you wetter by the second. Noticing your weakling legs, with his free hand he pinched your ass, sliding his hand to just below it to pull you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

The wet noises his fingers were making echoed through the empty corridors, and you prayed no one else was hidden somewhere, watching you reduced to a fucked up mess on your superior’s fingers. With his finger thrusts, he stared down at you, golden lashes a majestic sight, as if you were a mere toy in his hands. A puppet he could play around with all night long.

His eyes bore deep into yours, making you feel small, diminished. Since your mouth hung open, silent moans escaping from it almost rhythmically, he held your throat and, playing first with your bottom lip, forced his thumb inside your mouth. You sucked on it like a hungry baby, and you swore you heard a chuckle come out of him.

Soon, you could feel your orgasm coming through. Your wall sucked his fingers in, needing to be filled with so much more. Your high grew, your legs suddenly light like a feather, your vision spotted, almost blacking out, and your mind blank of any proper or coherent thought. Just as you were about to come, a loud moan left your mouth, instantly to be covered by the Lieutenants free hand, making your skin burn from the accidental slapping, but only adding to your aroused sensation.

Ghost shook his head at you, removing his fingers from inside you just as quickly as the moan came out. He left you empty, hollow, as he still looked at you with a disappointed shadow in his brown eyes. 

“Pathetic behavior,” he whispered, stepping away from you. Your legs dropped to the ground, and you had to hold yourself up so as not to fall to the floor. Turning on his heels, ass shaking deliciously as he walked away, he didn’t even care to look back at you as he gave you one last warning. “Present yourself to my office, Yn. We have to think of what punishment I’ll be giving you.”

[eatingtheworldsoffanfiction]

SOMEONE PLEASE!!! I THOUGHT I SAVED A GHOST X READER FIC ON HERE BEFORE I LEFT TO GET FOOD AND CLOSED MY APP BUT EITHER TUMBLR LOST IT OR I DIDNT DOUBLE TAP TO HEART IT (I swear I did tho and I saw the heart but whatever)

I'll give a TW for SA here bc it is in the story, and im sorry, but I will have it as the 6, 7, and 10 bullet points if you want to skip. Mainly 6 but 7 and 10 may be implied.

Anyway this is what I remember:

They were friends for awhile, specifically mentions their age gap like 14 reader / 17 simon when they were growing up

Which I think was when it was mentioned she had a crush on him/told him when they were hanging out at that age and he rejected her by calling her an idiot and to get that idea out of her head

Reader in the beginning has a hard time making herself cum/thinking she was broken

She works at a bar

Doesn't have a lot of money, ate cup of noodles that simon wasn't happy about (he gives her money for groceries)

She is serving a table of drunk rowdy guys right before she leaves her shift and they rip her shirt and grope her. Her boss gets mad at her and makes her apologize

Her coworker gives her a hoodie to wear

She cries a lot, simon comes to check on her bc she didn't answer her phone and he holds her

He asks her what's wrong she says bad day, and he's like "I don't know what's worse that you're lying to me or that you feel like you can't talk to me about what happened" ? Not verbatim

He ends up seeing her shirt when she takes off the hoodie and she goes throws up and then showers

He stands guard at the door

Gets her to eat a little

Eventually, she tells him before they sleep

Next day they're on the couch and she's thinking about kissing him. Goes to shower again and then nap??

I read a little past that point, I think Simon goes for a walk?? But I was working on food and not really paying attention, lol. It was really long I think that was little over half way of that part.

I'm currently scrubbing through my FYP on tumblr, seeing if it'll pop up again. I'm so sad, I was so invested 😢 I've tried so many combinations to search it too with no luck. Although I have found several other posts that I'm now adding to my reading list. So if ya see me reblogging your stuff that might be why.

I also definitely found the fic bc someone sent an ask about it and it was a blurb or something about a part of the story I think.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!

[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

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[eatingtheworldsoffanfiction]

NOOOOOOOOOO BROOOO 😭

Say You'll Haunt Me | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Can I request “I thought I’d fucking lost you for good for a moment” with Ghost please? Thanks

summary: he's gone, he's gone for good... or at least, that's what everyone tells you.

tws: swearing, smoking, graphic depictions and descriptions of severe injuries, blood, death

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

All of the lights were off, they had been all day as you no longer had the energy to do much anymore; the lights were off, all the doors were locked, and aside from the quiet television playing old reruns of some stupid adult animation that you didn't even look at, all was silent within the house.

The bedsheets smelled like fresh washing powder, and the blanket was still warm from the tumble dryer; the curtains had not been opened in weeks, and did well to keep the light from the street lamps out properly.

Old clothes were packed into boxes, ready to go into the attic where they would stay; they didn't smell like the bedsheets. Dishes were still piled in the sink, ready to be washed after hours of supposedly soaking; the bins were nearly full, had been for days, and were almost ready to be taken out.

But none of that really mattered, there were bigger things on your mind; sleeping alone should have come naturally, you did it often enough before you had met the love of your life, but it never really did.

Late and long nights were more than regular. The king sized bed just never seemed the same without your lover there.

You sniffled, putting the phone down as you ignored the texts from your friends; you knew that they were only trying to be kind, to help you along, but you couldn't bear the thought of speaking to anyone.

Gaz called two, three times a day. Soap called, texted, sent you voice messages. Laswell texted throughout the day. Price did his best. You didn't want to speak to them, you couldn't.

You sighed, frowning as you dragged yourself to the kitchen; you made yourself a cup of coffee, justifying it by knowing that you wouldn't sleep anyway. You lit a cigarette, knowing it might help. It was better than nothing, at least.

It was better than spending another night in a house that just wasn't a home anymore, a house that was just an open, gaping, sore wound.

It started to feel different, though, you felt like you were being watched when you turned your back; you tensed up, swallowing thickly as your heart began to thud in your chest. You could have sworn that you locked the doors, you were sure of it.

But still, something was there with you, and when you heard the harsh and heavy footsteps, you could hardly move; you just about managed to back yourself against the counter, holding onto it tightly as you listened closely.

They were getting closer, and closer, and closer until-

"Don't turn the lights on."

You knew that voice, and relaxed when you realised, even daring to smile as you laughed softly, shaking your head. "Simon, you dick! You scared me."

"Sorry…" he was just a shadow when he stepped forward, entering from the hallway as he held his hands up. "Just… don't turn the lights on."

You nodded, taking a swig from your coffee as you hummed. "What happened? They told me… Price said you'd been… y'know."

Ghost's shadowy figure shrugged, and he sighed heavily. "Doesn't matter."

You figured that he probably just didn't want to talk about it, so you shrugged as you finished your cigarette and dared to sit up on the counter. "Well, I'm glad you're home. I thought I'd fucking lost you for good for a moment."

He nodded, but didn't make his usual move to stand between your legs like he usually did when he first came home. "I missed you. I'm sorry I never said goodbye."

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side. "But… you did - at, at the airport."

He shook his head. "No, I mean… forget it."

You were worried, pouting as you frowned and cleared your throat. "Simon, what's going on?"

He swallowed audibly, but when he spoke, his voice was starting to sound more and more like radio static; crackled and buzzing, broken and bumbling. "Don't worry, I just… I only came to say that I'm sorry."

"Simon," you whispered. "Please, talk to me."

He couldn't stop you when you reached for the light, and nor could he stop you when you gasped and shuddered as you looked at him; half of his jaw was missing, the exposed flesh burnt and dripping with blood and pus. His stomach had a clear hole through it, exposing his bottom two ribs and how they were cracked, how his entrails had been split and were dripping all over the floors. His eyes were white and had thick yellowish crust growing over the lids.

You trembled, taking a step back. "Si- Simon?"

"I told you not to turn the lights on," he wheezed.

You shook your head, looking at how the muscle and fat of his left arm was exposed and weeping. "Simon?"

"You shouldn't have turned the light on," he was becoming more and more unintelligible. "I have something to tell you, one last time."

You were speechless, bottom lip trembling as everything started to become a multi-coloured blur; something warm and wet was on your cheeks, but his static laced, buzzing voice was all that you could hear.

"Before I go," he hissed. "I loved you."

You wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation for what was going on, to beg and plead for him to just tell you what the fuck had happened and why he looked like that, but by the time that you had wiped your eyes and nose, he was gone; all that was left, on the countertop next to where he had been standing, was his identification discs.

When you held them, they felt hot and nearly burned your hands; they were dented, the shape clearly that of a bullet, and your heart sank. Price had told you that they couldn't find Ghost's discs, but now you had them in your hands, and you understood what had happened, why Ghost had come back but hadn't stayed.

"Simon," you whispered, swallowing thickly. "Please haunt me again."

[irishghosts]

thinking abt a zombie au where simon meets nurse!reader who gets mad at the task force for killing infected. they all think she's fucking crazy but she's not only been locked up in a hospital with no living to talk to since the beginning but she's immune and doesn't know the bites turn people. she's been treating several infected like sick patients the whole time thinking they just need treatement

[thephantomsdream]

[Y/N and Roach about to enter 141, having an introduction session with Price and Ghost in Price's office]

Roach: (being stupid)

Y/N: (side-eyeing him and whispering) Dude, you're making me look bad in front of the Grim Reaper and one of America's first colonizers.

[mothstvrnz]

Simon “Ghost”  Riley x Wife!Reader

December 15th: “Mom! Dad! I know what I want for Christmas. . . A sibling!”

Note: You and Simon have a six year old daughter named Bellatrix; nickname Trixy

TW: suggestive towards end WC: 692

Requested: Nope!

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

“No.”

Simon says as Bellatrix suggests that she wants a pony for Christmas. A pony, really?! Neither of you are made of money, let alone have the money to buy land for said pony, the pony itself, nor the necessities! 

You stifle a laugh as Trixy stomps her little foot as she angrily crosses messy writing off her Santa list.

“Maybe Santa will get it for you.”

You suggest, trying to lighten the mood of your angry daughter. She shakes her head as she scans through her list. Her deep chocolate brown eyes going up and down her paper before her eyes sparkle and widen. 

“Mom! Dad! I want a sibling for Christmas!”

Bellatrix exclaims excitedly, proudly showing you her list with the word ‘sibling’ in all caps with bolded letters. Jeez, she must really want a sibling.

Simon snorts before biting back a smile. 

“Bloody hell. . . You want a sibling?”

Simon asks, kneeling down to be eye level with your excited daughter. She eagerly nods, shoving the paper into her dad’s hands which he takes, clearing his throat; preparing to read off every item.

“Let's see. Pony; not happening. Bluey car; might happen. Oranges? Why in the world do you want oranges?”

He lists off with a laugh upon reading ‘oranges’. Bellatrix has always liked oranges, and gets one in every lunch she takes to school. 

“I like oranges.”

Is all she says with her six-year old sass before Simon continues down the list with you peeking over his shoulder.

“Sibling, now that, that I can make that happen, but you'll have to talk to mom ‘bout that one.”

You feel your face heat up upon seeing him look up at you with a wolfish grin and wink. You shake your head before putting in your own input.

“Trixy, that's not quite how that works.”

You chuckle as you get down to her eye level with Simon, who's clearly biting back laughter.

“Why not?”

Your daughter asks, clearly confused on why you can't just get her a sibling. Seriously, don't they just kinda’. . . Appear? That's how it works to a six year old mind at least.

“Well. . . Think of It like making cookies. You have to make the dough, form the cookie dough, bake them, and then you have to wait for them to cool off.”

Bellatrix seems to understand that you can't just get a child from the multiple emotions running over her face. Then once you and Simon stand back up, Trixy speaks up.

“So how do we make one?”

She asks excitedly, earning a laugh from your husband who's laughing so hard he's got tears lining his eyes. You can't help but chuckle to yourself and rub the bridge of your nose. Simon walks away, little chuckles pushing past his lips.

“How about you think really hard about what you want, and we can come back to this later. Alright?”

You suggest with a smile as you guide her back to the table to write what she wants for Christmas, leaving the Amazon catalog you get each year next to her. 

You walk away and to your bedroom, chucking to yourself at the face Beatrix made when you and Simon laughed at question.

“How do we make one. . .”

You giggle to yourself as you walk inside your room, Simon sitting on your bed, scrolling on his phone.

“I can answer that, and I'd be more than happy to show you.”

Simon says from his spot on the bed, which you quickly shut down.

“You sure you don't wanna’ make Trixy a big sister?”

He asks after tackling, leaving you a giggling mess as you try to get him off. Eventually, Simon flips the two of you over, him laying on his back with his large calloused hands surprisingly gentle as they hold you in place. You're straddling him now with your softer hands pressed onto his sculpted chest.

“Would you look at that? We're already halfway there. Would be a shame if we wasted such an opportunity, no?”

He chuckles deeply as he massages your sides.

“I guess it would.”

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

A/N: so, I'm taking a shot at shorter fics and not forcing myself to make fics longer 🥲

Anyway, would You guys want a part 2 to this? Because I'd be more than happy to write one!

[celestialprincesse]

🎀💕🌺💐

"C'mon, open up, baby. Be a good girl for daddy." Simon's gruff voice echoes through the kitchen of your shared apartment, sending shivers down your spine as you cock your head inquisitively to the side.

"Promise it won't hurt, and afterwards I'll get yo a real big treat, hm? How's that sound my pretty girl?"

What the fuck? Who the fuck is he talking to?

It's not you, that's for sure.

Silently, you make your way to just outside the kitchen door, pushing it open with a wince at the slight squeak. You remind yourself to whip out the WD-40 later.

"Oh, thank God you're here." Simon sighs, having obviously noted your presence. It's unfair, really, that you can't sneak up on your own husband in your own. home.

Making you feel even sillier still, is the fact that said husband is currently hunched over the wriggling form of your dog, flea prevention treatment in one hand and a bag of treats in the other.

"Gis' a hand. She won't take her fuckin' pills."

🎀💕🌺💐

Hi hello I thought of this last night after having writers block for weeks

[springtyme]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 ♡

Dad!Simon will never leave my mind, I fear 😔

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Simon comes home to the most importent people in his world, the suns of his universe.

word count: 2.2k

note: Just Simon being the best dad and loving his family so, so, so much. Mom!reader. No use of y/n.

As he reaches the front door of your shared home, Simon feels the weight of the day bearing down on him. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, and he pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath to shake off the fatigue that clings to him like a thick fog. 

Simon, pushes open the door and steps into the warm, familiar space, his work boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He calls out to announce his arrival as he toes off his boots, first your name, and then your daughter’s, even though she is still way too young to respond to it, but he doesn’t get a response. He first checks the living room and then the kitchen, but the house is quiet, the usual sounds of giggles and playful shrieks absent. A hint of worry pools in his stomach, which he knows is ridiculous, but he of all people should be allowed to be overprotective. 

He walks back out in the hallway, feeling a sense of relief as he hears a muffled giggle from upstairs. The sound washes over him like a balm, and he can’t help but smile, knowing that whatever mischief is brewing, it’s likely harmless. He heads up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps resonates softly beneath his feet. 

As he pads down the hallway, the familiar sound of giggles floats from the nursery, and the melody of laughter pulls him closer. His heart swells with affection for the little life you’ve created together—a tiny whirlwind of joy who is now at the centre of his world. He pauses outside the door, where light filters in, softening everything it touches.

Peering through the half-open door, Simon catches sight of you sitting on the floor surrounded by soft toys. Your little baby girl, who lies on her padded play mat in front of you, has her eyes fixed on her mother, her eyes wide sparkling with wonder. The sunlight dances across her tiny features, highlighting the delicate curve of her chubby cheeks and the soft wisps of baby hair that frame her face.

His heart swells with a feeling so profound that it almost takes his breath away, a deep-rooted sense of responsibility to protect this happiness and nurture the sparkle in her eyes. Simon knows just how easily the world can dull that shine, and he is determined to shield her from it, just as you have always shielded him whenever his mind goes to darker places. 

Simon is sure that she is going to grow up to become your little mini me. She is already looking so much like you. Her smile, the colour of her hair, even her laugh, it all reminds him of you in every possible way. 

Simon is never going to forget the first time he heard her laugh—it was like music to his ears, a sweet, innocent sound that filled the room with warmth and joy. He can still recall the way her giggles floated through the air as you played with her, your gentle voice coaxing bubbles of laughter from her tiny body. 

Each time she smiles, it’s as if the sun breaks through the clouds, illuminating not only her face but the entire room, just like the way you illuminate his life. She really looks more and more like you everyday. But she has his eyes. The same shape and shade of brown. His mother’s eyes. Sometimes it is as looking into a mirror, his own eyes reflected back at him on her little precious face. 

He remembers the look on your face when you first noticed it. Your eyes were shining with happy tears, and your face was glowing like a little sun as you looked at your daughter and then up at him, exclaiming, “She has your eyes, Si,” like it was the most beautiful revelation in the world.

As Simon leans against the doorframe, he feels a rush of warmth spread through him, filling him with a mix of pride and gratitude. This is his family, the life you have built together, laughter and love echoing from every wall of your home. He takes a moment to commit the scene to memory—the way you are playfully tickling your daughter, you both lost in your own world of giggles and coos, the shared glances that speak volumes of understanding and love. 

The little girl lets out a happy shriek as she reaches out, grasping at a plush giraffe, you’re holding up in front of her, slightly shaking to make her laugh even more, her tiny fingers curling around its fabric as if it holds the secrets of the universe. He can’t help but smile softly to himself, imagining the way the world must seem to her—so big and full of wonder, yet safe and warm in the presence of her mother.

She lets out another string of laughter, her delighted squeals echoing through the room and wrapping around Simon like a warm hug. It’s a sound that feels almost ethereal, a reminder of the purest joys in life that exist in these fleeting moments. 

The little shriek your daughter let out ended in a distinct ‘mmmah’ sound. She is still so young that it most likely was nothing more than a coincidence, and Simon knows that you know that, but your face still light up with delight. “Oh, baby, are you trying to say mama?” 

The little girl just laughs in response, her innocent giggles filling the air as she clutches the toy giraffe tightly to her chest, her small body bouncing with unrestrained joy. Each squeal and laugh sends ripples of happiness through the room.

“Mmmm-a,” you coo, your voice melodic and encouraging. “Can you say that, sweet girl? Ma-ma.” 

Your voice, so nurturing and full of enthusiasm, reverberates in his heart, bringing forth a flood of emotion. It’s as if love itself is floating in the atmosphere around you. Your daughter doesn’t try to repeat the sound but you don’t seem to care, you just keep smiling and cooing down at your little bundle of joy. 

The laughter and warmth radiating from the room feels like a tangible thing, wrapping around him like a soft blanket. He wonders if you realise just how much you both illuminate the lives of those around you. There is something profoundly beautiful about the connection you share with your daughter—an effortless bond that seems to flow seamlessly between you, a dance of love that only the two of you could have choreographed together. Even though he could stay here and watch the two of you all day, utterly lost in your own little universe, a world woven from giggles, joy, and affection, the pull of his own role in that dynamic becomes too strong and he can’t hold himself back any longer.

Simon steps quietly into the room, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs, and you look up at him, eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrors the laughter echoing around them. 

“Si!” you exclaim, your voice a blend of surprise and delight as you redirect your attention toward him. The little girl, sensing her father’s presence, brightens even more, her face transforming into a beaming smile that could rival the sun. 

Simon steps over to the two of you, dropping to the floor beside you both, his left knee creaking a little in protest, but it doesn’t matter in the least. The soft sound of your laughter draws his attention back to you, your face radiant with joy. The baby’s eyes light up at the sight of him, and she reaches out, her small hands waving excitedly in his direction. For a heartbeat, the world falls away, and it’s just the three of you—anchored in this moment of pure love.

He watches you, how your eyes dance with delight as you pick up your daughter, and it strikes him anew just how lucky he is to have this—this life and this love.

“Look who’s here!” you exclaim, your voice wrapping around Simon like a tender embrace. The little girl’s gaze shifts from you to Simon, her bright eyes shining with recognition. She leans forward, dropping the plush giraffe to reach for him, her tiny hands outstretched as if she knows he holds the key to an infinite source of comfort and safety. 

“Hey there, little lady!” Simon beams, his heart swelling with love as you hand her over so he can take her in his arms. She giggles, a sound that fills the room with warmth as she nestles against his shoulder, her soft hair brushing against his cheek. The scent of baby soap and a hint of something uniquely her—pure and sweet—wraps around him, grounding him in this moment.

As he holds her close, he glances up at you, your face glowing with that unmistakable maternal warmth. You watch with adoration as father and daughter share this moment—a bond that seems both ancient and brand new. Your eyes meet with a knowing smile, an unspoken language shared between the two of you, one that speaks of dreams and shared hopes for your child.

“Did you two have fun while I was gone?” Simon asks, his voice light and playful.

“We did, but we missed dada, didn’t we princess?” you reply, your voice softening as you stroke the little girl’s head. 

“I missed you too,” Simon responds, the four words don’t feel quite sufficient to express the depth of his feelings, even after only a few hours away from the two of you feels like eternity sometimes. He has not been away for longer periods of time since your daughter was born, and the day he has to go on longer deployments again is a thought he tries to push to the back of his mind. Simon wants to savour this moment, the laughter, the joy, the warmth of family, before the inevitable separations that come with his work. 

He gently shifts his gaze back to his little girl, who coos softly in his arms, her tiny hands grasping at the collar of his hoodie as if trying to pull him even closer. The innocence in her eyes captivates him, a mirror reflecting the joy and hope he feels in this precious moment. As he bounces her gently, he can’t help but marvel at the sheer beauty of her being—a blend of both of you, encapsulated in this tiny, giggling bundle.

“Look at you, all smiles and sunshine,” he says, his voice filled with warmth, as he feels the weight of her trust in the way she snuggles against him. 

Her eyes widen at the sound of his voice, and she lets out another series of delighted shrieks that echo through the room, joyful and free. As he revels in her laughter, he feels the world outside fall away, replaced by this crystalline moment of connection—a fleeting piece of eternity. 

He adjusts his grip on her so that he only needs one arm to hold her and in a way that she is cradled more comfortably against his chest, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against her delicate skin. 

“Come here,” he urges, reaching out for you with his free arm, beckoning you to join in on this tender embrace. You scoot over to his side, and Simon wraps his arm around you, tugging you into his side as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

Your warmth against him reinforces the sense of belonging that fills the room. The three of you, intertwined in a cocoon of laughter and love, create an unbreakable bond that feels eternal. The little girl giggles again, a sound that reverberates through Simon’s heart, as he feels the gentle rhythm of your breaths mingling with hers.

Watching you both, he marvels at the way life has unfolded, how simple moments like this felt like something he would never get to experience. “You two are my everything,” he murmurs, his voice deep but soft, wrapping around the words like a protective embrace.

Your head lifts slightly, and you share a smile—the kind that speaks volumes, filled with understanding and shared aspirations. “And you are ours,” you reply, your voice echoing the sentiment with warmth and assurance. The honesty in your gaze meets his, reaffirming the commitment you both share to nurture this little one and build a loving home.

Simon’s heart swells at the sight of you, the way you effortlessly weave joy and comfort into your daughter’s life. He brushes his thumb across her forehead, marvelling at how perfect she is, how much she represents both of you. “I can’t believe she’s growing so fast,” he says, humour lacing his tone. “Feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home.”

You nod, your eyes misty with nostalgia as you watch your little girl.

He leans down slightly, giving your daughter a gentle kiss on the top of her head before kissing your forehead as well, letting his lips linger there for a moment, savouring the connection you all share. He holds the both of you a little closer. It’s a moment suspended in time where everything feels just right. The two of you are the most important people in his world, the sun of his universe, and in this instant, he knows that no matter what lies ahead, this love will always be his anchor.

Thank you for reading! ♡ if you enjoyed this then please consider reblogging

[bartyssimp-riley-16]

Y/n x task 141

Y/n: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.

Soap: ... Your what?

Y/n: My friends.

Gaz: Are they saying “friends”?

Soap: I think they're being sarcastic.

Ghost: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Y/n! All of your friends are in this room.

Y/n: I have other friends! Price asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks

[sweet-as-an-angel]

I just got this idea and I trust your writing the most, I was wondering if you could write ,unless you already wrote this, where the reader steals König or ghost masks or anyone else and their reaction (nsfw or sfw is fine), thank you have a great day :))

König & Ghost's Reaction to their S/O Stealing their Mask

Warnings: Implications of Smut, Dominant Ghost, Dominant König, Territorial Military Men <3, Minor Spoilers of Ghost's Past, Mention of a Size Kink, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except 'You.

König

Since he's absolutely massive, the ends of his sniper veil literally reach the bottom of your ribcage.

So when König sees you wear it for the first time, he's absolutely F L O O R E D

We don't call him Size Kink König for no reason.

Goes absolutely feral when he sees you draped in his veil.

Can barely keep his hands off you.

"Maus," he husks, fingers twitching as he reaches for you slowly, cautiously, offering you the chance to go with him willingly.

"You don't know what you're doing to me."

Even without the veil, his eyes are dark, a blackness settling over them that, somewhere in your mind, your intuition, has you seeing red.

Regardless of how innocent your intent when acquiring the mask, none of that matters now.

All that does is the growing bulge in König's pants, the shortness of his breath, and his shadow settling over you as he advances on your path.

"You'll be needing that mask more than I will after I'm done with you."

And when you dare to ask "Why ?" now entrapped – eclipsed – by his frame, he just smiles, thin and sharp. Cruel.

He takes you in his arms, pulling you to him, your face almost crushed into his chest.

He laughs. A low rumble – the promise of a natural disaster.

His nose is to yours covered by the veil, a condescending gesture of his prowess and your submission. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"Because everyone will get a free show to the fallout of an evening you’ve roped yourself into."

As if to prove his point, his hands are at your wrists before you even notice the pressure he's applying there, binding you, pulling you ever closer to him. And in that second, you know you're not leaving your little stunt – the night – unscathed.

Ghost

Hoo boy.

Okay, it's no secret to anyone who knows Ghost – really knows him – that he's suffered a lot of hardship throughout his life, hencewhy he is the way he is.

Which others may construe as cold, heartless – even soulless.

But that's only because Simon has lost so much.

So when he comes home to find you in one of his masks, smiling up at him (he can tell by the way your eyes crinkle), he's immediately whipped.

And I mean W H I P P E D.

To see the one person he can truly call his own wearing his gear is something he didn't know he needed until now.

Sure, he's seen you in his shirts, but this felt different. More intimate.

Your face was where his usually was, his spectral imprint practically morphed with the contours of your face.

Though it needn't be mentioned, he has a hard time... containing himself.

"Fuuuck me, Darlin'," he rasps, on you like a sickness as he sits on top of you, pinning you to the sofa by your waist.

"Y'look better in that than I do."

And you smile. Something intentional hidden within.

"Hmm... I doubt that." You can feel Simon's body heat rocketing beneath his clothes.

"You know I can't resist you when you wear it."

And that's all it takes to send him over the edge.

You hear his breath shake as he rolls into you ever so slightly, still restraining his whole weight to keep you intact. Something began to prod your abdomen.

"Oh, you're in for it now," he tells you. There is not a single hint of fallacy to his claim or his expression – one of barely stoic restraint.

"You won't be able to do much of anything by the time I'm through with you."

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[irishghosts]

simon having a blast when he introduces deaf!reader to the rest of 141 cos not only do they get on great with price & gaz, they cannot for the life of them read soap's lips bc of his accent and soap's pouting the whole time abt it

[i-am-just-a-slut-for-simon-riley]

Simon Riley Drabble 😭✨? Just some good old fashioned semi angst to fluff ✨

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! ──★

Simon Riley was an enigma—a ghost in every sense of the word. A man who existed in the spaces between shadows, carefully constructing an ironclad wall to keep the world out. His heart, locked in an icy prison, had long since forgotten the warmth of kindness, the softness of light.

And then there was you.

You, with your relentless optimism and that dazzling, sunlit smile. You, with your unshaken "Yes! Can do!" attitude that defied the weight of the world. Where Simon was steel and silence, you were warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the battlefield that had shaped him.

And in his merciless world of black and white, you were all the colour he knew he didn’t deserve.

He knew from the moment he met you—knew it in the marrow of his bones, in the far and few places untouched by war and death—that you were different. Special. A flicker of something he hadn’t dared to believe in for a long time.

Then came a mission. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the regular routine of spinning up , being stranded in a dry deserted terrain in the middle of god know’s where, putting down targets. Just a very simple mission.

Expect it wasn’t.

Four months. Eight days. Three hours. That was how long he'd been gone. And when he finally returned, it was in body alone. His mind, his soul—whatever was left of them—remained trapped in the places he'd been, lost in the echoes of gunfire and the scent of blood.

Simon was no stranger to this feeling, this quiet unraveling. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, thick and suffocating. The violence, the screams, the viscous crimson-stained dirt—it all bled together after a while, until nothing felt real anymore.

That was the job. To sever himself from humanity so others didn’t have to. To fight in the dark so others could thrive in the light. And Simon had done it dutifully, without hesitation, without question.

But then there was you.

And suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he could keep paying the price.

One moment, you were at the door, bright-eyed and eager, your heart swelling with relief at the sight of him. He was home. Finally.

The next, you were caught in a storm you hadn’t seen coming—spiraling headfirst into an argument that ignited too fast, burned too hot. Words, sharp as knives, were hurled like weapons, slicing through the fragile space between you. Your first real fight, raw and unrelenting, laid bare in all its blazing, destructive glory.

Simon never raised his voice. He never had to.

The frost in his tone was enough. Each word, clipped and cold, carried the weight of a blade pressed against your skin, cutting deep, deeper than any shout ever could. It was the quiet, the carefully controlled edge of his words, that shattered something inside you. Because silence could wound just as deeply as rage. And no one wielded it as lethally as Simon did.

And then came the final nail in the coffin.

Months of absence had already carved deep fissures into the fragile foundation between you. Months without the solace of your touch, without the warmth of your body to sink into when the weight of the world became too much. Without your gentle hands coaxing him out of the frozen terror that gripped him in the middle of day. Without your voice—soft, steady, unwavering—pulling him back from the abyss of his nightmares.

It all came to a head in that moment, every unspoken thought, every doubt, every buried fear boiling over into one undeniable, blasphemous conclusion:

You deserved better.

Better than the ruin of a man who had forgotten how to be anything but a soldier. Better than the never ending bitterness and the drawn out silences, the bloodstains he could no longer wash away and the scent of death that clung to him like a second skin. Better than someone who knew how to fight ugly wars but not how to hold on to something as delicate as love.

And so, like the fool he was, he convinced himself that the kindest thing he could do was let you go.

"Just fuckin’ admit it!" he snarled, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of something far more dangerous than anger. "Just say you don’t want me! You know it’s true. Go on, then—walk out. You know you want to."

Caramel eyes, once rich with warmth, were nothing but black voids now—hollow, empty, a storm raging behind them. His body was wound tight, muscles coiled like a cornered animal, bracing for the inevitable blow.

So, of course, you walked.

Not because you wanted to, but because for the first time, he was daring you to. Because he had handed you the knife and all but begged you to use it.

And you did.

No screaming, no pleading—just the quiet sound of your footsteps as you stepped past the threshold, out into the cold. You had always held his heart in the palm of your hand, but that night, you let it slip through your fingers, let it fall and shatter at his feet like fragile glass.

He was a bloody wreck when you left.

Heart torn to ribbons, mind spiraling into the darkest parts of the hellscape that he often hid away in, reaching for the only solace he knew—the bottom of a whiskey bottle and the black ocean that had always welcomed him with open arms, pulling him down deeper.

Not even an hour later, you came back.

Struttin’ your ass through the door like you owned the place. Like you owned him. Like he hadn’t just tried to push you away, like he hadn’t torn himself open and laid his ugly, broken pieces at your feet. There was fire in your eyes, defiance in every step, and something else—something that made his breath catch in his throat.

It was only when you stopped in front of him, tilting your chin up in that way that made his chest tighten, that he saw it.

Ink. Fresh. Etched permanently into the flawless skin of your wrist.

His enlistment number.

Subtle. Clever. Just how he liked it.

The room spun. His pulse pounded. He could only stare, unable to comprehend the weight of what you’d done. Of what you were giving him.

You had branded yourself in his name. Not because he asked, not because he demanded it—but because you chose to. Despite his flaws, despite the wreckage of his past, despite all the reasons he thought you shouldn’t.

It was the most beautiful thing Simon had ever seen. The most beautiful thing he had ever been given.

"You absolute fucking idiot," you huffed, voice thick with something raw, something he couldn’t name. "You think you get to decide what I deserve? As if you have any right to tell me that?"

He opened his mouth—to argue, to deflect, to do what he always did—but you didn’t give him the chance.

"Since you love taking orders like a good little soldier—" you cooed, saccharine sweet, teasing.

Simon bristled, growling low in his throat, but any protest died the second you climbed into his lap, your body draping over his like he was your throne, your rightful seat. Your hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp angles of his jaw, grounding him, claiming him.

His world narrowed to just you.

"How about," you murmured, voice softer now, more certain, "you follow mine for once?"

His gaze flickered down—to the ink, still red and raw, permanent and his.

"Step up. Do your part." Your fingers ghosted over his lips, tracing, memorizing. "Be a good boyfriend and never—never—try to tell me I deserve better again."

Simon swallowed hard, every ounce of fight bleeding out of him, replaced by something else. Something deeper.

"Because if I ever did," you whispered, "it’d be from you. Only from you."

And just like that, Simon Riley—a hardened soldier, a cold blooded killer, a ghost haunting the earth, a broken fragment of a man—surrendered.

From that moment on, all he’s ever done is try.

Try to be the man worthy of the ink carved into your skin—the mark that tethered you to him, that branded you as his. Try to be something more than just a broken soldier with too much blood on his hands and not enough softness left in his soul.

Try to be worthy of being called yours.

.✦ ──────── .✦

Okay so … I do not know what I am doing.. this is like my second time posting here and I decided to do a (✨not so✨) tiny drabble in between because uni is killing me and I don’t have the time to do more than this (Procrastination and writers’ block goes brrrr -✨💅🏻) … but Yehh- please go easy on me chat ✨🥹

[snburntandsad]

He has no idea how beautiful he is.

Inspired by this post:

Check them out!!

CWs: low self esteem (simon), harsh description of himself (simon), gn!reader, implied ptsd, reader is sweet and patient af

He doesn’t understand.

He just doesn’t understand. Simon Riley. Born broken and he knows it. His crooked nose that never healed properly, puffy scars new enough that they still made you frown every time you saw them. His hands were starting to become shaky from arthritis and years of tissue damage. Hooded and droopy eyes that lacked the levity that he loved in yours. He had seen to many things to ever dream about smiling like you do. Its fine though, he knows hes the definition of unattractive.

Then why, for fucks sake do you light up every time he pulls off his mask, revealing his broken and rotting features. Always dirty no matter how much he cleans them, there will always be blood on his face that he cant see. Why do you cup his cheeks, stiff with scars, and kiss each one like that will fix the damage. It wont. He knows it wont. You know it wont. But you do anyway and he lets you.

You don’t understand how he could hate how he looks. His features were strong and jagged, but so fragile when you looked closely. You’d tried to tell him that his scars were beautiful, and that he was the definition of perfection. But he would always chuckle and say he was broken and damaged, that you didn’t have to lie and he knew how he looked. But you weren’t lying. After all, the light in your eyes that he adored, only sparkled so bright because of him.