#simon riley x deaf!reader

[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

[eatingtheworldsoffanfiction]

YESSSSSS!!! I LOVE THIS IDEA!

(Also are we the same person????? Bc the one lil blurb I wrote about simon ended with me having a paragraph about how it might be bad/how I never write but i hope peeps like it. Lol)

I have been hardcore obsessed over Simon Riley X deaf!reader

Deaf!Reader somehow ends up as a drinking buddy to tf141. Though Reader isn't very clued in on what they do exactly, they appreciate the company. So, every month or so, they go out. Communication isn't easy, but Deaf!Reader lip reads and types their thoughts out. Deaf!Reader finds it hard to talk to Simon especially, not just because he's a man of few words but that goddamn mask. Simon is too stubborn to take that thing off and probably never will because of trust issues. When he, rearly wants to say something, he usually uses the notepad app on his phone.

Until one day, while everyone's trying to figure out a way home without driving, Simon catches the readers' attention and signs a basic sentence to the reader. This man is too stubborn to take off his mask, so he would rather just learn an entire ass language. The reader almost immediately breaks down crying. They're not used to being spoken to in their language. It's one of the few times someone has accomodated them.

I have never published a fanfic before let alone a oneshot, but this idea has been rotting in my brain for far too long. I'm considering turning this into a bigger better oneshot/series or whatever. This idea probably isnt original but if someone else has written it i haven't seen it

Wjwuauwhwjshns2jwjakqjwjdjwi2hwjwhdhe

[starsofang]

simon riley x deaf!reader

tw: none, literally just pure fluff

“It’s just one date. I promise.”

You didn’t know how your friend had convinced you to go on a blind double date in the first place. In fact, you weren’t even the first choice, but when your friend came by to ask you to fill in for another girl who had bailed out last minute, you pity-agreed to help her out.

You weren’t sure if you were making the right choice. Dating wasn’t your thing, and you avoided it like it was the scum of the earth. Not to say you had bad experiences, per se, but you also didn’t have the best choice of men. None of them understood your situation to its fullest, but that was okay! You didn’t need their validation, and you were perfectly content with the way things were.

There was no harm in going on a fun date and having a few drinks and good food, you thought. One night, and you’d never have to see your blind date again.

Besides, your friend seemed to really be into her date from the way she’d gush about him after they met online (not your favorite choice, but you’d support her anyway), and you didn’t want to ruin that for her.

That’s what led you to be here, shoulder to shoulder with your friend as she rambled on about how excited she was with speedy hand gestures, how grateful she was that you came, that she’ll make sure your dinner and drinks are paid for. You weren’t exactly sure where the two of you were going, but judging from what she forced you to wear, it had to be a bit fancy and lavish.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that was also not your favorite choice.

She guided you inside of the building, which was a preview of what was to come — high ceilings, ravishing decor, and low lighting that made everything much more romantic. You took in the fluorescent scenery as she spoke with the hostess. You didn’t know what they were saying, but as the waitress gestured with a hand for the two of you to follow, you assumed the two men were already there.

Your arm was looped loosely with your friend’s as the two of you walked after the hostess. When you approached a table, you took in the sight of one man that looked familiar — your friend’s date, a man with smooth, tanned skin and a smile that could cure sickness. The other man was new to you, and compared to your friend’s date — Kyle? — he was much more phlegmatic.

Kyle gave a polite nod towards you with a blinding smile, and you have one back, bowing your head in greeting. You sat next to your friend, watching as Kyle pulled out the chair for her, to which your date definitely didn’t do the same.

That was alright. You weren’t planning on making it past the first date anyway.

Your friend began to chatter with Kyle while you and your mystery date sat in silence. Your hands remained in your lap as your eyes scanned the menu that sat on the table.

Focused on appearing as busy as possible, you were unfortunately snapped out of it before it could last long when your friend nudged your shoulder with hers. When you looked up at her, she was smiling, and she lifted her hand to signal the man in front of you.

Blinking at him, you realized he was possibly trying to talk to you, and you shifted awkwardly. He probably thought you were rude.

“Sorry, Simon. I forgot to mention she’s deaf, so she didn’t know you were introducing yourself,” your friend apologized, and you watched as he stared at her before nodding in acknowledgment. “It won’t change anything, yeah?”

You sat in tense silence as you averted your eyes back to the menu. Your date had eyes that could pierce right through you if they wanted to, and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to be their next victim, date or not.

A phone screen was slid across the table from where you were studying the menu, and your eyes flickered to see a string of words typed out in the notes app.

“Sorry if that came off as rude. I’m Simon.”

Glancing up at him, you flashed him a smile that was relieved. He gave you an awkward one back, and you thought maybe he didn’t do it much.

You picked up his phone from where it sat in front of you and began typing out your response before slipping it back to him. You watched as he read it, a look of amusement in his eyes as he did so.

“Not rude at all. Sorry she didn’t tell you. You can back out if you’d like, I won’t take offense.”

Kyle and your friend were conversed in conversation with one another while Simon and you had your own back and forth.

“Why would I do that?” his next note read, and you tilted your head at him. He offered you a shrug, and your fingers tapped along his screen in return.

“Most men wouldn’t like being blindsided by not knowing their date is deaf.”

You saw his mouth part open when he read it, and you wondered if he was chuckling to himself. You wished you could hear it.

Was it deep? What if it was one of those contagious laughs that sounded like the literal gates of heaven opening up, and you wouldn’t ever have the chance of hearing it?

You didn’t have time to think about it when he placed the phone back in front of you, and when you glanced down, you couldn’t help but smile bashfully to yourself.

“A pretty girl’s a pretty girl. I’d be an idiot for backing out on the prettiest one I’ve had the gall to see over something like that.”

Fuck.

You weren’t supposed to like your date, much less so quickly. You only came for the food and for the sake of your friend’s happiness, but here you were, cheesing to yourself like a stupid teenager with a new crush.

But as the date continued, with the both of you eating alongside Kyle and your friend, shamelessly passing his phone back and forth and filling his notes app with evidence of your growing infatuation, you knew it wasn’t only for the food anymore.

He was sweet. Sure, it was all on paper (well, screen), and you told yourself to always be cautious with men.

But when he asked you out on a second date, then a third, you allowed your concrete walls to crumble.

And when he showed you the new signs he’d been working on so he could communicate with you on the fourth date, spelling out your name with cautious, slow fingers, eyes searching for your approval? You could’ve already married him then and there.

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

neighbor!reader x simon 'ghost' riley pt 5

masterlist

Ghost really wasn't sure how this happened.

One minute, he was taking off his boots, about to take off his mask for the day (after closing his blinds, of course), when all of a sudden he heard a knock on his door. A familiar knock.

And now, there he was. Sitting on his couch, you sitting on the opposite end, his neighbor, both with glasses of wine, wine that he had purchased you.

How the hell did this happen?

You were talking. You had been talking for a while, actually, and he was pretty sure you were going on and on about what you did for work now. He cared about what you were saying, he really did, but he just couldn't seem to focus on the words coming out of your mouth.

He lifted his balaclava a bit and raised the wine glass to his lips and took another sip of the red. He nodded as you continued on, something about clients at work.

Ghost wanted to care about what you did for work. But for some odd reason, while he did care about it, he knew it didn't matter. If he had his way, you wouldn't have to work, anyway. And then it wouldn't even matter.

"Hm?"

"I was saying thank you for the groceries," you said softly with a small chuckle. "And all the other stuff..."

Ghost waved his hand absently. "No need, love. It's the least I could do, considering you keep me just about fed nowadays."

Oh, and when you laughed... He wanted to listen to that melody forever.

“I know, Simon, but still-”

Words were certainly coming out of your mouth, but the man might as well have been deaf. He was so focused on your facial features, how the dimple formed on only one cheek and not the other when you smiled or laughed, and how your eyes seemed to get a little wider when you were emphasizing something you were talking about. You were just so passionate, so full of life- and so kind.

Before he knew it, he was on his third glass of wine. You were only on your second, but that was mostly because you spent so much of the evening chatting, and he spent most of it listening.

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he so willingly listened to someone go on and on.

“Sorry,” you chuckled after a while, raising your wine glass back up to your lips to take another sip. “I’m kind of hogging the conversation, aren’t I?”

The lieutenant didn’t reply immediately, as he was too busy watching your delicate fingers curl around the stem of the wine glass you were holding. In fact, it took him a few seconds to register that you had even said something to him that he needed to reply to.

Shaking his head, he quickly cleared his throat. “No, no, you’re fine, love. Besides, I don’t mind listening to you-”

Not one bit.

first

previous

next

[writingangst]

Russian Roulette

Summary: Simon Riley takes notice that the reader has a specific way of reloading her gun, which results in him being paranoid to the point he misreads the situation.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: violence, angst, cursing, torture, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 2.3K

Part two

This was a prompt from Character.AI by user @/kstzii and I had to make this account to post because it really hit the angst spot for me. Hopefully, it does the same for you.

The echo from your sniper rifle was stifled by its silencer as you scored another bullseye. You felt someone's gaze burn into the back of your head. But once you turned, you couldn't see anyone. Must've been my imagination. You reassured yourself as you went back to attempt another shot. No bullets. You quickly reload and reposition yourself to fire off another round.

“What the hell was that?” Your lieutenant's voice called out. You swiftly turned to him. “Reload again.”

“What?” You were caught off guard, the slight hint of a Russian accent slipping out. Shit. You instantly clear your throat to switch back to your usual British accent.

“Are you deaf? I said reload again!” He repeats, his voice booming.

You rearange yourself from your position lying on your stomach, onto your knees, the head of your riffle touching the dirt beneath you. You look at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Now, why would I reload when I just switched to a perfectly good mag?”

His jaw clenched. You noticied how he was trying to hold himself back. He did this often. You were sharp with your tongue and tended to use it on him often. In more ways than one. Though this time, he didn’t quite seem like he was enjoying it.

“You know exactly what I mean. That was a Russian reload,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the veins in his arms were prominent. It brought you back… No. This was serious.

You laughed it off, seeming unbothered. You were cool. Calm. Collected. Everyone knew you weren’t one to be thrown off your game easily. But this certainley was doing just that. You weren’t about to let him see that though.

With a scoff, you turn your back to him to get a better hold of your gun. “I reckon you haven’t slept, Lieutenant. Could be playing tricks on your sight.”

“I know exactly what I saw,” his tone was cold, but with his clenched fists you knew this was a ticking time bomb. “Do. It. Again.” He ordered in a firm tone. It left no room for any arguments.

You’re stagnant only slightly. There was uneasiness in your stomach at what this could mean. You knew Simon, and you knew Ghost. This was the latter, but you weren’t going to let this play out the way he wanted it to.

“And if not?” You challenge as you turned towards him, eyes sincere as you looked deep into his conflicted ones. “This gonna end in friendly fire?”

In long strides he stepped forward, coming to a halt right in front of you. He pulled you up by your elbow, but you never lost your grip on your weapon. With him being 6’4, you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His towering frame was imposing, making you feel small.

He leaned closer, just like he had so many times before. His body only a few inches from yours, but instead of it having the burning effect it usually did, now you were just feeling uncomfortable with the interaction. He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to intimidate you.

“What do you have to lose?” He countered, his voice low, a rumble to his chest.

You took it as a challenge.

With a clenched jaw, you took a step back from him as he severed his grip on your skin. You rid of the magazine wedged within your sniper and your eyes never leave his as you do so. Taking another mag from your tactical gear, you shift to do a simple tactical reload.

He watched you intently, his eyes glued to your every move. You didn’t break a single swet. And even though it seemed like something inherently intimate, you knew it was everything but. Once you finished and kept your straight face on him, he stepped towards you again.

He looked pissed as his eyes flickered to the mag that you just placed into your gun.

“That…” he stated through gritted teeth, gripping your chin with force between his thumb and his forefinger. You were forced to look at him head on. “…isn’t a British reload. Now tell me, who are you really?”

“I’m a simple sniper, sir,” you reply without skipping so much as a beat. “I was chosen for this task because of my outstanding sniper skills.”

Silence ensued.

Then you continued. “But you knew that already. You read my file,” you hissed back at him. “And you’ve trained with me for months, been in my bed, so what exactly are we implying here, Lieutenant?”

He kept his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. You noticed how he continued to get frustrated that nothing was out in the open like he previously thought it was. He expected you to be defiant, not secretive. A piece was missing and he was paranoid. Something wasn’t right.

Suddently, you’re smashed against the closest tree and your rifle was hitting the ground. You wince as a gruff pained noise falls from your lips once the air is knocked out of you. His vast hand squeezed your neck. Not enough to cut your air supply. Yet. But enough for it to be uncomfortable to breath. There was a sense of betrayal in his eyes and you knew he had assumed the worst.

“You’re a lying Russian spy,” he murmured into your ear with such force you thought you’d faint.

You struggled against him. “I am not Russian, nor am I a spy,” you rasp out as best you can, but you feel him crushing your windpipe. You wouldn’t lie to yourself. You feel hurt. He was one of the closest people you had since joining the 141 task force. Which made you angry. That’s when hurt vacated to make room for the feeling of deception. “But I will not explain myself to you when I have a job to do.”

You attempted to push him off but he was stronger and bulkier than you, making it almost impossible. You understood there that there would be no reasoning with him. Sleep deprivation and high stress levels were obvious indicators of this. You both had been on the field for days, and he had been the one doing most of the lookouts in order for you to get a bit of shuteye. You won’t be a good shot with heavy lids, sweetheart. He once said to you.

“What were you sent to do, huh?” He asked, his voice had lost its edge and now he just sounded distant. “Spy? Assassinate me?”

“Paranoid motherfucker,” you hissed, holding onto his forearm to steady yourself against his grip. “Screw you.”

His eyes narrowed, his grip loosening only slightly. “You sound surprised. You can’t honestly tell me that you expected me to not investigate the mysterious sniper with a Russian reload and accent?”

“And I’m almost certain you couldn’t find a Goddamn thing about anything and that’s why you got me cornered,” you stated as a matter of fact. “I’m not whoever the hell you think I am, and this paranoia is serving to have this mission go south if you don’t let me get to my gun.”

He laughed this time. Honestly, laughed.

You scrunched up your nose. Fuck you, Ghost.

“You don’t think I have dirt on you, sweetheart? I have files on you, more than you can count. I know you, better than you think,” he paused for a second. “I know your weaknesses, likes, dislikes. Everything.”

You laugh bitterly. “I don’t doubt that. Hey, I even had a hand in the shit you know because I trusted you. That still doesn’t mean you know jack shit about what happened in Russia. You’re so inclined? Ask Price!”

“I asked Price!” His hand gave your neck a quick squeeze and you saw how his body trembled. “He didn’t know a damn thing. Said your file was locked and he was denied access. Now why the hell would that be, huh?”

You snorted. “He said that to protect me. I had the whole record wiped. None of this concerns you, Lieutenant. We all went through shit, and you think you’re the only one that’s allowed to be a ghost? Fuck you!”

His eyes narrowed at your words. “Why would he protect you if you have nothing to hide? That makes no sense and you know it.”

“Because my trauma is my trauma! And you have no business budding into it!” 

“And if it’s something that could jeopardize the entire task force?” He muttered, his patience wearing thin. “If it could get everyone killed?”

“You’re an idiot if you think Price would let me anywhere near this damn task force if he considered me a risk,” your voice was cool, but your heart was thumping in your chest. You attempting one last shove that surprisingly caused him to let go. You wheezed when the pressure was off your trachea and you coughed to catch your breath. 

He watched you silently.

Once you composed yourself, you looked back at him as you held your neck. “I thought we were fucking friends, Ghost.”

“Friends?!” He spat exasperatedly. “You really think I would consider you my friend when I know you’re lying? You think I make friends with people I don’t trust?” His eyes were cold, his tone cruel and bitter. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes for the simple deceit.”

Aside from the pain emitting from your neck, there was a hollow ache in your chest that was capturing your attention as well. You would relive the trauma if that would mean getting the job done. But when it came to Simon Riley, he was as good as dead to you.

“I was held hostage by Russian forces for 18 months.”

His stance faltered at that. You don’t think you had ever seen him lose his footing like he had in that instance. And his eyes… Christ, he had never changed his expression so fast. What the hell was that? Pity? He could go screw himself.

You continued. “Anything you can think of in torture, triple that. What kept me alive for so long was the fact they wanted to use me. The only way I got out of the constant abuse was the training. So excuse me if I picked up on a thing or two. Even the Godawful accent that creeps into the British one,” you cleared your throat. “I’m not your enemy, Ghost. But you’re right. I’m not your damn friend either.”

As you explained your past, his eyes never left yours as he listened carefully. He expected many things, but he hadn’t taken into consideration you being a literal prisoner to Russian forces. For once in his life, he was speechless. The thought that you had lived through a year and a half of torture at the hands of the Russians was something he could barely imagine.

His gaze had softened, but he hardened again when something wasn’t clicking for him. “Doesn’t explain why your file is locked.”

You snorted humorlessly. “Ever heard of Price’s little sister?”

His eyes widened at the mention of her. The captain was hush hush about the matter, but it was a well known fact he had family within the military. And that she was KIA some time ago. “What about her?”

“You’re looking at her.”

Those were the last words he expected to come out of your mouth. Shock and surprise flashed behind his mask as he finally realized what this meant.

“You’re…” He paused, trying to process the bomb that just exploded in his face. “You’re Price’s sister?”

“In the flesh,” you replied with the same cold tone he had been using earlier with you. “You’re not the only one trying to be ghost. You’ve just never been questioned by the task force on it like you just did to me.” 

What could he say to that?

“I took a bullet for you, Lieutenant,” you reminded him. “What fucking spy does that for the opposite team?”

His jaw clenched and you saw how his mask flexed due to it. His eyes showed how he replayed that memory in his head. It was something he thought about constantly. You had saved him, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He had been so focused on you being a spy that he hadn’t stopped to consider that you were actually on his side.

“I never should have questioned you,” he admitted, his voice quiet as he met your gaze again.

Your hand shot up to stop him from saying anything else on the matter. “It’s done. We’re done here.”

He watched as you walked away to pick up your gun, his mind racing with thoughts but they were too fast for his tongue. He knew he had messed up. He had completely misjudged the situation with the accusations thrown at you when in reality your connection to the task force was stronger than even his.

The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t find it funny.

“Wait,” He sighed, taking strides to catch up to you.

“This is unprofessional, Lieutenant,” you stated, dusting off your weapon as you checked for any malfunctions. “We’re in the middle of an active operation. I’m done talking.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh as you dismissed his attempt at talking to you. He knew you were right, that the mission was what mattered now. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he needed to apologize. It was clawing at his chest, the emotion raw in his throat, asking to be let out in word vomit.

“You can’t honestly expect us to just ignore what happened and continue on like normal?”

Silence followed.

You didn’t even look at him.

“Go back to being Ghost, because Simon Riley is fucking dead to me.”

[feralforfrank]

simon riley x fem!reader

simon gets hit by an umbrella like three times, sorry for not knowing proper british and scottish slang, i'm greek and trying my best 👍🏻 implied age gap (reader is in uni)

holidays in Edinburgh, part 1/?

the 141 is home for the holidays. home being all over the uk, with gaz and price spending their time somwhere in the country with their partners and simon accompanying johnny and his partner in Edinburgh. johnny insisted he come along, Edinburgh is full of bonnie birds, you never know, you might meet your match, lt.

you're miserable. spending yet another holiday in a foreign country, isolated in your flat with only your cat, warm tea, and a book to pass the time. you couldn't go back home due to finals starting soon, and your parents decided to spend Christmas in warm weather down under (Australia).

it's not half as bad, you try to convince yourself. your flat is quiet, as are the neighboring ones and the building in general. your bedroom window overlooks a busy street, and you envy those who flood them with shopping bags and smiles. you haven't made that many friends, and the ones you have are already visiting their hometowns. the upside is that you're in a warm, comfortable space while others are freezing their pinkies off.

even johnny is gone. the loud scot from next door, a guy you had disliked at first without having officially met him - thin walls was the only bad thing this building has, and you were forced to listen to him do everything, from weight lifting, to watching tv, to having sex - but when you bumped into each other your opinion changed drastically. a gentleman, funny and light-hearted. he hadn't taken to heart your complaints about the noise, only promising to take it down a notch.

without the muffled sounds of his tv to annoy you - his partner had apologised for the volume, saying he's partially deaf in one ear from having been too close to explosions way too many times - you were left reading your book in silence. maybe you'd go to the grocery store later, stock up so you won't need to leave your house - the weatherman said it's going to get colder, heavy snow expected.

johnny hands simon the keys to his flat. him and his bird are going to the supermarket, there's nothing in the fridge or the cupboards for the next few days. the scot told him to take a shower, relax and make himself at home until they come back, and he didn't have to be told twice with the biting cold making his nose stuffy.

johnny's building is freshly painted to look new on the outside but old on the inside. he's been here before, and he remembers mactavish struggling to open his front door sometimes, for the lock got stuck.

he tries to reenact the technique his best friend uses to get in, trying his hardest to open the door gently instead of pushing with his shoulder like he does back at his own flat. he turns the key one, two, three times and pulls forward softly, trying to turn the key for the fourth and final time.

fuck. you gotta be fucking joking.

"fuckin' hell."

he tries again. and again, this time throwing his bag on the floor. the door rattles as he uses a bit more force, frustration building steadily and quickly.

you press play on spotify, the familiar voices of joe and frank from the basement yard podcast filling your ears. your headphones are pushing the hair out of your face and also act as ear muffs. you check your coat pockets for your phone and keys, nodding to yourself before kissing your cat goodbye. you promise her treats from the grocery store.

at first, you don't notice the hunk of a man at the door next to yours. the podcast is on full volume and your securing your scarf around your shoulder. it's when you turn to shut your door that you freeze mid-step.

in front of you, with is back turned to you, there's a giant guy pressing all his weight to johnny's door. he's wearing all black, hood drawn up, which makes this situation much much scarier.

fuck fuck fuck fuck. what the fuck. he's tryinf to break in the flat. oh fuck fuck fuck, what do i do? has he noticed me? he hasn't turned around yet. what the fuck. shit fuck. FUCK. what the fuck?!

your body reacts a few seconds later. with wide eyes and pursed lips, you hold your breath, and take a step inside your home. half your body is outside, facing him incase he decides to turn around and your arm is blindly reaching for your big umbrella.

once you have a stready hold on it, you don't hesitate to take two big steps forward and hurl it on the intruder's neck. your headphones for on your shoulders, and you hit him again, and this time he physically recoils.

you hit him another time, not quite as hard, and flinch at the sound the plastic makes against his jacket but you're gaining confidence as he grunts in pain. you shout something at him, something about this being karma for trying to break into somebody else's house, and he yelps something in response, but the blood rushing in your ears is louder than your voices.

you swing the umbrella back to hit him again, gathering all the courage you can muster for a final blow. you take a millisecond more to do so and he has time to move before it can connect with his back. unfortunately for the guy, the umbrella hits the side of his face.

he yelps and you drop it with a gasp, hands covering your mouth in shock.

his face is still hidden under his hood, but his ungloved fingers reach for his cheek, where the tip of the umbrella connected.

there's a moment of silence. your eyes are wider than before, as wide as saucers, and you're breathing heavily like him. you're scared beyond your mind, the fear having paralysed you once again. you stand there watching him rub his face witha grunt.

"you fuckin' crazy or wha', lady?!" he finally speaks with gritted teeth. his accent is hot. "'m not a fucking intruder."

oh shit.

"...you're not?"

"no, the fuck 'm not," he says calmly, and your heart rate picks up. "would an intruder have keys to the bloody flat?" he shows you the keys and you gasp softly, recognising johnny's scottish flag keychain.

"i'm—oh," your hands reach out as you try to approach him. "i'm so terribly sorry, i just—mactavish isn't home and you're huge and you were throwing yourself at the door and you have your hood up and you're so. fucking. big, i thought you were trying to rob the place—" you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts - you just beat a guy with an umbrella for no fucking reason!!!!!! ‐ "here, let me help you." you signal for him to enter your flat.

simon watches you for a moment. flushed cheeks, eyes glassy and overflowing emotions, hands waving frantically as you open your own door wider for him to walk in.

he should refuse. flat out say no. you just attacked him with an umbrella for fucks sake. it's still in your trembling hands. he should refuse. but you said mactavish. you know johnny. and he knows himself. he must've looked terrifying to you, back hunched over the lock, shoulder pushing on the old wooden door.

you look genuinely sorry and worried, very willing to let him into your home, even though he hasn't given you any information about himself. for all you know, he could've stolen the keys from johnny or his bird, he could be a proper burglar.

he should shake his head and turn your back on you. it doesn't even hurt. he's had worse. he thinks his cheekbone might have a scratch, but he's fine. ghost has been through torture before - your hits are nothing compared to that.

but you're pretty. extremely so.

so, he nods slowly, removing his hand from his cheek and grabbing his duffel bag from the ground. you wait by the door, watching his every move as he walks in.

you point to your kitchen chair, he sits - he's so imposing, your kitchen seems smaller with him in it - and you immediately rush for a pack of beans from the freezer and a towel.

"put this on your cherk," you instruct and disappear somwhere further inside the flat. he watches you.

when you come back you have rubbing alcohol, cotton pads and a packet of band-aids. simon begins to stand.

"'s not necessary. 's barely a scratch, ma'am."

you don't even look at him as you set the stuff down. he stares at you. "no, no, i feel terrible - the least i can do is fix your face."

"you sayin' my mug is ugly?"

you pause, head snapping to the side to meet the stranger's eyes. you frown, another apology ready to escape your lips.

he's smirking. right corner of his lips tilted up. he's joking. your shoulders sag and you exhale with a smile.

"no, your face is quite nice, stranger."

it is. strong features, long nose - looks to have been broken a hundred times - some scars here and there, long eyelashes and pretty brown eyes.

"simon. simon riley."

simon. nice name - suits him. friend of johnny's, you remember. probably military, judging by the width of his back. and the unintenional scrutinising and intimidating gaze.

you introduce yourself, breath hitching when he repeats your first name slowly.

"pretty name." you shrug, grabbing a wet cotton pad and slowly moving it towards him. he doesn't pull away, and you press it against the small scratch on his cheek as he speaks. "suppose a pretty girl deserves a pretty name."

you chuckle, heat rising up your neck and spreading to your cheeks as you move on to the pack of band-aids.

"so, you know johnny?" you ask.

"saved his ugly mug a coupl'a times. we're spending christmas here."

your smile falters as you stick the small band-aid on his cheek (only now realising it has anakin skywalker printed on it). you're once again reminded of how lonely you'll be during christmas. simon notices it, but hesitates asking if you're okay.

"sorry for the uh, band-aid. uh, i don't have any normal ones." he brushes it off with a shake of his head. "you're good to go, now. i'm sure you have things to do."

simon silently gets up and grabs his things, all while watching you put your coat and scarf back on. whatever light you had on your face moments before is gone, and he's trying to figure out what he said wrong to cause this.

he follows you out of the flat, mind forming different ways to ask if something's wrong. he can't help but ask when he hears you sigh heavily, almost defeated.

"you okay, love?"

"huh—what?" you look at him once and then continue locking your door.

"you alright? did i say something that upset you?"

your smile returns with his words, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"no, i'm all good, don't worry. just don't want to go for groceries in the freezing cold, ya know?" he nods, jiggling johnny's keys in his hands. "anyway, it was nice meeting you, simon. and i'm really sorry for thinking you're an intruder and hitting you with my umbrella and whatnot. i hope to see you around - have fun!"

and before he can ask where you're spending your christmas, or why you're going to the supermarket instead of packing to go back to wherever your home is - your accent clearly indicates you're not from edinburgh, as if the books, pens, and scattered notebooks at your home were not enough - you're walking down the stairs and dissappear from his eyesight.

simon stands for a moment before turning to the door again. you're interesting, to say the least, and you said his face was...nice - he doesn't get that often. and you have band-aids with Star Wars characters, and you laughed at his joke. and you were brave enough to attack him when you thought he was a burglar.

yeah, he hopes to see you around too.

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (Five)

CW: Oral (f receiving), squirting, second hand embarrassment

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Thickened hands worked against your flesh, kneading your hips like softened dough, working it between long fingers that itched to feel every crevice of you.

You radiated heat, slick gushing between your thighs, evidence smeared across the dining table as you felt Simon’s hot breath kiss your clit, brown eyes examining your most intimate areas before he finally licked a long stripe against the middle of your cunt, slurping the taste of you into his mouth, staining his tongue with a mix of arousal and sweat.

A guttural breath left your lips as you bucked your hips, two hands quickly ushering them down onto the hard surface as he licked and kissed at your exposure, saliva stringing between your slit and his own mouth as his nose rubbed against your sensitive bud.

“O-h my god,” you hissed at the sensation, whining at the way he slobbered against your mound, his tongue finally reaching your clit as he sucked it into his mouth with a loud sound, gushing around every inch of you with an obscene amount of spit and sound.

He panted against you, practically aching in his own pants as he got off on just tasting you, having you so docile under him, so completely willing under his tongue.

Long digits pressed against your weeping entrance, smearing around your wetness before they pushed inside, your own hand fisted into your mouth as you concealed the pleasured squeal that tore from your dry throat.

Simon pulled away, a hand slapping down against your clit as you winced. “Ain’t doing this if I can’t hear all the sounds you make. Got it?”

You replied in a desperate whine, nodding your head as you urged him back to your throbbing cunt, completely fixated on his touch. The air grew thick with the sound of your moans and the sound of the man devouring you, licking you with a profound urgency.

His fingers worked inside you, gummy walls breached with your slick as he rubbed against them, feeling against all your sweet spots as he curled deliciously, eliciting a raspy moan from you.

Simon would die right here, suckling against your clit as he caressed your cunt, moulding his fingers inside you before he could replace them when you were ready, with his cock. The tangy taste subsided against his tongue, his spit mixing in with your slick as he worked against the hood of your clit, nerves rattling against his pink muscle as he smiled when your thighs wrapped around him closer.

Your knees crossed around his head, desperate for the building high that coiled in masses, simmering in the pits of your stomach. Sweat built at the back of your legs, working in teams to swim down your salty flesh, sizzling into the nape of Simon’s neck as he worked against your heat, caressing it with hot, wet kisses.

“I’m close,” you murmured out, almost falling on deaf ears as he focused on the taste of you, his hand giving a reassuring grip to your thigh as you whined and spluttered around foggy air.

“That’s it, honey, taste so fucking good,” he slurred, almost pussy drunk on you as he growled back a gasp for air before resuming. Your fingers coiled in the ashy brown roots, tugging the base upwards as you writhed, spitting out expletives in an attempt to cool your orgasm off, fuelling your body with the absolute pleasure your neighbour was providing for you.

You came with a pornographic sigh, almost resulting in a wail as you convulsed around his fingers, sweet sap spilling from your heat as it splashed against his forearm and the lower part of his face. You swore you could hear Simon moan as he lapped at it, the overwhelming need for release taking over you as you writhed under his harsh grip, no doubt subtle sweeps of purple would paint against your skin later.

You finished with a loud cry, your legs shaking as the muscles twitched and worked down the upcoming high you just experienced, a satisfied grin lacing Simon’s face as he pulled away, tongue darting out to lick at his drenched lips before he pulled you into a kiss.

He was stained with the taste of you, working your own slick back into your mouth as he worked his lips against yours, stubble rubbing against your stache area as you clamped nimble digits down on his forearm, feeling the pure form of muscle he had worked years for. You both pulled away with a pant, eyes crossed on each other, lashes darting up and down as you let out a dorky laugh, suddenly self-conscious.

“Was that okay? You feel al’right?”

“Simon… I literally squirted.”

Your face burned with humiliation at your own crude words, his own laughter filling the damp air as he rubbed against your thigh affectionately. It had been a while since Simon had done this, too busy with deployment and working, focusing on himself and his team. He never had time for any of this, he wasn’t even sure if he had time for it now. All he knew was he strangely enjoyed your company, pulling him in with a quick glance and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

He fetched you water as you hopped off the table, a slight wobble in your step as you hobbled over to the couch. You noted your desperate need for a shower as you readjusted your nightgown, the fabric stained with sweat and your own wetness as you shrugged off the grimy feeling.

You almost felt like you were moulding into his couch as you twitched uncomfortably, skin coated with a light sheet of salty perspiration as Simon raised a brow. “Do you want a shower? I can clean up and join you?” His tone was gruff but his eyes were gentle, almost softening into a darker shade of brown as you smiled, offering him a polite nod as you scurried off.

Silk left your skin, the back of your neck smothered by your hair that had tangled into a knotted mass, a grunt leaving your pursed lips. Your stomach settled with flushed tingles, nerves coiling through your veins, pumping into your bloodstream as they streamed to your cunt, subtle throbs beating in your clit as you imagined Simon nude, steam slicing through the glass pane of the shower as flesh tangled between wet limbs, lashes clamped with water as he fucked into you, strong hands holding the backs of your thighs as he guided you along his length with ease.

You heard the front door open, rushing you back to the presence as you examined your hair from behind, in desperate need of a brush. You turned the sink on, opening his cabinet to look for anything to wash your face with before landing on a basic line of skincare, a gel cleanser staring back at you, almost mocking you. You fumbled with the lid as you scrubbed away at your tender skin, eyes burning with the animosity of the face wash before thick suds followed down the drain.

You could hear Simon’s voice, almost calling out to you as you flicked off the tap. Fluffy grey cotton wrapped around your frame as you huddled out of the bathroom, following his voice.

“Did you need me?” You asked, barely looking up as you readjusted the towel around you, tucking it in.

“Ay, Simon didn’t tell us he had a missus waiting at home.”

The voice was painfully unfamiliar as you let out a squeak, eyes bolting towards three unruly men standing in the living room, your neighbour nowhere in sight. Your face paled as your eyes bulged, fingers gripping the material that barely covered you as you took in Simon slamming the front door shut, a hand slapping against the back of a man’s mohawk as you rushed away, humiliation exuding through you as you cowered away in his bathroom, wet tears of embarrassment streaming to the surface of your eyes as you let out a painful whine.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

This is not the best piece of work I apologise my beautiful people. :’)

[qixttine]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN! reader

Don't go. Getting sent on a suicide mission (Request!!)

At first, he was excited when you called him to your barracks. It's been a while since you two had spent some quality time with each other, and he thought he would get some action, maybe even cuddles? He had a stupid grin on his face at the thought, though it was covered by the mask.

But as soon as he heard of the mission, his stomach dropped. It was like a knife piercing his heart at the thought of his beloved, his one and only light, being sent to a fucking suicide mission. He was both devasted and angered.

How dare they? They could've spat in his face or done anything, and he would be fine with the fact, as long as they leave his beloved ALONE.

He felt like vomiting hearing the news, his whole world going black as he clenched his hands into fists at the sides.

He couldn't hear you, too lost in his world of swirling thoughts. He can't lose you, he cant. You're all he has, all he's known, all he wants and needs. He can't bear living without you.

Despite your attempts to assure him, it all fell deaf to his ears

He wants to beg, to plead, to sob you into staying. He wants to hold you and never let go. But he doesn't. He can't. His pride pulls him on a leash.

Instead of plainly begging, he does it silently. He demands your attention and even demands your presence in general. He would even help you with anything you needed and became more affectionate than usual. He was acting as if it was your last day on earth. He would sneak into your barracks late at night and kiss your lips until it was swollen, biting and nibbling on your skin while whispering affirmations that you're gonna be alright, convincing himself more than you. Nevertheless, you always refused. Being the good soldier you are, work came first. And as much as Simon loved every part of you, he hated that.

Finally, it was time. You leave tomorrow morning. Simon refused to be away from you that day. Hands on you wherever you go. Bathroom? He'll turn around, but he'll still be there. Packing? Hands on your waist wherever you walk, maybe even deliberately sabotaging you by hiding your clothes somewhere you can't reach. He would even eat and bathe with you, and it wouldn't even be sexual.

Eventually, night came, and he was a mess of nerves. But of course, being the stoic man he is, he didn't say a word. He trusted you, and he trusted you'll be safe and come back to him.

"Got everythin' you need, luv?" "Be careful out there, alright? Don't even think about doin' anythin' dumb." "You're gonna be okay, alright? You're gonna be fine. You-you'll be safe, back here in my arms, aren't ya, luv?"

He'll ramble his mouth off while you pack, probably talking more than he has in years. You kiss him to shut him up, and that he did.

Of course, it didn't end with just a kiss. You were the sore the next morning and found him asleep next to you, hugging your body so hard you were sure his grip would leave a bruise.

You woke him up, kissed his cheek, said goodbye, and left. You left. You actually left. You actually left him. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and he felt empty, anxious, so fucking worried about you.

He would try to get more information about your mission, but nothing. It was all useless information, all indicating that it was a fucking suicide mission you HAD to go. You HAD to leave.

8 months passed before he heard from you. It was a shortly lived joy when he heard you were in the hospital. He almost cried, almost. As soon as the news hit him, he rushed to get out of the base and to wherever you may be.

When he saw you in the hospital bed, covered in bandages, bruised, nurses tending to you, he felt the anger returning. He was devasted. Yet he said nothing, nothing at all. But you knew better than to think he didn't care. You saw the emotion in his eyes. No matter how many layers of masks he wore, you still saw through him.

He took a leave that very day. No way in hell would he be working while you were in here. No, he was going to stick by your side. Every checkup, he's there. He'll help you to the bathroom, spoon feed you, hold your hand while you sleep, just to remind him that you were still there.

Of course, all while maintaining a stoic figure. Can't have people thinking he was soft now, no matter how true it may be when it came to you.

Eventually, you recovered, but he still insisted on following you wherever just in case. Nevertheless, after a week, he'd lessen the stalking you around and just settled for the daily updates.

Yet, he still gets nightmares from time to time of your bloodied body on the hospital bed, never waking up.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Don't Take Her From Me

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

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

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

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

Word Count - 1.2k

Not her. Please. Fucking please. Not her.

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

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

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

You’re currently inside of that building.

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

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

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

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

How can he carry on living if it does?

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

Please don’t take her from me.

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

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

It’s you. 

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

“Ghost?” you choke out. 

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

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

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

”You’ve got it, L.T.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you for not taking her from me.

[darlingsblackbook]

Right Next Door

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary : Your mysterious neighbour helps you out when a date goes wrong, what happens when you try to befriend him?

Warnings : Creepy guy, Simon Riley, Delusion

°•♡○° Masterlist °•♡•°

The air was biting cold as I climbed the steps to my apartment building, my heart pounding as I tried to maintain a polite smile. The date had been a disappointment from the start, but I’d wanted to see it through, thinking maybe I was just nervous.

Yet, every attempt to cut the night short had fallen on deaf ears, and now he was right behind me, insisting on escorting me all the way for my own 'safety'.

I fumbled with my bag, pretending to search for my keys. “Thanks for the evening,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint and turn around.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet.” He laughed, sidling a little too close, his shoulder brushing mine. “The night doesn’t have to end here, you know. Let’s go to yours for a nightcap.”

I forced a laugh, swallowing down the anxiety building up. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His face shifted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his expression. “Come on,” he murmured, edging closer, his hand reaching to touch my arm. “We had a nice time. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it too.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my voice firm. “I’m just… not interested in taking things further tonight, maybe another day.”

His smile faltered, frustration creeping into his tone. “What’s the problem? You were all smiles back there. Now you're not interested?"

I tried to step back, but he mirrored my movements, closing the space between us as I reached my door and closing in on me. "You know it's not fair to lead a guy on, right?"

My fingers finally found the keys and I gripped it tightly between my fingers, trying to resist the urge to ram it into his eyeball.

He trespassed the line even further as he leaned in, his gross breath burning against my cheek. "Just one kiss,” he muttered, his hand pressing against the doorframe to cage me in.

Panic flared as I shook my head. “Please, I’d rather you didn’t. I just… don’t feel that way.”

His expression darkened, eyes narrowing as he leaned even closer. “Teasing me all night just to leave me hanging, huh? That’s how you get your fun?”

I felt the words stick in my throat, my pulse racing. His voice grew harsher, thick with frustration as he got angrier. “You think you’re too good for me? That it?”

I barely had a second to process his words when a shadow appeared in the hallway, and I felt a wave of relief and fear as I recognized my neighbor—Simon Riley.

The big guy who had moved here a few months ago, aside of the few times we passed each other in the hallways, I rarely saw him. He was always quiet, I've never heard him talk and not a peep of noise was heared through the walls.

Something about his size and the dark clothing he always wore ( and the usual grumpy expression on his face ) had, for some reason, caught my eye. Maybe it had something to do with all the books I read with the typical older grumpy man and the sweet sunshine girl trope.

That trope was unfortunately a guilty pleasure of mine, having always wanted to feel safe, protected and taken care of by someone. Someone in whose presence I could just turn my brain off without a worry and know I'll be fine

Maybe those desires were born from my feelings of loneliness and my hard time in making friends. Maybe, it was because I wanted someone to love and accept me as I am and see me as me and still fully and wholly love me.

Sometimes, when I would just think and daydream of having such man, I couldn't help the flashes of my neighbours face in my mind. I wanted to actually love and be loved so badly instead of just imagining it, so I had decided to go out for the first time in a very long time, unfortunately I just ended up putting myself in this situation.

But, as I saw Simon standing in the doorway of his flat, right next to mine. His presence as imposing as ever, I was immediately swarmed by images of being wrapped up and safe in those tree trunk arms- ( valid )

His gaze was calm, but the tension radiating off him was anything but. He took a step forward, his voice low and laced with quiet authority that made my brain tingly in all the right ways.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” he said, voice gruff and cold. “Leave.”

My date turned, his confidence faltering for the first time, though he tried to laugh it off. “And who are you, her guard dog?”

Simon’s jaw clenched, and he took another slow step toward him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away. Now.”

The guy scoffed, glancing at me as if I would defend him, but I could only stare, feeling my pulse in my throat as Simon’s presence loomed, unyielding and almost terrifying in its intensity.

“Fine,” the man muttered, backing away with a huff. “Good luck with that one. She’s just a tease anyway.” He threw a final look over his shoulder, muttering curses under his breath as he disappeared down the stairwell.

I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my body finally loosening. My eyes met Simon’s, and for a moment, I was acutely aware of how close he still stood, the quiet strength and warmth radiating off him.

“Thank you,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s gaze flicked over me, taking in my tense posture, the unsteady breaths. “Get inside,” he said softly, his tone softer but still firm. He didn’t move, just kept watching, waiting until I stepped back into my flat.

I wanted to say more—to thank him properly, to explain—but my voice failed me. I just nodded, stepping back into my apartment as he remained outside, a silent sentinel. As I closed the door behind me, I felt the echo of his presence linger, leaving me wondering who Simon Riley really was behind the walls he kept so carefully constructed.

°•♡•°

I leaned against my door, heart still racing from the confrontation with my date. What just happened?

I pressed my palms to my cheeks, feeling the heat rising in them, embarrassment crashing over me in waves. I wanted to scream at myself for letting things get so out of hand.

Why hadn’t I been firmer?

My date’s cruel words echoed in my mind. “Teasing me all night…” Had I really been that confusing?

I knew I had always had a hard time speaking to people, but I did not think I had been teasing or anything alike at all. In fact, I was pretty sure I was keeping my distance the whole night.

I sank down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, wishing I could disappear. It wasn’t the first time I had been made to feel this way, but it hurt more than usual. I hated that I had let him walk me to my door, thinking it would be harmless, but now, all I felt was a sense of violation mixed with anger.

But as I replayed the events of the night, my thoughts drifted to Simon. The way he had stepped in, fierce and unwavering, how his presence had made me feel safer. His intense gaze, the way he commanded attention without even trying, sent a flutter through my chest. Why did he even care?

In the days that followed, I found myself stealing glances at Simon whenever I heard him in the hallway or caught sight of him through the window. He always seemed so focused, moving with purpose and intensity that made my heart race. He was intimidating but also…protective. I couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself, confident and strong, making it hard to believe he even lived next door to me.

I found myself thinking about him more than I wanted to admit. What was it about him? There was something in the way he furrowed his brow when he was deep in thought, or how his lips curled slightly when he was amused, that made my heart skip a beat.

I’d catch myself daydreaming about what it would be like to get to know him, to see the softer side that lay beneath his tough exterior.

But would he even be interested in someone like me?

One evening, as I sat at my kitchen table, the smell of cookies wafting through the air, I decided I needed to make a move. Maybe a little gesture would help break the ice. I figured I’d bring him a treat and see how he responded. I hesitated, biting my lip as I gathered my courage, reminding myself that it was just cookies, not a marriage proposal.

After baking, I carefully placed the cookies in a small tin and knocked on his door, my heart pounding. I waited, second-guessing myself. What if he thought I was a silly little girl for doing this?

When the door opened, Simon stood there, dressed in his usual casual attire, the warmth of the lights behind him casting shadows across his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his deep voice grounding me despite the chaos in my head.

“Um, I made some cookies,” I stammered, holding out the tin. “I thought you might like some.”

He glanced at the tin, then back to me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, though he accepted it without hesitation. The briefest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, I felt a flutter of hope.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me the other night,” I added quickly, my cheeks warming under his gaze. “You really saved me.”

He nodded, but the moment felt fleeting, like catching smoke in my hands. “No problem,” he said, his voice steady. “Just doing what I had to.”

And just like that, he closed the door, leaving me standing in the hallway, heart racing, filled with a mixture of elation and disappointment.

Was that all?

I turned to leave, feeling a knot of longing tightening in my chest. I wanted more than just a quick exchange; I wanted to be seen by him.

In the following days, I couldn’t help but keep an eye out for him. Each time I spotted Simon in the hallway, my heart raced, a blend of hope and anxiety filling me. I’d muster the courage to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between us.

“Hey, Simon,” I’d manage, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried to catch his eye. He’d glance my way, a quick nod, but his focus would shift immediately, and I’d feel that familiar pang of rejection in my chest.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself trying harder to initiate conversations. I would catch him on his way to the gym or returning from work. Each time, I’d greet him, my heart pounding, and every time, he’d respond with a grunt or a nod. I wanted to learn more about him, to break through the walls he had built around himself, but he always seemed to have somewhere to be.

One afternoon, I spotted him in the hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. My pulse quickened, and I took a deep breath. “Hey, Simon! How was your day?” I asked, attempting to sound casual.

He looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he replied, “Fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and I felt a heaviness settle in my stomach.

“Just…fine?” I pressed, hoping to elicit more. “Did you have a busy week?”

He sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You could say that.”

I bit my lip, trying to think of something else to say, but the silence stretched awkwardly between us. “Well, if you ever want to talk or hang out, you can—”

“I’m not looking for friends,” he cut in, his tone sharper than I expected. “I did what I had to out of duty. Don’t think about it too much.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I could only stare at him, my heart sinking as his gaze shifted, avoiding mine. “It’s nothing personal,” he added, but it felt cold, devoid of the warmth I’d hoped for.

“I understand,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands trembled slightly, and I fought back tears as I watched him step past me, leaving me standing there, shattered.

I felt the weight of his dismissal settle heavily on my shoulders, a reminder of how invisible I really was to him. My heart ached, not just from his words but from the reality that I would never be more than an afterthought to Simon Riley.

As I stepped into my flat, the door closing behind me, I sank down against it, tears slipping down my cheeks. I had wanted to be seen, to have someone recognize my worth, but instead, I was left with the painful truth: Simon didn’t want me around, and that stung more than I could express.

Each encounter with him became a reminder of my own insecurities, and the ache in my chest grew heavier with each passing day. I felt lost in the maze of my feelings for him, unable to reconcile the admiration I felt with the reality of his indifference.

All I wanted was a connection, but somehow, it felt as if I was always reaching for something just out of my grasp, destined to remain alone while he moved on, unbothered by my existence.

[casiia]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; cooties.

warnings .: x reader, dad simon, afab ! reader, soso much fluff, unedited.

.: masterlist.

imagine simon’s daughter coming home with tears just running down her face, you’re trailing in behind and trying your best to hide your laugh as you console her.

“it’s just a myth, dear.”

but that only makes her cry harder, because she’s 7 and doesn’t know what the fuck a myth is. who is she supposed to believe…her loving mother who raised her and has never lied to her a day in her life, or the girl she’d met just an hour ago on the playground.

“it’s true!” she gasps out, wiping her wet cheeks with her palms, dramatically dragging her hands down her face as another sob wracked her tiny body.

you could only snicker silently as you brushed away baby hairs that clung to her cheeks. frankly, you didn’t know what to say; you’d tried everything to help your daughter and ease her of this new world ending conflict.

simon’s on immediate alert, normally he’s welcomed home with kisses and hugs and bottomless babbles about pointless things. hearing his baby’s loud cry followed by her quick and urgent footsteps makes him panic and his mind instantly goes to the worst.

hurriedly, simon makes his way down the stairs nearly breaking his neck when he trips over a stray toy — but he manages to grab the banister before falling to his death and peaks into the living room.

you’re sitting on the couch with her cradled in your arms, a tender and gentle shush whispered off of your lips as you untangle knots in her hair. your attempts to calm her down don’t, she’s as stubborn as her father, if not more.

“what’s going on, sweet pea?” simon asks, treading carefully as he inches closer to you, his eyes clouded with a mix of worry and question.

before he can sit down, the girl in your arms shrieks so loud he can hear it ringing in his temple. wincing at the loud intrusion, simon watches as his daughter shoots from your arms all the way across the living room, her back pressed to the wall and eyes wide with what seems to be horror.

now simon’s afraid, is there something on his face? did he forget to shave? is he even simon?

you only snort behind your palm, furrowing your eyebrows and returning back to your playful yet serious expression. “go on, babygirl. tell dad what she said.”

his heart is hammering in his chest now, what did she say — who are you talking about?

and he doesn’t know if that scream altered him deaf but all he can see is her lips moving. the sound of your quiet giggles calms him though, and you have to ask her to say it again.

“she said boys have cootie!” she screams, looking horrified — looking at her dad as if he’d grown a third head and eaten all of her halloween candy.

simon begins to open his mouth to say something, something along the lines of “who fuckin’ told ya that.” although the more he thinks it over he’s compelled to play into the roll. he pauses for a moment, concentrated on weighing out the pros and cons.

on one hand, it breaks his heart to see his girl avoiding him like this. going to the edge of the earth just to distance herself from him. crying out because her world is shattered, her dad? having cooties? what nonsense.

on the other hand. simon’s been hearing about this ‘jack’ boy that she’s been in love with on the playground, he even proposed to her with a fucking stick. his daughter can do better than that. and hell, she’s too young to be dating, she doesn’t even know her alphabet!

so with some quick thinking a small smile paints his lips, he opens his arms and watches as she hesitantly takes a step forward. his heart leaps at that, she’s willing to catch a fake disease of cooties just for a daily hug from her father.

“boys do have cooties, but not me, see this?” he reaches inside of his shirt and pulls out the dog tag that hangs around his neck, he gives it a nice tug and smiles a bit. “it’s cootie-repellent.”

another step, hesitant but slowly the small girl is inching away from the wall and closer to the awaiting arms of her dad. “r-really?” she asks, a hiccup following her shaky breath as she calms down.

simon only nods, he’s grateful that your daughter isn’t one to question much. a hard believer in anything she hears, to this day she still believes that fairy’s live in the freezer. he’s not sure what story he would make up if she began questioning him, maybe something with fairies. they were always his go to.

“y’want it?” simon begins to take the necklace off, holding it out to her. shes just an arms reach away, but she’s curious.

“yes.” she mumbles, her heartbroken expression from moments ago turning into that beaming smile that warms simon’s chest. “i’ll give it to jack!”

simon stills. fuck. no way was he going to lose his girl this soon. “nuh uh.” he laughs, quickly tucking the chain back under his shirt and pulling his daughter into his chest.

you watch as he ruffles her hair, her muffled screams falling onto deaf ears as she squirms and punches her dad, begging for him to let go. simon only tightens his arms around the flailing girl, peppering kisses all over tear stained face, watching her once glossy eyes crinkle with joy at her dad’s affection.

thank god for cooties.

[ginis-wonderland]

pairing: simon riley x reader

genre: smut, breeding in the end, spitting, crying, just rough

your eyes were filled with tears and if he focused hard enough, he could see them contort into hearts. the noises coming from your pretty, pink lips kept him plenty distracted but the gripping sensation around his cock made him grunt and blush furiously.

"si!" you hiccuped and he pressed his hands at the back of your thighs to keep them close to your chest before leaning his weight on them.

"what is it, lovie?" he gasps in-between thrusts and you squeal when one of his hands moves down to rub fast circles around your hardened clit.

"si! not there!" you whined without a care of how loud it was.

he has been fucking you for hours now since he woke you up with his thick cock buried deep into your cunt. 

"'ts mine," he growls. "i can do whatever i want to it."

tears start to stream down your reddened cheeks and you clench tightly around him once you feel him nudging that one spot that made you see stars.

"god!" you shriek as simon begins to thrust even faster and begins to abuse your cervix. "not there! si-!" 

your gasps and protests fell deaf to his ears but simon riley wants to make you fall apart. he wants to feel the sense of satisfaction to know that it's because of him that you're cumming and it's because of him you're splayed out on the bed with your pretty pussy out in display for him.

"this cunny is mine, innit, lovie? perfectly tight and warm and so wet all because of me?" his brows were scrunched and sweat dripped down his muscular chest then he bent over to get close to your face, nose brushing against his.

"answer me, dolly," he urges and snaps his hips harshly making you cry out. "this" thrust. "pussy" thrust. "is" thrust. "mine" thrust. "right?" thrust.

"yes, simon!" you shrill out because that last thrust reached so deep you didn't know you could ever feel this full.

satisfied, he leans back but only slightly as his dog tags are swinging above your face and your eyes follow the movements. somehow, the harsh swinging of the metal heightened the pleasure his cock was giving you since it went along with his movements.

"open your mouth," he rasps and you quickly obey.

simon's lips quirked up to a smirk before he spat onto that pretty tongue. 

"don't swallow," he rushes. "not until i tell you."

you nod fast and your eyes close, almost rolling back, at his fast pace. simon has made you cum so many times already yet not once has he finished. he liked to edge himself because it made cumming feel even better. knowing he was close made the feeling of an orgasm rush up your body and into the depths of your belly. you weren't allowed to swallow his spit so you kept your mouth closed but simon could see the way your eyes flew open and the panicked look you gave him indicated how close you were.

"wanna cum together, pretty?" he offers and god, it made you nearly finish then and there. finishing together was so rare that when it happens, it was best to be savored in moderation. 

"swallow," he utters and you hurry to swallow his saliva before opening your mouth to prove it. simon always loved it when you did that and he chuckled. "oh, yes, my darling. where would you like me to cum, hm?"

"i-inside," you gasp. "do it inside."

what little self-restraint simon riley possessed flew out the window and he leaned back on his feet, grabbing your thighs to hike you up on them to have you closer to his cock. it pushed him in deeper.

"si!" you plead. "si! wanna cum! please, lemme cum!" your words slurred on your tongue before you sobbed and then he knew, he broke you.

"gonna cum 'round this cock, pretty? wanna cum while i fill you up and make you full of me and our babies? would you like me to breed you like my little cumslut?"

your jaw dropped and the loudest and most pornographic moan escaped your lips from his filthy words. simon knew that you liked it when he mentioned breeding you full and my gods, did he feel it with the way you gripped him.

"i'm gonna cum," he says and grabs your chin to turn you up to him. "look at me."

your eyes struggled to open and see through the tears but you focus on his face. simon riley's face contorting into pleasure is something you're honored to witness and he finally cums, brows scrunching and head leaning back at the intensity of it.

"fucking hell, lovely. keep it in. yes, shh, 'm not letting a drop waste."

[sinkovia]

Futile Effort

Simon Riley x GN!Reader

Angst, mention of blood and death.

As you stood by the firing range, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the compound, the distant cracks of gunfire creating a rhythmic backdrop to the conversation you were trying to have with Simon.

Trying.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration building up inside you. Simon was sitting next to you, lost in his own thoughts as he absentmindedly smoked a cigarette. It was a scene you had grown all too familiar with.

"Hey" you began, trying to engage him in conversation about your day. "I was thinking, are you planning to work out tomorrow morning?"

You waited for a response, but it was as if your words had fallen on deaf ears. His eyes were fixed on some distant point, his expression unreadable. This wasn't the first time he'd tuned you out like this, and it was starting to wear on your nerves.

"Simon?" you prodded, your voice tinged with irritation.

Finally, he seemed to snap back to reality, his gaze shifting to you. "Sorry love, what were you saying?"

You couldn't help the frustration that welled up inside you. "I was asking if you're going to work out tomorrow morning," you repeated, your tone a bit sharper now.

He took a drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowing slightly as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "Yeah, probably," he mumbled, his attention already drifting away again.

It felt like a slap in the face, his indifference and lack of interest in your conversation. You tried to push past the hurt that was creeping in and forced a smile. "Alright, just let me know if you want me to spot you,"

You doubted he'd even heard you.

You turned away, the weight of his inattention heavy on your shoulders. It wasn't the first time you felt like you were talking to a brick wall, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. It wasn't always like this. In the early months of your relationship, Simon had been attentive, hanging on your every word.

After the initial honeymoon phase of your romance, he gradually stopped listening to you. It felt as though the effort he had once put into your relationship had faded away with time, leaving you feeling unimportant and unheard. You had brought up the issue multiple times.

He tells you he'll be more present, more attentive, that he'll make an effort. But every time, it's the same story. Nothing changes, and you're left feeling hurt and ignored. You know it's not entirely his fault. Simon carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and his mind is still at war with his past. Still, that doesn't justify his constant zoning out when you're trying to talk to him.

You wish he would just communicate with you.

This morning, as the mission loomed ahead, you decided to test the waters one more time, asking him a simple question about using the shower first, and he didn't even acknowledge it, not even bothering to ask for clarification. He didn’t even ask where you were going when you left for your equipment check.

It's as if you were dead to him and it stung.

You wondered if he even loved you anymore. You doubt it.

Bullets were whizzing past your face and the explosion of a nearby grenade had made your ears ring. You had called out to Simon who was a few steps ahead of you trying to tell him that you couldn't hear.

But of course he didn't hear you.

If he had then he would have turned around and noticed the man that was creeping up behind you. The enemy operator came up behind you dragging his knife across your throat. Simon who was a couple of steps ahead of you only happened to glance back. 

He turned around his eyes wide at the sight before him. He was quick to put a bullet in the operator's head. As you lay there, choking on your blood, your eyes locked onto his, you desperately attempt to convey your final message. 

It's ironic, really, how he's never truly listened before, how your words have always seemed to fall on deaf ears. But now, in this moment of sheer desperation, he's straining to hear you, hanging onto your every choked breath.

You're struggling to speak, your voice choked by the crimson fluid gushing from your lips. Each word is a struggling effort, each breath is agony. Your hand trembles on your neck as he wraps his own around it, a poor attempt to keep the blood from spilling out. But it's too late. The world around you begins to blur, your vision fading into the distance. Your hand goes limp against his, and your once-stern gaze becomes distant, unseeing. You're gone, and yet Simon doesn't realize it.

He keeps trying, leaning in closer, straining his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. But the words never come, and there's nothing left to say. You were already dead, and no amount of listening could change that. The battle rages on around him, but he remains frozen in that moment, lost in the futile effort to understand your last words.

[mistyresolve]

| Hostage - Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word count - 1.9K

Summary - When y/n is taken hostage because she is their combat analyst and knows a significant amount of information in regards to the 141, Ghost goes ballistic. Driven by fear and anger he locates you and is able to rescue you but the fear lingers and he struggles to wrestle his feelings back down.  

Warnings/Tags - Violence and blood, allusions to a brief panic attack  

A/N - I’m thinking of doing an epilogue to this but I’m really on the fence  

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

Ghost feared very little. Knew that very little could actually kill him, and even fewer people could do the same. He knew he wasn’t invincible, and someday his luck would run out. Someday his heart would stop, and his blood would run cold. He couldn’t run from the inevitable; thus, he welcomed death with open arms like one would an old friend. He didn’t have a death wish though. He was merely passive towards it. Sometimes he liked the thrill a brush with death gave him. It reminded him he was alive, that his heart did indeed beat like everyone else’s. 

When it came to you, it was an entirely different story. The very idea of you being hurt, and dying, scared the shit out of him. The thought of you leaving him behind plagued him. Even in his sleep, nightmares of you taking your last breaths in his arms would force him from sleep. He’d spend the rest of the night watching you sleep, watching your chest rise and fall, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. He feared for the day he wasn’t able to protect you. 

A day like today. 

“Ghost,” Price spoke slowly and low like he was talking to a wide animal. Which wasn’t that far off, “We’ll get them back, we just need more information. We can’t run in there blind and deaf.” 

Price might as well have been talking to a brick wall because all Ghost could hear was ringing. An incessant, grating sound that shrouded him from all sense and reason. He remained utterly silent, seeth in his own wrath. The wrath he was sure to bring down on everyone and anyone who stood in his way. The 141 was well aware of this and stood aside as Ghost stalked to the door, his shoulders rolled and taut ready for a fight. He had turned so wholly maniacal that even Soap was disturbed by the look in his eye and backed down. Ghost went AWOL, but the 141 provided as much support as they could. They were able to give him updates and new information over the radio, but they were never able to catch up with his unrelenting pace. Instead, they only stumbled over his messes. Their own anxiety and unease about the meaning behind it all grew. It was as if humanity abandoned him as he tracked—No. As he hunted down the men who took you, smelling their blood in the air and following the scent. Ghost spared no one. If someone wasn't giving him the information he’d slay them and move to the next. If the next person wasn’t giving him information fast enough they were executed.   

When he finally located you, you were in a warehouse, he communicated back into the radio for the first time to tell the rest of the 141. 

The captors had yet to start drawing blood, but only because they were trying a psychological approach. It had already been three hours. Three very long hours. You were a combat analyst, you weren’t a trained soldier like the 141. And you sure as hell wasn’t prepared for something like this. He didn’t let himself think too hard about the possibilities. He didn’t let himself think about the probability of finding you dead inside the warehouse. You had crucial information on the 141 that they wanted, and he could only hope that information was keeping you alive. 

He slaughtered his way into the building, leaving nothing but carnage behind him. When he got visuals on you, alive, he nearly collapsed. Not completely unharmed though.

You were soaked from waterboarding. They had used ice-cold water, and somehow it was colder still. The big industrial fans hanging from the roof blew cool air, but it was only amplified tenfold for you. He could hear your shivering, see how your lips had turned a scary shade of blue. Your hair stuck to your face in wet clumps. Your hands were bound to a chair, your fingers curling into your palms in search of any warmth. Your eyes burned holes into whoever stood in front of you.     

“Where. Are. The 141. Hiding?” Your captor asked again, the same question he’s been asking from the very beginning. He forced your head back, getting ready to place the towel. He hadn’t gotten anything out of you yet, but he could tell you were breaking. 

You bit out a smile, although it was more of an act of you baring your teeth at him, “Go to hell,” Your teeth chattered, despite your best efforts. Before the captor could place to sopping towel back over your face he emerges. 

It’s almost as if Ghost was made from the shadows themselves with the way he seems to materialize out of them. The way they clung to him. He couldn’t remember losing his handgun, but at some point, he’d resorted to knives. 

You knew he wasn’t here for your blood but alarms and warnings went off in your very bones. They screamed, Danger! Danger!       

Ghost was every bit his reputation at this moment. His eyes were wide and unseeing. His movements were swift and snappy like elastics were snapping in his limbs. He’d taken his time when he dragged the blade across the man's throat, wanting to keep him alive to feel every ounce of agony at his life quite literally drained from him. 

The speed at which he moved in front of you almost made you think him inhuman. He uncuffed you and pulled you into his arms, squeezing you hard enough that you thought he was going to break bones. He was panting, almost unable to catch his breath. You could almost smell his fear; that and the blood that was surely hiding among the black dye of his clothes.  

You repeatedly murmured, “I’m okay. I’m okay,”  into his shoulder. Not sure if you were comforting him, or yourself. Both, you very quickly realized. As whatever came over him in those few hours of your life in danger, ebbed from his veins, he finally, finally returned to his body. Before it had felt like he was watching himself from outside his body, watching himself from someone else perceptive. Someone may have thought he wasn’t a mundane soldier, but a vessel for whatever god wished to experience true unchecked rage. 

But he was human.

He felt true terror today, and his body was starting to feel the effects of it. He kept repeating, “I’m sorry,” like they were the only words he could remember. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, and his skin felt too tight and itchy. You let him hold you, let him feel your heartbeat against his.   

The 141 arrived with a medic. Simon immediately stepped aside, allowing the professional to assess you. She’d immediately announced hypothermia and called for a medevac. She’d wrapped a reflective blanket around your shoulders and removed her own jacket and put it on top.  

Once Simon was completely and utterly sure you were in good hands, he’d stumbled to the wall, choosing a spot where he was obscured from your view. Everyone’s view. He’d fallen to his knees then, his strength leaving him. They cracked against the concrete, but he welcomed the sharp pain. He’d lifted his mask and thrown up. 

It had been a long, long while since he’d had a reaction like this. Where panic and hysteria claimed him. Guilt and self-loathing suffocated him. Filled his chest, and bubbled up into his throat.  

He let this happen. He wasn’t careful enough. He got too comfortable. 

And this was the result. 

It was his fault. 

His fault. His fault. His fault.   

He clenched his jaw, fighting back hot tears. He leaned his back against the wall, rested his arms on his knees, and let his head hang between his legs. If circumstances were different he would have crawled into the safety of your arms and begged you to make this feeling stop. To make it go away. It was a selfish thought, he knew that. Knew that you were one who needed comfort and reassurance right now. Knew that you needed him just as much, but he didn’t want you to see this. For if you looked into his eyes, you’d be faced with the reality that he truly had had no idea what to do. He came looking with no plan and hardly any direction. He’d once again gotten lucky by following breadcrumbs and whispers to find you.  

He almost lost you.  

You were alive, yes, but what if he’d come an hour later? A minute?  

The 141 knew where he was. Had watched him as he melted back into the shadows, but respected Simon’s silent request for solitary. They understood that he needed to wade through these emotions on his own and that no matter what they said or did wasn’t going to fix it. 

When he heard the familiar sound of a chopper overhead he forced himself to collect himself. Allowing himself 10 more seconds before remasking, and finding you. The medic and Price were escorting you to the front doors. 

“Simon,” Soap appeared at his side, Ghost jerked his attention to him, “There is nothing you could have done differently.” 

He didn’t say anything, but his silence was enough for Soap to understand that he disagreed. With that, he made his way over to you taking Price’s place at your side. 

You were still shaking but you held your head high with your shoulders squared. Simon could have cried at the sight. To see you were defiant in the face of it all was enough to ease the tiniest bit of worry from his shoulders. He knew you weren’t totally unaffected and it was going to take you years to repair the damages, but here you were walking out of this building on your own two feet. 

The medic tried to tell him he couldn’t come with but he downright refused to leave you, “Try and tell me no.”, and she must have known immediately she wasn’t going to win because she let him in anyway. 

He held your hand in his the entire flight to the nearest hospital, eyes darting about. He stayed at your side the entire time you were in the hospital too. He slept in the chair beside your bed, or at least pretended to until you drifted off into sleep, but was wide awake and alert for the rest of the night. Only leaving when Soap came for a visit the next day with clothes for him, telling him he’d take the next shift. Simon changed and came right back to the room. Only this time when he sat in the chair with the hood of his sweater pulled over his head, did he sleep. Finding some solace in knowing Soap was here too.  

Tomorrow he was going to have a meeting with Price about his insubordination. And about the ramage he went on. Tomorrow he was going to have to tell Price about how he’d completely lost himself, didn’t even remember half of it.   

Epilogue

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A/N - Price isn’t mad, he’s worried 

[mistydeyes]

miss americana: ghost edition

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series summary: The 141 has varying thoughts about Americans which range from finding them wildly entertaining to thinking they’re the worst people on earth. However you challenge their perspectives when you meet them. Something about you makes them feel a little more patriotic ;)

read gaz's edition here!

summary: Living in the UK has been quite a transition for you and there's a few things Simon doesn't mind pointing out (or making fun of you for)

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x American!reader

warnings: swearing

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

the way you make tea is CRIMINAL to him.

“What are you doing?” Simon asked, startling you and causing you to lightly tip over your mug of lukewarm water. “Jesus, Simon,” you gasped, “I’m making some tea.” He did a double take as he examined the mug in your hand and the partially opened microwave.“You have the microwave open?” “Yeah to heat the water,” you responded as if he was asking a rudimentary question. At that moment, Simon could’ve had a heart attack. He quickly went over to you and dumped the water into a stovetop kettle. You crossed your arms over your chest, wondering what had gotten into your boyfriend. To your curiosity, you watched as he heated it until the kettle whistled. He poured it gently into your mug and placed a tea bag in it. “Here,” he said as he handed it to you, “that’s how you make tea.” “I don’t see the difference,” you mumbled before gingerly sipping on your tea and giving him a quick kiss.

He entertains the amazement you have when you see something that you swore was only distinctly “American.”

“You have hot dogs here?” you practically shouted seeing a stand with your favorite mystery meat. He looked at you bewildered as you stopped to stare at the stand. It was autumn and the leaves colorful leaves lay perfectly around the stand. "It's beautiful," you whispered as the sunset illuminated the bright red hotdog meat on the plastic sign. "It's a hot dog stand." Simon replied flatly, "You make it seem like it's the second coming or something." You shot a look back at him as your stomach slightly grumbled. Before you could say anything, Simon pulled you along with your hand firmly placed in his. "We're having dinner at Price's," he reminded as you pouted at his brisk pace. "But Simon," you began to plead before he cut you off. "It's the same thing you get back into America," he informed and you nodded at the commonality of the stand, "probably a little better though."

When you’re in public, he’ll be sure to let you know if you’re talking too loud.

"AND THEN" you practically yelled as you walked around the grocer's. Simon gave a death glare to the stares that met your loud mouth. "Mind just lowering your voice a little, love?" he asked politely as he continued to push the cart down the aisles. "Sorry," you sheepishly replied, "just used to everyone being deaf back at home." You sighed, missing the loud, noisy streets of your hometown and the boisterous laughter and comments from your friends. You just naturally spoke in a louder tone to compensate for it. "It's alright," he comforted, "people here can barely speak over a whisper." You shared a laugh as you continued your conversation without care. You could feel your homesickness temporarily wash away in the moment. It also helped that Simon met any judgmental eyes with a look of absolute menace. 

You initially thought him not smiling was only a characteristic distinct to him but you soon caught on to the British way of melancholy or blank stares.

"Why does everyone look so sad here?" you whispered to him as you sat on the tube. After a casual dinner, you looked around to see the other passengers silently looking at their phones or out the window. "It's like everyone has a perpetual frown on their face," you continued as you looked up at him. "Just the way people are," he replied in an attempt to answer your question, "you all are so smiley in the US." You looked at him shocked and put a dramatic hand to your heart. "Not my fault we're just so friendly," you mumbled as he pulled you back into his side. You continued to sit in silence as the train car screeched along the tracks and the train car began to empty. With a handful of stops left, you felt the need to continue the conversation. "You know, I thought it was just you, but I guess it's just a UK thing," you joked before returning to look back at your phone. As you sat there in silence, Simon couldn't help but love the little things you said that always kept him wondering.

Simon will never understand the beauty that is a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel from a New York bodega after a night of drinking.

"Good morning," Simon smiled, slightly more chipper than usual. You looked back at him as he tussled his messy bedhead. You had gone out for a rare night of drinking with his team and it was clear that someone was feeling a little hungover at the moment. "What are you making?" he asked as he poured you both a cold glass of water. You smiled as you turned around with your masterpiece on a plate. "I made something special," you giddily answered as you pushed it towards him, "this is a New York specialty." As he placed the sandwich in his mouth, you continued. "Here we have expertly prepared strips of bacon, two eggs, and sliced, American cheese of the finest quality. Everything has been cooked to optimal temperature to burst in your mouth and it all lies on a bed of a perfectly toasted, everything bagel," you presented as you smelt the delicacy of your creation in the air. "It's a sandwich," he replied as he swallowed and you rolled your eyes. "It's not just any sandwich, Simon," you corrected, "it is essential to the morning after drinking." He nodded unimpressed as he continued to munch on his breakfast sandwich. "If you don't want it though, I can always take it," you began to say but you were met with his hands snatching it off the plate. "Mhmm that's what I thought big man." 

Despite always correcting you, he smiles a bit at your little phrases and terms.

On a slow morning, you walked over to the couch and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "Got any plans today?” you asked and he let out a small grunt in response. “I’m thinking we go to the movies,” you suggested. “You mean the cinema?” he cheekily asked and you rolled your eyes. “Whatever, let’s get dressed.” When you arrived, you walked with Simon and saw the growing line to enter the theater. “C’mon babe, let’s wait in line,” you said, walking towards the back and you failed to see his shit-eating grin. “It’s the queue,” he joked, clear sarcasm in his voice and you groaned at his antics. 

Finally, the last straw was when you exited the movie and you wanted to relax at home with a good glass of wine. You put up with the teller, sweets, loo, and chips but you drew the line when it came to the next term. Simon’s arm was slung on your shoulder as you discussed the film when you remembered the lack of alcohol at home. “Si, can we stop at the liquor store?” you asked, innocently and you could see a signature smirk flash across his face. “You mean the off-license?” he replied and you lost it. “Oh shut up or I won’t have my parents ship those Costco jeans you love so much!” you replied and his snarky comments silenced. You knew how much he loved those bargain pants that were surprisingly sturdy. He nodded in response before placing a kiss on your angry forehead. “You’re a shithead,” you exclaimed and before he could interject with another term, you put up your hand to silence him, “not another word, London boy.” God, how Simon wanted to correct you and say he was from Manchester.

[daisies-daydreams]

༺♥༻ Daisies Call of Duty Masterlist ༺♥༻

König

⛓️☁️By Your Side (König x GN!Reader) ☁️🔥Nachtisch (König x F!Reader) 🔥Meine (Jealous!König x F!Reader) 🔥Caught (Husband!König x Wife!Reader) ⛓️🔥Something About Us (König x F!KorTac!Reader) 🔥Next Round's On Me (König x Jealous!F!Reader) 🔥☁️ Your Special Day (König x F!Wife!Reader) 🔥Kirsche (König x F!Virgin!Reader) ⛓️☁️One Step at a Time (Deadbeat!König x F!Reader) Pt. 1 & Pt. 2 🔥☁️It Won't Fit (Gentle!König x F!Reader) 🔥Focus (König x F!Reader) ⛓️☁️Always (König x F!Reader)

☁️🔥Next to Me (König x F!Plus-Sized!Reader)

Ghost

🔥Keeping Him Warm (Ghost x GN!Reader) ☁️🔥Closer (Ghost x F!Virgin!Reader) 🔥Simon Says (Daddy!Ghost x F!Brat!Reader) 🔥Sweet Girl (Daddy!Ghost x F!Brat!Reader) ☁️🔥Here and Now (Husband!Ghost x Wife!Reader) ⛓️☁️🔥The First Step (Ghost x F!Reader) Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3 (Completed) ⛓️☁️🔥Try (CollegeAU!Simon Riley x F!Reader) Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6 (Completed) 🔥Next Round's On Me (Ghost x Jealous!F!Reader)

⛓️☁️ Lovely (Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Doctor!Reader)

☁️Sick Day (Simon "Ghost" Riley Domestic Drabble)

Soap

🔥Laundry Day (Soap x F!Reader) ☁️🔥Mama Hen (Husband!Soap x Wife!Reader) Pt. 1 & Pt. 2 (Completed) 🔥Sweeter than Honey (Soap x F!Reader)

☁️If It Ain't Broke (Soap x F!Reader)

Gaz

🔥Tease Me, Please Me (Gaz x F!Reader)

☁️⛓️Everything's Alright (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x F!Reader)

☁️⛓️Who Can I Turn To? (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x M!Reader)

Alejandro

☁️⛓️Sopapillas (Alejandro x F!Reader) ☁️⛓️Mi Cariño (Alejandro x Pregnant!Wife!Reader)

Keegan P. Russ

☁️Doctor's Orders (Keegan P. Russ x F!Doctor!Reader)

Multiple/Drabbles

🔥Warm Up (Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x F!Reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley) 🔥I Wanna Be Yours (Jealous!Ghost/Jealous!König x F!Reader) Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 🔥Through the Wrong Door (141 + König x F!Reader) ☁️⛓️When She Smiles (141 x F!Reader - Platonic) ☁️⛓️ Overload (Task Force 141 x Autistic!F!Reader)

🔥141 + Konig Giving Oral (F!Reader)

Headcanons

☁️🔥Ghost Breeding Kink Headcanons (PapaGhost!AU) ☁️Husband/Papa Ghost Headcanons (PapaGhost!AU) 🔥Reader Walking in on 141 + König Pleasuring Themselves ☁️⛓️141 Reacting to Civilian!Reader Getting Hospitalized While They're Deployed ☁️141 + König Defending Your Child When You Scold Them ☁️⛓️141 + König x Deaf!/Mute!F!Reader ☁️ TF141 + König x F!Reader (When you dress up and act like them) ☁️⛓️TF141/Vaqueros/König/Keegan (When you have a fight) 🔥TF141/Vaqueros/König/Keegan (Having sex while you're on the phone) ☁️ TF141 + König (When they see you changing) ☁️How They Flirt (141/Konig x F!Reader)

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