#simon ghost x gn!reader

[mockerycrow]

Hiya!!! I'm the anon who asked about fics with biting Ghost!! I didn't get the notification that you answered my ask so I'll be asking like this, and to answer the question: sub!Ghost heehee 😋

NEED IT (Sub!Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost pic here

summary; ghost has been too wound up recently and you’re tired of it.

a/n; tbhh i’m not too satisfied with this :( wish i wrote it better!!!!

[WARNINGS; Sub!Ghost, pet names, dirty talk, biting + hickeys, brat taming elements, implied discovery of pain kink. Simon doesn’t talk much :(]

THERE WAS AN itch underneath the surface of Simon’s skin and he couldn't figure out what it was for the life of him. He spent the entire day all wound up and unusually short with everyone. It’s true, he isn’t the nicest person to begin with, but he sure as hell isn’t too unnecessarily rude. Simon is usually more laid back than how he was behaving; he’s usually making puns and jokes, sometimes at other people's expense, but nothing too serious. 

It’s like he was stuck lecturing recruits with how tense his shoulders are, the way there’s way too much venom in his tone. Even when you bothered him about his sudden change in attitude, Simon didn’t have an answer for you. You could tell even he himself didn’t know. Simon felt like there was an uncomfortable energy running through his veins, stabbing his muscles and the nape of his neck. Every few hours for him, Simon felt like it was intensifying—so his reactions got worse.

You were very fed up with him by the end of the day; if something was pissing him off, he had the complete authority to do something about it. 

And so do you.

Simon groans as your hand pushes on his bare chest to keep him down on the bed, pushing him into the sheets. You’re straddling his hips, his jacket and shirt tossed somewhere, leaving him in his camo pants and with his balaclava on, but it’s bunched up at the bridge of his nose, exposing his neck and his jaw. His lips are parted as he looks up with you with a slight scrunch in his eyebrows, a need in his dark eyes that you can’t quite place, his pupils blown out. His hands rest on your outer thighs.

You lean down and you press your lips to his jaw and trail down, ripping a rumbling noise from his chest which develops into a shocked gasp when you sink your teeth into the area where his shoulder meets his neck. “Fuck—“ Simon hisses, one of his hands grabbing at the back of your shirt near the base of your spine. Pain sinks deep into his muscle and shocks his system for a moment, which quickly develops into a hot sensation as you turn from biting to sucking. “Haah—what—“ Simon manages to push out, his legs twitching underneath you. 

You don’t usually bite him; maybe a hickey or two, some licking but you’ve never bit him like this. You press your hips down onto his, drawing a choked noise out of his throat as you trail up to his throat and you suck a harsh hickey into his skin, your teeth nicking him. Simon’s tongue comes out to lick his lips, instinctually tipping his chin upwards to allow you complete access to his neck. Hot arousal pool in his stomach, spreading like runny honey through his hips and down his legs. Your hand grabs his jaw and moves his head the way you want, and he lets you.

Simon’s eyes flutter closed as you press harsh kisses and nips to his skin, ripping out a few loudish noises from his throat as you take your time, enjoying the way he’s twitching underneath you. You suck a harsh hickey to Simon’s collarbone. He inhales sharply; he’s never felt this sensitive to this kind of stuff before, but something about the way you’re leaving your mark on his skin is making his face flush hot. His hands trail under your shirt to grab at your waist, craving that skin to skin contact. You tsk, snapping Simon back to reality, his eyes opening. “Greedy,” You chide as you sit up.

Simon’s eyes lock with yours as your hands play with his belt for a moment, which sucks all of the air out of his lungs. You grin at his reactions; there’s something different about the both of you right now, and Simon shivers at the way your eyes flicker to his chest. Simon calls your name under his breath but before he can question what you want, you lean down and you press your tongue against one of his nipples and you drag, ripping a groan out of him before you begin to suck a hickey right next to his nipple. You feel Simon’s hips jump from the sensation, his hands twitching—trying to be good for you, trying to stay still. Simon wants to be good but fuck, the itch under his skin is ramping him up again.

He gasps when you sink your teeth into the meat of his pec and—the itch subsides for a second, the pain of your teeth shooting up his spine in the best way possible. Simon’s hands shift down to your hips and he squeezes, his breath hitching once you pull away from his pec. Your eyes roam his chest and Simon damn near wants to cover up from how hungry you look, Jesus Christ—

“All compliant now, aren’t you?” You coo, looking down at him. Simon’s eyebrow twitches in confusion and he goes to open his mouth to reply, but a “haah” leaves his lips when your hand wraps around the column of his throat. He melts into the mattress when your fingers press into the sensitive marks you’ve left against the sides of his throat, a full body shiver leaving him. “So sensitive, too..” You comment, watching the way his body just completely relaxes under your touch. 

Simon turns his head away with a breath, feeling the embarrassed heat creep up his neck to his face. “Fuck off.” He hisses, his throat vibrating under your hand and his Adam’s apple bobbing for a moment. You laugh in return and you squeeze the sides of his throat, causing Simon to close his eyes for a moment and it draws out a strained gasp from him. “You need a fuckin’ attitude adjustment. You’ve needed one all day, huh?” You sneer, using your grip on his throat to turn his head back towards facing you. “Look at me.”

Simon’s eyelids flutter open, his eyes staring back at yours. Your gaze is so invasive, searching for any sign of disobedience. “Maybe you need a reminder of where you belong, Simon.” His lips part to ask you what you mean—like he always does, he already knows he belongs under you—but you get to him first. You press a harsh kiss against his lips, biting at his lower lip until it’s swollen and you only pull away when his lips are slick with saliva. Your hand moves from his throat to his chest like before, allowing you to trail hot, wet kisses down his neck, over his collarbone, and to his chest. “Shit—“ Simon grunts as you sink your teeth into his other pec, sucking a dark hickey into the skin, causing a hot wave to flash over him.

Simon’s sure his skin is covered in your mark now—it’s only been a few minutes and he can already feel a delicious ache settling—and he doesn’t expect you to scoot back on his thighs and to undo his belt to his camo pants. His heart stutters in his chest right before you unbutton and unzip his pants. You swing yourself off of Simon’s thighs for a moment, tapping his leg. He’s already doing it as you murmur, “Hips up, sweetheart.” You tug his pants and underwear down, his cock twitching against his stomach; hard and aching, the tip leaking ever so slightly. Simon’s trying so hard to keep his eyes on you, he knows that is what you want—but it’s so hard when you look at him like he’s something you want to consume whole.

“Stop.” He whispers, catching your attention immediately. Simon’s looking away and his hands are grabbing at the sheets nervously. Big ol’ Ghost, cocky Lieutenant Simon Ghost Riley is nervous. “What was that, baby?” You ask, pausing. You could’ve sworn he said stop—it isn’t your safeword, but the way he said it concerns you—and you don’t want to push if that’s the case, if he truly wants to stop. Simon clears his throat and it’s clear he’s struggling, so you give him a moment. “You keep looking at me like you wanna eat me.” Simon says with a breathy laugh, managing to make eye contact with you. Your shoulders relax at the realization that he doesn’t want to stop, that you haven’t pushed his boundaries. You chuckle and you move between his legs, placing your hands on his knees and you slowly move them up his bare thighs, causing him to shiver. “Oh, you have no idea.”

You bend over and you press kisses against his stomach, causing the muscle underneath to flex and tense. You get to his thighs, your hand wrapping around his cock. “I’m gonna make sure you think and feel me every step you take, darling. Gonna make you sore and think of me for days.” Simon goes to respond but like the many times before, you interrupt him by sinking your teeth into the meat of his thigh, causing him to gasp. Simon knows you aren’t going to stop until his hips and thighs are aching with hickeys and bite marks—your hickeys and bite marks. Simon doesn’t complain when you suck dark and harsh hickeys into his v-line, nor when you scratch angry red lines into his skin to get him to shut up.

[obsolescent]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJppxfo3/

For some reason I would like to imagine ghost doing this 😭 could you please write about it?? Love you take care :)

House Built Upon Sand

Author's Note: Oh I love this so much. If you have any more TikToks you want to send me, please do. I love these little requests so much!

Content Warnings: None, once again Simon being confused by southern slang hehe, reader is wearing shoes with some sort of heel on them but I left it ambiguous! Love you and I hope you enjoy!!

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader

The crisp air from autumn sweeps through the park, the sky finally clearing after the days of rain that seemed like it would never end.

You’re walking alongside Simon down the winding pavement, hand in hand. It had been date night for you two, a movie screening and then a wonderful dinner. Wanting the night to last a little longer, the pair of you opted to take the long way home through the park.

Though…You could’ve chosen better footwear. You usually kept your feet on the ground, but this time opted for a pair of shoes with some height in the heels. Looking at the puddles on the ground and the wet earth, you regret your shoes even more.

You’re alright at walking in heels, to say the least. It’s not like you can’t keep upright, just a tad bit unsteady, though with the rains that came in you’re more on edge about taking a plunder.

You’re walking toward a rather large puddle when you hesitate, and Simon notices. He glances down at you, “You alright, love?” He asks, voice laced with concern. 

“I’ll be alright, just feeling like the foolish man who built his house upon the sand.” He narrows his eyes at you, eyebrows scrunched. You snort, “Ain’t the most steady in these shoes, afraid I’ll slip.” His face lights up in recognition, putting everything together. 

“Can’t have that, now can we?” He says, putting an arm around you. You look up at him with a raised brow, wondering what he’s up to. Then, with one arm, lifts you into the air.

“Woah!” You exclaim, grabbing onto his shoulders as he steps through the water. He laughs, “Weren’t expecting that, love?” “Absolutely not, but I’m not complaining,” You giggle, now level with his head which you give a kiss to. 

Once safely over the water, he sets you down gently, leaving a kiss on top of your head. “My hero!” You say, grinning up at him. 

“Of course, darling.” He says, pulling you into an embrace. “Need any more saving from puddles, just say the word, yeah?” “You’ll be the first to know,” You chuckle, continuing on your walk through the moonlight park.

[lxvvie]

Simon who married your family when he married you.

He wasn't used to it, the open affection your relatives showered him with. He would die before he admitted it, but he was nervous as shit when he first met them. First impressions sometimes created lasting impressions and he didn't want you to feel torn if shit went left.

And then he met them and "Welcome to the family!" That's the first thing that your mother said when meeting him. Okay.

"Well sit down, baby. We don't bite none," is what your grandmother greeted him with. Sure, why not.

And then it snowballed from there.

He'd never been one for pet names. Didn't really care for 'em until you came along, but every time your grandmother calls him Baby he melts. He bloody fuckin' melts. A huge puddle of goo. Simon realizes why you're so protective of her and he becomes the same way, too. He's her Baby and she's his Girl. He doesn't make the rules, he only enforces them. You can only roll your eyes and shake your head as your grandmother gleefully continues to indulge his sweet tooth.

Your parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings weren't any better, calling him Son, Brother, Nephew, Cousin and similar, clapping his back, including him in things, inquiring about his wellbeing, and bloody fuckin' hell Simon realizes he actually has a family now whether he likes it or not.

It didn't truly hit him until you two wed and your parents, your mom with tears in her eyes and your father beaming with pride, declared that they had a new son to love.

A new son. A new brother. A new nephew. A new cousin. A new baby.

A new family all his own.

And fuck if Simon didn't feel the lump forming in his throat.

[alexthetrashyracoon]

“You look like my boyfriend.”

Simon raises a brow at that statement and sits down in the nearby chair. His eyes on you. “Is that so, lovely?”

“Mhm,” you agree with a confident nod and loopy. “No. My boyfriend is prettier than you.”

He isn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or as an insult, for now Simon decides to not comment on it. “You must be lucky to have such a pretty boyfriend then.” He grins and sips his cheap hospital coffee.

“Oh, I am! He’s pretty and cool and strong. And you should be careful because he’ll be here soon!” You pout, shoving your lower lip forward.

Cute. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before he shows up.” Simon reassures you and pats your thigh.

You don’t reply, the remaining anesthesia must still be running its course through your body after the surgery in which the doctor took out your inflamed appendix, snoring softly in the otherwise quiet room. “Good thing your boyfriend is already here, lovely.” Simon chuckles before tugging the thin hospital blanket higher over your chest and keeping watch as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “And he will be here when you wake up again. He will always be there, my lovely.”

[ghouljams]

Sleeping with Ghost means a lot of octopus cuddling. He lays on his back, sleeping like the dead if he gets and sleep at all, and you curl against his side to cuddle. Your arm slung over his chest and your leg thrown over his thick thigh, trying to find a spot for your other arm and ending up with it wrapped around Ghost's bicep. It doesn't feel very romantic, pretty one sided actually, except for the big warm hand that holds onto your thigh and squeezes the soft skin appreciatively, holding on like a lifeline through every nightmare. You always end up sharing his pillow despite having you own, letting him feel your breath against his neck, an assurance every time he wakes up that you will too.

You've never even thought about getting a bigger bed before but then Ghost starts complaining about back pain and cricks in his neck, and you figure its from your clinging. Except when you finally get the new mattress through the front door the look Ghost gives you is one of utter betrayal. You guess that means you're not the only clingy one.

[the-palelady]

imagine simon who’s roommate has some SERIOUSSSS road rage (same). especially as someone who’s usually quiet it shocks the shit out of people to drive with me.

you don’t normally drive, but simon’s tired. he just got home from a long mission. however, the man’s gotta eat so you decide to take him out to grab a bite that way neither of you will have to lift a finger.

as always, it’s quiet. between the two of you not much is said, but it’s a comfortable silence.

until you get to a light that’s green, and has been for more than six seconds. that’s all it takes to flip your switch.

“go!!! it’s green for fucks sakes!!!!”

your strength mirrors that of superman with the way your palm slams against the horn.

and simon is lost for fucking words. his eyes snap over to you and he watches the crease in your brows, and the way your face scrunches into a scowl.

it doesn’t stop there though as they finally take off, albeit slowly. which simon notices only pisses you off more.

your fingers are drumming against the steering wheel, foot tapping the gas, and you’re literally riding the ass of the poor bastard in front of you.

“i will take both of us out if you don’t hurry it the fuck up.”

you’re punctuating your words with more taps on the gas. you aren’t screaming like before but your voice is borderline demonic.

finally they make a turn. you all but obliterate the gas pedal as you take off, and let out the breath you had been holding this entire time.

when you turn to peek over at simon, his eyes are glued to you, practically bulging out of his head.

and he has no idea whether he should be scared or horny.

[rejectedbytheempty]

actually, ykw? imagine if simon had a civilian s/o and bc he’s constantly away and the partner is there most of the time anyways, he lets them decorate the place.

they make it so cozy with a million lamps with stained glass lampshades and tapestries on the walls and an unexpected number of stuffed animals on the bed.

one time, simon invites tf 141 to his flat and their jaws dropped, bc ofc simon didn’t warn them about the absolute pinterest board that his place was.

in fact, he hadn’t mentioned a partner at all, or to you that his team would be coming over so you’re still in one of simon’s raggedy old t-shirts with a handful of dry cereal halfway to your mouth.

it’s generally a shock for both parties, simon excluded, who seems to settle himself right in, kissing the top of your head, eyes crinkling slightly as he grins, looking rather like a cat showing off the bird he dragged in.

you had some choice words for him later, but for now, you brushed the crumbs off your face and wiped your hands off on your shirt before sticking your hand out to the team to introduce yourself.

surprisingly, it goes rather well. all things considered. the team is charmed by you and your ability to make ghost blush and smile endlessly. and you’re absolutely enamored with the fact that they keep complimenting your decor.

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[youronlydarlin]

Just Loser! Simon who's unknowingly a sex god

He says shit like "Did that feel good..?" everytime you two fuck. As if he didn't just give you the most back arching, toe curling, brain numbing orgasm of your life.

You'd be panting like a dog beneath him, eyes rolled to the back of your skull and still he'd be asking "How's that feel..?" Like sir. This isn't UberEATS, why do you keep asking that? Do you want five stars??

[puff0o0]

I can't stop thinking about Self Aware! Simon who will drop very subtle hints that he's aware of everything you're saying to him

You were playing a game of cod and were talking about your job, only to receive a comment about his work, almost as if this silly character on your screen was trying to make conversation with you

You left a very disappointed simon when you stayed silent the rest of the game

He loved your voice, he wanted to hear more. Why would you stop talking?

He kept talking or saying voicelines the rest of the game, even glitching the game to make you laugh. He was desperate to keep you talking. You were the only thing he looked forward to. You were real, you were beautiful, and you were his, even if you didn't know it yet

Another time he had accidentally said your name in one of his "new" voicelines that came with the "update", which was mainly just him saying 'good job, luv" and you assumed it was just fan service

That was until he said your name instead of luv

He thought he was going to be caught for sure. What kind of excuse could you come up with that would deny he was aware that he was in a game and could see your every move, even now while you're reading this on tumblr?

But maybe you were just hearing things? No one else is having this problem from what you've seen, so why would you?

That was until you came home after a long day, only to see the Simon Ghost Riley in front of you and a broken TV that most likely had fallen from him trying to get out of the screen and into your reality

What excuse would you come up with now?

[gofishygo]

ok guys but hear me out..,

back before simon was drafted and he was still working in some butcher around the outskirts of manchester, he remembers a little bakery a few blocks down from his shop. although never particularly crowded, he's noticed the older locals go by in the mornings for coffee, kids guided in by their parents after schools to get a snack. but he doesn't seem to lounge in the corner of that cafe for either of those reasons- instead, he finds himself fawning over the pretty baker.

and you're nice to him, too- always smiling when you see him around, voice so sweet when you're at the butchers to buy some meat for the pies, sneakily trying to slip him a discount whenever he goes to buy a sandwich- 'hospitality workers gotta stick together, right?' it's no wonder that he finds himself falling for you, a stupid puppy crush that he tries, and occasionally fails, to suppress. and sometimes, simon lets himself believe you like him too, with the way the blood rushes to your cheeks when you spot him across the shelves, with he notes how you nearly fumble a frothing pot of milk when caught staring at him. it's a little attempt of young love that he thinks will be smothered out as he gets older.

but now it is twenty years later, he is working with the sas, and he is meant to be dead. but simon finds himself strolling his hometown, genuinely surprised that he sees the cafe still up, that he sees you, still working behind the display cabinets. you're older now, more mature, but your smile is just as pretty as it was those years ago. and he sees that glimmer of recognition in your eyes, how your head perks up at the sight of his figure outside of the window.

ghost smothers his cigarette and bins it before walking through the doors. may as well pay the bird a visit.

[sigh-tofm]

if you wear glasses …

… price

- makes sure you always feel beautiful, especially if you’re just starting out or feel insecure with them on. kisses the bridge of your nose and your forehead. wears his own reading glasses when he’s working on reports or just puttering around the house. sits with you on the veranda, hand in hand, reading quietly while the sun sets. both of you wearing your glasses.

… kyle

- forgets you wear them and sometimes kisses you so fervently that your combined breath fog them up. you giggle as he picks them off your nose and neatly deposits them on a free surface. you continue kissing him and to make it fair, kyle turns off the lights so he too needs to rely mostly on touch the rest of the evening. turns out touch is all either of you need.

… johnny

- has broken them on more than one occasion. he’s cracked the glass and bent the frame, and it has happened both during playful wrestling matches and, uh, intimate wrestling matches. visiting the optician to pick out a new pair becomes a bi-annual afternoon date for you two. johnny always pays and isn’t even ashamed to admit out loud what he’s done while your cheeks heat and you look anywhere but at the optician.

… ghost

- always makes sure they’re clean. once you take them off to sleep, shower or just rub your eyes, he steals them away (sometimes right from your fingers or even nose if you’ve managed to get something on the glass while cooking). first uses an alcohol wipe and then dries them off with a soft linen cloth bought especially for that purpose. does not let you clean them yourself. likes to make your life easier when he can.

[obsolescent]

Hey!! Next one week I’m getting braces and as someone who has very strong anxiety this has been getting me so much stress and making me feel like complete crap. Could you please write a ghost x reader (gn since I’ve read that’s what you use:) ) trying to help reader just relax or feel better. Something like that would be nice. Love you work, you are amazing take care 🩷

Don't you Fret

Author’s Note: Hi! This is so sweet. This will make my first Ghost x reader piece! I hope you enjoy it and I hope it’s what you were looking for! Also I left this ambiguous on what the procedure is, so if any of you are worried about any kind of upcoming procedure I hope this eases your worries some ♡ Good luck by the way!! You’ll do great :)

Content Warnings: Gender neutral language used, fluff, Simon trying to understand southern slang lol

You stare down at the paperwork in front of you. The contract, consent forms, guidelines, and instructions on what to do in preparation for your procedure next week lay scattered across the coffee table. Your leg is bouncing a mile a minute while you chew on your nail, the reality of it starting to set in. 

To say that you’re an anxious person…Well yeah, you are. It’s even worse when it comes to medical procedures. This ain’t even that extensive of one, but reading the step-by-step process of what will happen, how long it’ll take, and the aftercare is making you pretty antsy. “Ugh,” you groaned, putting your face into your hands.

“You alright, love?” You jumped, twisting around to find Simon standing behind you. “Good lord, felt like my soul left my body,” You gasped out. He snickered, walking around the front of the couch to sit beside you.

He grabs your hand and begins stroking it, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin, helping to ease some of your nerves. He glances at the papers laying across the surface in front of you two and asks, “This what’s gotten you on edge?” “An understatement,” You grumbled, “More nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

He stared at you for a moment, face blank, before those blond brows of his started to furrow, brown eyes narrowing. You can almost see the equations floating around his head as he tries to decipher the phrase. “Fucking hell. English, please. Or at least slow down, can’t understand with you talking so fast.” 

“I’m very fucking nervous, alright?” You mock back, a poor attempt at an English accent. He huffs at that, before pulling you into an embrace. “Cheeky,” He muttered into your hair, giving a kiss to your head. You sighed, sinking into his warmth.

You’re so glad to have him home with you at this moment. The two of you always appreciate your time together, but you more so now than usual, with how worried you’ve been.

“Anythin’ I can do to help ease your mind?” He asks, rubbing soothing patterns into your back. You hum, nuzzling your face into his neck, before saying, “Not sure. I feel like crap right now, upset with myself for being so upset. It’s annoying! I wish things like this didn’t bother me, that I could be more like you. It seems like nothing phases you, you’re always so cool and collected.” You sighed, fiddling with the hem on his sweatshirt’s sleeve.

“It’s not like I’m having extensive surgery that’ll have me under for hours!" You exclaimed, making exaggerated hand gestures while speaking. Simon grunts in agreement, “Can’t help what your brain is in shambles over, love.” You sighed again, pulling away to look up at him. 

“Darling,” He said, voice gravelly. He cups your face in both hands. You look into his eyes, finding adoration and warmth. You feel a tingle in your nose, a sign you’re about to start crying. Scrunching your face up, you will the tears away, unsuccessfully. You start to sob, your hands coming up to cover your face. “None of that now,” He says, pulling your hands away, peppering kisses across your tear stained cheeks. 

“I-I’m sorry,” You choked out, “I feel pl-plumb stup–” Before you can finish your sentence, Simon is picking you up in his arms. You squealed, latching onto his shoulders as he made his way to your bedroom. He opens the door, walks toward the bed and drops you onto the mattress before plopping himself down beside you. He turns you towards him, bringing you into his warm embrace once again.

“Now then. We’ll stay here as long as we need, yeah? Just let it all out, alright?” He murmurs, running his fingers through your hair. You cling to him, feeling safe and secure in his grasp. Hiccuping, you replied, “Thank you, Simon. Love you.” Your words are muffled by his shirt. He chuckled, pulling back enough to bring you into a kiss. “Love you, too, pet,” He whispered after he pulled away. Under his breath, you hear him begin to hum.

You two stay interlocked, listening to his heartbeat and humming, it lulling you to sleep. His hand continued its ministrations on your scalp as he felt your breathing even out. He pulls far enough away to look at your face, relieved to see you so calm. He smiles to himself, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “My favourite,” He whispered, content with you relaxed in his arms. 

[lxvvie]

Simon doesn't think he's ever tasted something so good in his fuckin' life before.

He didn't know what he was in for this time when he got back from deployment, and nicotine and whiskey ain't got shit on this. Poor bastard can't remember the last time he had something so good invade his senses like this.

You said you had a treat for him, made him lay down, and promptly sat on his face, and Simon was fuckin' gone. Don't know what the fuck possessed him but he took one whiff and was instantly hooked.

Simon feasted on your cunt like a man starved. Tongue, lips, fingers, you name it. Anything to get his fix, anything to make you moan.

Anything to make you cum.

Didn't let up for shit, not even to breathe, and when you voiced your concern while whimpering and trembling, Simon didn't give a fuck and still continued to love on your pretty cunt because where the bloody fuck are you going?

Shut up. Shut the hell up and let him make you cum, sweetheart.

Actions have consequences. Shouldn't have made him feel so bloody good, shouldn't have poked at the beast, and he'd be damned if he didn't think this was the best post-deployment gift he's ever gotten. Better than the nicotine high or occasional pity wank.

Fuck, it's been so long and he's absolutely disgusting about it.

And Simon's aware of it all, the way his cock is so hard it's bloody painful and leaking in his pants, the way you're grinding on his face, smothering it and fucking his mouth (don't you dare stop, either), and how his everything is consumed by you. You coat his stubble, fill his nostrils up with your scent, his tastebuds are fired up—bloody hell, need he explain more?

Simon could die a happy man right now, and what would his gravestone say? Here Lies Simon Riley, Died Eating Cunt.

He'd chuckle if he wasn't too busy at the moment. Shit, he probably did if the way you're moaning is any indication. That felt good, didn't it, sweetheart?

It's your turn now to say his name like a prayer and believe in him just as he believes in you.

And it's the best fucking thing to ever bless his ears.

--

Turning Simon Out: Part I and Part II.

[oceantornadoo]

when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tried to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nodded stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slid into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

-

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.

[dmitriene]

simon riley comes to your room at base when everything feels too much, air in his chambers too suffocating, clogging in his lungs, the sheets seem to be scratching against his skin, making every inch of his body sting, the old scars scorching, palms rubbing at his eyes till the sparkling, flashing dots, the sound of crickets outside the window plugged by the buzz in his ears, annoying like a stuck fly.

he steps over himself as he leaves his chambers, throwing on a rumpled pajama shirt and pants that roll up slightly, exposing his ankles and almost to his knees, as his bare feet carry him away from the too dark, suffocating room to yours, wandering down the wide hallway and shuffling across the floor, before reaching the right door.

simon thinks you're deep asleep, you're limp, slowly breathing form curled beneath the blanket and pressed against the cold wall, he doesn't knows you're awake, keeping your eyes closed but you hear exactly how he closes the door of your room behind his back, stands glued to the spot with huffing, deep breaths, the feel of his gaze on you is withering, studying, before he moves towards the bed.

you stay still, hearing the way he traces your cotton sheets, squeezing them between his long fingers, before pressing a knee into the mattress, crawling carefully before settling himself down fully onto the bed, shuffling until his breath sweeps across your head and down to your face, bed dipping down, as his feet brushes against yours, without shying the contact, intentionally intertwining your legs together, scooping impossibly closer.

simon falls asleep like that, snuggled up to you as much as possible so as not to wake you up, sleep wraps around him quickly enough, lulling him with the settled silence and comfort of someone else's warmth next to his, and you open your eyes only when his body is completely limp beside you, sleepily examining his crooked nose, slightly pouting lips with a quiet snoring, and quivering, translucent pale eyelashes.

he doesn't feel when your arms wrap around him in a careful embrace, cradling the back of his head to your neck, letting his face nuzzle intuitively into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, melting against you in a serene slumber, and there's no buzzing sound, no itch at his body, just warmth, and you.

main masterlist. quidelines.