Some More Ghostprice For Brenna! Thanks For Waiting 😮‍💨⚡️

training

sepsis prayer circle pls pls pls

Reader: *Finally snapping after years of mental abuse, losing all kinds of self conservation instinct, smashing someone's head with a rock.*

Ghost, just as mentally fucked and with even less conservation instinct: Yeah, I could fix her.

I just think they could work perfectly fine, with like no angst at any given moment and just perfectly healthy and not self sabotaging from any of them. Hehe

Simon "the most badass loser to ever exist" Riley

Slasher!Price who keeps his pretty thing a little closer to his chest. Who plays the part of military captain too well, using that as an excuse for the odd hours and the blood on his clothes. The only person he's ever truly loved. At least he thinks that's what this feeling is. You're the first, the one he tracked for weeks, the one he knew would be the perfect first kill, the one that would make his blood sing in a way deployment never did. He kills pieces of you, finds victims that remind him of you: your hair, your laugh, your eyes. He can't get too close to the real thing, it makes his heart hurt to think it's you under his knife, but there's something intoxicating about it all the same. Something that makes him cover your mouth with his hand when he fucks you over the washer, knowing his fatigues have blood in the seams, and press his nose against your temple imagining the scent of fear.

Maybe if he could convince you to come out to the woods with him he could quell this urge, chase you down and feel that primal fear properly, but he doesn't know if he'd be able to stop himself from finishing what he started. If you'd come out of it dripping come or blood. If you came out at all.

Getting a hey girly text from Soap while ur dating Ghost must honestly be so devastating

your weighted blanket (simon riley x reader)

could be part of this two lieutenants series but it’s standalone

—

“you know what i want?”

“wha’?”

“a weighted blanket.”

simon turned away from his bedroom desk to stare at you, his dark eyes squinting incredulously.

“what?! i think it’d help me sleep.”

“wha’ the fuck is a weighted blanket.”

you huffed a sigh. “it’s literally a weighted blanket simon. having weight pressing down on you helps you sleep, it’s scientifically proven.” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as you laid back on his bed.

turning off his desk lamp, he made his way to his bed. he joined you on top of the covers, giving you plenty of space. keeping it platonic. not that he wanted to, but that was another thing.

“can’t jus’ have some sop lay on you?” the words hurt coming out, but it was the only thing he could say. desperately looking for a sign that you were talking to someone as you were so tightlipped about your escapades until after they ended.

“i’m on a man break. they all suck.” no one measured up to the unending care simon gave you, even if he was just a friend. just a friend who lets you come into his room every night, talking yourself to sleep. just a friend who never forgets your favorite body wash or candle scent on supply runs.

“they don’t know how to treat a woman like you.” his words echoed in the dark, ideas of what they meant bouncing around in your brain. “a woman like me?” silence. “don’t be mean, si.”

fuck he was so stupid. needed to watch his tone better, like gaz was always telling him. “dove, jus’ meant a smart independent woman like yourself. yer lookin’ for a partner and they’re look for a mother or a fuck. or both.” your jaw dropped. “oh. thanks.” his words thickened the air. no one had ever talked about you like that, like you were something to be treasured, not kept. like he respected you.

“if you really need a weighted blanket i-“ “yeah?” you sounded too eager, but you didn’t care. you turned towards him, catching his eye in the gleam of the base lights outside his window. “could be yers. if you want. strictly platonic.” he scratched his head, looking away. embarrassed. “yeah, platonic. course, yeah. that’s fine. good, i mean.” you needed to get your act together and stop sounding like a teenager, but he just offered to be your blanket. surely that was more than platonic.

“now?”

“sure.”

you sat on his bed like a dead fish, arms at your sides. you were not about to initiate what surely would be the most awkward non-cuddle session in your life. simon pressed one large paw into the mattress, hauling his huge body up on one arm. he moved down farther on the bed, his head parallel to your ribs. then, with the uttermost care, he shifted on top of you, hovering. waiting. “you can lay on me si, it’s okay.” he released his hands slowly, the full force of his body laying on you. 250+ pounds of pure machine, a body honed from years in the military. a soldier, a sniper, a lieutenant, now at your mercy, body covering yours completely.

“not too weighted for you?” you giggled. an actual giggle from his fellow lieutenant. “no, si. not too weighted.” your hand instinctively went to his hair before you could stop yourself. “is this comfortable? you’re on my ribs.” he grunted. it actually hurt like a bitch, your bone pressing into him through layers of fat, but he was laying on you and therefore could not complain. “you can move up, i won’t mind.” well, if you were letting him. he wanted to make the most of this blanket situation, this type of intimacy so foreign to him.

simon scooted up your body and laid his head on your tits. built-in pillows, one might call them. you hand went to his hair again, slowly scratching his scalp. “this ok?” you never touched like this, had never touched him like something precious. he grunted, a yes in “ghost” as you liked to call it. you continued running your hand through his hair, surprised at the softness of his locks. his face was against your breast, and usually you’d be embarrassed, but lines had been crossed and all bets were off. his body was heavy, sure, but the weight of it was comforting. all you could think of was him, not the annoying recruit from this morning, not the bad dinner you had at the mess hall. only the smell of the base shampoo and his natural musk, something uniquely him but not gross.

all simon could hear was your heartbeat. it had quickened when he first laid down, but now it was slowing to a comforting beat. you were here, you were breathing. the gunfire and the smell of bombs in his head meant nothing as long as he had you like this, in his arms where no one could hurt you. he could feel your body relaxing, muscles losing the day’s tension and giving themselves over to sleep. as your breathing slowed and you moved to a lower, more comfortable position on his pillow, he knew time could stop and all that would matter was you, right here, with him.

"Do you hunt with the mask on?" "Naturally. The camo version."

kidnapper ghost who gets himself a spitfire of a girl, who immediately flinches and hisses when he strokes his fingers over her round hip and tells her that he likes how soft and pretty she is. he realizes very quickly that making her upset is his favorite thing in the world, that seeing her angry eyes well up with furious tears is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. all she wants is to fight, to make him like her less, to spite him, but she can’t. he immediately concludes that it’s his favorite thing in the world to fuck with her head, so no matter what she does, he tells her what a good girl she’s being for him.

when she somehow unties her restraints her praises her and calls her resourceful and clever, rewarding her with two fingers in her cunt. when she scratches and bites and bruises him, he chuckles and tells her he loves her spirit, that it turns him on to be marked as hers. if she spitefully goes limp and ragdolls while he fucks her, he coos about what a sweet, obedient girl he’s got and how jealous his mates will be when they hear about his pretty pillow princess. when she curses him out, tells him she hates him and wishes he was dead, he laughs and tells her that he loves a girl he can banter with, someone with a good sense of humor. there’s nothing she can do that he won’t praise wholeheartedly, and it eventually makes her break down sobbing from frustration. nothing she says or does seems to deter him from this obsessive, deranged brand of love that she is trying so hard to reject.

so when he kisses her softly after round who-even-knows-what-number of rough, animalistic fucking, and tells her in a soft voice that he loves her, that he’ll always love her, no matter what, it’s nothing short of a delight to him to watch her fall apart, sobbing and clutching at her hair, grieving the loss of freedom that she knows she’ll never ever get back. he can see in her eyes that she believes him, and that it makes her despair.

and god if that doesn’t get him the hardest he’s ever been in his life, despite already going multiple rounds that day

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3, (2023)