Simon Ghost Riley - Blog Posts
based on Russian Roulette by Red_clegane
Countdown (1/3)
“𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮” 🚬
09 AU - Android reveal after a mission gone wrong <3 Soap is the result of a secret project to create the perfect soldier and he has to hide the fact that he’s deviant or he’ll be destroyed (he’s supposed to take orders without question). He only heard of Ghost in passing; rumors that peaked his interest. The 141 is the first real team he got to pick himself, and despite Ghost being human he starts forming a deep connection with him before the reveal.
Also, because I headcanon Ghost as autistic I don’t like making him a machine. He's just a weird lil guy, no android brain required. But him being so good with tech definitely has some future hurt/comfort and wire play possibilities..
𝙲𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕..🫢
Mittens
@soapsdish
FIRST MET⛓️🖤🔪
BUGABOO!!
Sorry 4 giving roachie a buzzcut 🤧
Yeah uhm i'm bored and wanna share my very VERY fav characters from every cod game bye. (PLZ HMU IF YOU THE SAME THING)
NSFW, I'm finna say some things because I haven't written in a while and I need a creativity exercise. Didn't do Price or Gaz because... I lazy. Excuse formatting. Again, Lazy.
Simon would probably feel genuinely terrible about it. He'd fuck you nice and slow instead, but not for a while after the visit. First he'd have to eat you all sloppy and soft—let you ride his tongue for hours in apology. Big man with furrowed brows, tongue buried between your thighs as if he lapped at you gently enough, you'd get the picture. That you'd forgive him. And he didn't think he deserved it, either. How could he do that to his little bird? He knew he was a big guy but he didn't think he was genuinely doing any harm... an ugly, sticky part of him is proud, honestly. He doesn't quite know how to feel about that. Bruises in the shape of him where no one could see.... how wonderful.
Johnny's a bit smug. Yes, he'd fucked you rough and deep and quick. That's exactly how you liked—exactly what you'd asked him for. And hearing your gyno say that your cervix was bruised made him proud because.. well, that meant he'd done a good job following your directions. He was a mutt. A good mutt. Your good mutt. And he was happy that he could provide the back arching pleasure that would result in this. But, listen—! It's not like he didn't care. When you complained about the soreness he'd draw you a bath and settle you in, the water warm and smelling of lavender epson salt. He was sorry that the bruises hurt, of course, but as his fingers slip into your cunt while you bathe—just to delicately feel you from inside—you can't help but think he wasn't all that sorry for the bruises existing.
Hey I wanna know right
Since everyone always writes the boys fucking reader character so hard (mostly Johnny and Simon) what do you guys think would happen if they went to the doctor worried she had some sort of UTI and the doctor said they had ahem bruising in their, ahem, insides
What then
Mostly a question for @mina-org and @goatgoesmbe let's be honest
Jealousy Looks Good on You
Notes: mentions of smoking! mentions of jealousy! drinking!
You weren’t expecting Wally to be here.
Then again, maybe you should have.
The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived, music thumping through the walls, the smell of cheap beer and too many different colognes thick in the air. People packed into every corner of the house, red cups in hand, laughing, shouting over the music.
You’d barely made it through the front door when you felt it—that prickling sensation creeping up your spine, like you were being watched.
And then, there he was.
Wally Clark, leaning against the wall near the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found. Instead, his dark eyes tracked your every move.
Your stomach flipped.
Your date—Ryan, sweet, safe, boring Ryan—didn’t seem to notice the sudden shift in atmosphere. He laced his fingers through yours, tugging you further inside. “Come on,” he grinned. “Let’s grab a drink.”
You hesitated, but nodded.
Wally didn’t look away.
Fifteen minutes later, you were perched on the arm of the couch, laughing at some story Ryan was telling. Or at least, pretending to laugh.
Because you could still feel him.
Every time you glanced up, Wally was there—lingering near the kitchen, posted up against the back wall, watching.
Your stomach twisted.
He was never this quiet at parties. Never this still.
Ryan’s hand landed on your knee, snapping you back to the conversation. “So,” he said, giving you a playful smirk, “why’d you finally say yes to going out with me?”
You forced a smile. “Figured I’d give you a chance,” you teased.
Before he could respond, a shadow fell over the couch.
Your heart stopped.
You didn’t even have to look up. You knew.
“Didn’t think you were coming tonight, sweetheart,” Wally drawled, his voice smooth, laced with something dangerous.
Ryan blinked. “Sweetheart?”
You knew Wally was trying to get a rise out of you. You knew he was doing this on purpose. And yet, your skin burned under his stare.
“You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” Wally continued, tilting his head, a slow, smug smile finally curling on his lips.
You clenched your jaw. “Didn’t think I had to.”
Wally chuckled, low and slow. “Right. Of course.” His gaze dropped, sweeping over you, pausing on the way Ryan’s hand still rested on your knee.
And just like that, his smirk vanished.
Ryan cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Uh, do we—do we have a problem, or…?”
Wally finally looked at him. “Nah,” he said, too easily. “No problem.”
Ryan nodded, obviously unsure. “Cool, cool.” He turned back to you. “So, you were saying—”
Wally moved.
Not much. Not even close enough to touch you. But just enough to make his presence undeniable.
Just enough to make Ryan notice.
Just enough to make you hold your breath.
Your fingers curled into fists. “Wally.”
His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
Ryan sat up straighter. “Okay, man, seriously. What’s going on here?”
Wally smiled, but it was sharp, predatory. “Nothing. Just making sure my good friend here is enjoying herself.”
You wanted to strangle him.
Ryan exhaled. “Right. Well, we were.”
Wally hummed. “Yeah?” He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You havin’ fun, sweetheart?”
Your stomach flipped.
Ryan frowned. “Dude, do you mind?”
Wally looked at him, slow and deliberate. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached out—fingers just barely grazing your wrist before you yanked it away.
Ryan noticed.
He wasn’t stupid.
His mouth parted slightly, realization dawning. “Oh,” he muttered. “Oh.”
You could feel Wally’s smirk without even looking.
Heat rushed to your face. “Wally. Go away.”
Wally exhaled through his nose, finally—finally—stepping back. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He flashed a grin, turning toward Ryan. “Good luck, man.”
And just like that, he walked off.
Ryan let out a breath. “Okay,” he said slowly, looking at you. “What the hell was that?”
You rubbed a hand over your face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
You found Wally outside, leaning against his truck, flicking a cigarette between his fingers.
“You are such an asshole,” you snapped.
He barely glanced up. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart.”
You stomped over. “You just embarrassed me in front of my date!”
Wally smirked. “Date?”
Your face burned. “Yes! My date!”
He hummed, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “Looked more like a charity case to me.”
Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now?”
He shrugged, exhaling smoke. “I mean, come on, sweetheart. We both know you weren’t into him.”
You clenched your fists. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Wally chuckled, shaking his head. “Please. If you actually liked him, you wouldn’t have let me get under your skin so easy.”
Your stomach twisted.
Because he was right.
And you hated that he was right.
“You’re jealous,” you accused, crossing your arms.
Wally tilted his head, his smirk sharpening. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice lower now. “I am.”
You weren’t expecting that.
He stepped closer, flicking his cigarette away. “Hated watchin’ you sit with that guy,” he murmured, eyes flicking over your face. “Hated him thinking he had a chance with you.”
Your heart pounded.
“Wally—”
“You wanna know why?” he interrupted, voice quiet.
You swallowed. “No.”
He ignored you.
“Because that should’ve been me sitting next to you.”
Your breath caught.
Wally’s hands slid into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said softly.
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because you couldn’t.
And he knew it.
Wally exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
And then, before you could even process what just happened, he turned—walking away, leaving you standing there, heart in your throat, knowing nothing between you would ever be the same.
Part 1
3.5k, cw: ghosts a pervert and stalker, readers husband is a piece of work, brief mentions of sex, explicit, not proofread
Simon Riley wasn’t one for the romantics, he was a simple man. Wake up early in the morning just as he would on base, complete his training regimen, take a quick shower, and rot away in his one bedroom one bathroom apartment until he's recalled for a mission. A mundane life for the soldier who dealt with life-or-death circumstances just as many times as he’s brewed himself a cup of tea.
But even Simon had things to look forward to. After enduring the monotonous routine of his week he’d practically sprint to the butcher's shop, not for love of the finer cuts of meat one could find, but to see his bird.
Still the fittest thing he had ever seen, your relationship evolved from standing with your back turned to his debauched stares to you actually saying hello to him. Slowly hello turned to little conversations. By conversations, it mainly consisted of you prattling on about one thing or another while Simon grunted out a short “yeah?” or “hm.” Sometimes he felt bad that his pretty little thing who always had endless things to say spoke to him, someone who was pretty much a brick wall in conversation.
But, ah well. He couldn’t think of you banging on the headboard while he fucked you and fully pay attention to what was said in his defense.
At times he didn’t know whether to scold or praise your ability to dole out kindness to even a cold bastard like him. A stranger was what he was, and you still managed to speak to him as if he were any other man you’d meet on the street.
He didn’t deserve it, he knew that. Not with the things he has done to others. Things that would send your pretty little head toppling off your shoulders if you knew. Not with the way he prowled behind as you shakily made your way up the slippery sidewalk, plastic bag with groceries in hand.
He didn’t deserve it, but he was sure as hell certain your fuckwit of a husband definitely didn’t deserve it. That prick left you walking alone and cold the whole way home, letting you know minutes before he was supposed to pick you up from the butcher’s shop.
That pathetic guy didn’t want to take care of his wife? Didn’t want to pay attention to his girl? Well fine, he didn’t need to. Simon would.
As if it physically pained him to watch you have to lift a finger, he sped up his pace and loudly cleared his throat from behind.
Whirling around in fright, your tensed shoulder immediately relax upon meeting Simon’s eyes. Your body shivered from the winds, yet you beamed at him with the warmth of the fuckin’ sun.
“Simon! What are you doing here?” You chirped out in greeting, clasping your hands together as the bag dangled from your fingers. You waited for him to stalk up to you, broody as ever.
His pretty little songbird, who tweets out her hellos even when the frigid weather demands a more mellow tone.
In his usual unsettling manner, he stops right in front of you. “I live up this way.” He lied.
“Really?! I’ve never seen you coming up this way.” He was so close. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at your face, cheeks and nose probably frozen from the biting wind. Your brows furrowed in what he assumed to be suspicion, and he truly wondered for the first time if you actually had a semblance of survival instinct after all.
Raising a brow, he points to a random building in the distance. He picked something far enough away from your own home to quell any unease.You lived in that reddish-brown building about two blocks away. Though you’ve never told him that.
“Just righ’ up there. Usually don’t go this way, but the other route is closed off.”
Your furrowed brows quickly correct themselves at his words and you assume your resting expression, one much softer. “Well… we might as well head up together then!” You laughed in joy and Simon felt his cock twitch for similar reasons. It seems the concept of “stranger danger” wasn’t drilled into your head hard enough during your formative years.
He’d never dream of doing something to hurt your cheery demeanor, but he couldn’t say the same for others. People can be nasty and, if you survived this long without that bubble being burst, he’d be more than happy to tear apart the prick who’d try. Pricks like your husband.
Wasn’t it a soldier's duty to protect the peace? Something like that anyways.
He noticed the way your poor fingers stiffly held on to the bag, the weight harder to carry because of the chill in the air. His hands itched to help.
You quirked your head to the side due to his lack of anything to say and Simon merely jutted his head towards what you carried, “Give it ‘ere.” Your mouth opens to protest, but Simon doesn’t give you the opportunity as he easily plucks the bag from your hands. “Come on,” He began to walk again while ignoring his bird’s shrill whistles of objection to his help “You’ll catch a cold out ‘ere if we don get’cha inside soon.”
Catching up to his long strides, you approach from the right and sigh. You’re inclined to tell him it’s really not necessary, but the heat that bloomed in your chest as a result of his breathy chuckle interrupted you.
You didn’t even need to ask him to help... he just did.
You couldn’t help the way your eyes wondered about his large frame, and he was huge. You had to admit the first time you had spoken to Simon you were a bit rattled when you stuck your hand out to shake his. It was maddening the way he never made a sound, the way his steps quietly padded along the floor when he went up to the counter at the butcher’s shop to pay.
Occasionally you felt your skin prickle everytime he stood behind you. Whenever you gathered the courage to take a peek you would be met with the sight of him tapping away at his phone without a care, hood of his jacket concealing most of his face.
Though you could’ve sworn his phone was upside down once?
Cars whizzed past and you shook away those thoughts. Simon happens to be a quiet type, nothing to judge him for.
“... Thank you. You know, you’re a real nice guy.” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, Simon slows his steps just enough to move behind you. “Simon?” You turn your head side-to-side in confusion as he nudges his way to your other side.
“Wha’?” He huffed while putting himself between you and the road.
Odd.
The two of you got closer to the building and in a practiced stop you both pause at the entrance. About to speak again, you’re cut off by the loud ring of your phone. Looking down you see your husband's photo pop up on the screen. With a sigh, you hold up a finger to your companion and answer.
“Hey hun, is something wrong? You said you had a meeting?” You could hear the exhale of annoyance which escaped him before he responded.
“I’m working late tonight. I can’t make it for dinner. Make sure to leave me a plate before you go to bed though.” Of course. He was always late nowadays. One project or another he would say before rolling to face away when you asked him about his day before bed.
You were his wife! You’d make time for him no matter what, and normally you wouldn’t want to be a bother, but the way tears threatened to bead your waterline in frustration caused your voice to harden a fraction.
“Again? Really? They’re working you a bit hard, don’t you thi-”
“I have work. I’ll talk to you later.”
You blink owlishly at Simon who looks back in silence. You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Slowly, you pull your phone away from your ear both saddened by your husband's cold words but also the humiliation of your new friend witnessing the way you were clearly hung up on by your own spouse.
You wanted to turn heel and retreat into the privacy of your apartment. Cook up a meal which will grow cold on the counter and curl into your bed while incessantly tracking the minutes until you hear the door open.
Simon’s eyes narrowed as if he wanted to burn a hole through your phone, and he waited for you to gather yourself.
“I- um,” letting out an awkward chortle, you scratch the back of your neck. “Looks like I'm alone for dinner tonight.” You managed a disingenuous smile. Simon didn’t seem like the type to be able to pick up on subtle social cues like that, you doubt he’d think anything of your words.
“Well I better get back inside… it's freezing out here. Thanks for your help with my bags I-I just have to get started on cooking right now, so.” You reached for your groceries and saw the strange look in his eyes soften a bit. As you pivot towards the entrance, you hear a gruff call.
“ ‘m pretty hungry righ now.”
…How could you be such an idiot! He carries your bags for you, probably chilled to the point of numbness, and you don’t even invite him in for something to eat. Not even a hot drink. All because of your own selfish discomfort?!
“Oh gosh, that was rude of me. Simon, you wanna come in? I have enough to whip you up a plate if you’d like. A ‘cuppa’ as well. Is that what you say?” You asked.
Simon was a kind man. He was intimidating, but surely it was okay to let him into your personal space. After all, the only person who would object to his presence was currently holed up at his office.
“Brought it up for a reason. That’d be great, love.”
You couldn’t help the way your heart pattered in your rib cage at the endearing pet name. Kind words from a kind man. That’s all. You willed your heart to slow with images of your husband, to whom you had the utmost respect for.
The two of you made your way up to the spacious apartment. You bent over to unlace your shoes and take off your coat. It doesn’t go unnoticed how it took Simon a moment to follow suit. When he stood to his full height, a gentle warmth swelled within you when met with the sight of his broad build in the now seemingly small walls of your home. He looked as though he crowded the room more than any of the furniture.
You felt a bit hazy when you moved to the kitchen. You shouted back to Simon who stood put at the door, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable! Go ahead and sit down anywhere.”
Like a flower, you needed your fix of sunlight. You had lots of windows in your apartment to let the natural light in, a giant one looking into your living room. Simon would see you watching your silly shows, tapping away at your laptop while snuggled under a blanket in this very spot. Soon he’d show you the value of privacy, closing the blinds, locking everything before bed.
There were shady people in the world. Those who’d feed off of your sweet carelessness like it was the best thing to touch their depraved mouths. That wasn’t fair to his bird.
“ ‘m gonna go to the loo.” and before you even had the chance to give him directions, you watched the Brit make his way to the restroom unprompted.
It wasn’t fair, but he would make it fair. He would keep those bastards far away from you, guard your blissful paradise. Keep you ignorant.
So what if his methods were unconventional? So what if he’s followed you home dozens of times. It was to keep you safe. So what if he spent any free time he had watching you through the windows from the building across yours.
Closing the door behind him, his lips quirked up at the sight of your things strewn about. Makeup, hair products, lotions taking up all the space on your side of the sink. In the mirror, his eyes caught on the laundry hamper sat in the corner. He had been here once before.
So what if he has come into your apartment during the late hours just to catch a whiff of your scent. Just to pull the blanket you had knocked off, deep asleep, while on the couch waiting for your prick husband. You needed someone. He could do good by you, or at least try his hardest to.
With practiced ease, he turns to open the hamper. Hands grabbing with the eagerness of unwrapping a present only to be met with a sorry sight.
“For fuck sakes” He whispered.
You and your cleaning. The damn thing had been emptied out of all things with your lovely fragrance, tossed in the wash. With the quick roll of his eyes, he quietly puts the lid back on to the stupid thing.
He had been much luckier last time. After taking it upon himself to sneak in and close a window you left wide open, he had the urge to explore around. Fast forward to when he arrived at his treasure chest (the laundry basket) he was rewarded for his considerate act. He had nabbed a dirty pair of panties with sheer ecstacy.
In the natural progression of things, his cock had hardened with urgency. He had stroked himself eagerly to the thought of your soft, snoozing breaths. A bead of pre-cum already poised to roll down his shaft. You drove him mad, only a few walls separating the two of you. He could walk over to you now, shove your legs apart and sink himself into paradise, in pure euphoria. He continued to jerk himself to the edge of his peak. He had taken in the sight of everything from your loofah to your robe to the pink toothbrush unobtrusively in the corner.
A shiver went down his spine as he looked at the very same toothbrush at present. He wondered how many times you had unassumingly used it since that night.
Images of his desperation flooding back, a hint of something akin to guilt. He had squeezed your panties to his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself, impatiently grabbing for anything else that could connect him to you when he felt himself begin to strain under the stimulation. He had grunted when your scent filled his nostrils, unlike how his balls emptied themselves, his release spurting all over your toothbrush.
When he came back to his senses, he had turned the coated thing over and over in his hand. You’d be none the wiser if he just… washed it off, right? No harm in something you wouldn’t know about. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than lightly run it under the tap.
“Simon! Food is ready!” You shouted. Breaking from his stupor, he steps out of the restroom and moves back to the counter overlooking the kitchen. You gave him that sweet grin while setting the food in front of him.
“Looks delicious, love. Thanks.”
You sat on the seat beside him with a plate of your own. You both tensed at the proximity for the same reason. Taking your first few bites, you look at Simon who blissfully closes his eyes and groans with satisfaction.
That warm feeling begins to simmer in your belly wrongfully so. You turn back to chew before breaking the silence. “I’m glad! It’s been a while since i’ve sat down and ate with someone… it’s a lot different to watch someone actually enjoy something you put effort into.” He didn’t miss the wistful expression you wore. He wanted to fix it, he never wanted to see that pretty mouth fighting stay curved upwards.
Whether it be unknowingly or not, you brushed your knee against and for a moment you both paused in that position. The touch was light but it felt as though Simon’s body was overloaded with only you. Your touch, your eyes, your everything.
It took himself a second to recompose himself, but when he realized your body stayed put; his heart just about soared. Taking another forkful of food, he casually glanced at you and nudged his knee unmistakably to yours. The sound of your cutlery clanging onto the plate gives him a degree of satisfaction.
You simply kept looking down to your plate, whatever was in front of you, anything except his intense stare. Simon was a stranger. Simon was unsettling. Simon was in your home. Simon was so strong, so large he could manhandle you in ways your husband could never.
Your husband. Your life partner who you’ve remained loyal to for years. This was so wrong. You should be leaping out of your chair and separating yourself by 3 meters at least in protest.
So how come you allowed his hand to grip your thigh? You frowned, yet surrendered to his fingers which tilted your face towards him. You didn’t know Simon, but you’d be dense to miss the dark glint in his eyes as he takes in your hesitancy.
How the tables have turned. It was always you who initiated interaction with the morose giant, but as he held you firm in his clutches, you could only sit in wait for his next move.
Testing your reaction, he slowly brought his face closer to yours. Braving his gaze, you could only recognize want. He pressed a gentle kiss to your jaw as you tilted your chin upwards. You weren’t sure whether it was to avoid his lips or grant him better access to your neck.
“No no no come back to me. Come back.” He urged you carding his other hand through your hair, tugging you back. He had to see his bird's face, commit her to memory. Would her expression be like what he imagined? Better?
With a shaky raise of your arm, you caress his face with uncertainty. He needed to fuck you. The most depraved, wicked parts of his mind demanded it. His blood went straight down south at your gentle touch. He needed you to feel him, to feel all of him.
He would protect you from all the perversions those other tossers had to offer, with only one thing in return. To corrupt you from the inside with his own special brand filth. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in your hair.
“I wanna fuck you,” he leaned closer to your ear and nipped it “and I have a feeling my pretty bird wants the same thing, yeah?”
Simon’s words sent a jolt to your brain to sink further into the daze. Your lips parted and you turned to him with round eyes hiding the temptation swirling behind them. Your eyes wildly roved across his face, searching
He carried your things, he called you pretty, he ate your food, he talked to you, he wanted you, he wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him-
His impatience got the better of him when he pulled you into a frantic kiss. His lips were warm and the feeling of his hands holding you secure and upright only added fuel to the fire. How would they hold you when he took you to your bed? Would he be so kind?
Had Simon known your phone would ring loudly moments before finally getting what he wanted, he would have broken it with his own bare hands.
Your eyes cracked open to only be met with the sight of your husband’s contact photo and all at once your guilt hurtled at you. Sensing you pulling away, Simon couldn’t help but try and keep you to him for even a moment longer. He knew it was over when you pushed at his chest to break the connection.
“I’m- oh my gosh. I… i’m a horrible person! Shit! Shit!” You spiraled as you hurriedly got up from your seat and backed away from Simon as if his touch had burned you.
“Hey, hey it’s okay-” He attempted to console you, but was sharply interrupted with a tone he had yet to hear from you.
“No, no! You need to leave. Get out, please!” You screeched in shame. As Simon once again tried to approach closer to placate you, you only put a hand up with a hard look. “Leave. We shouldn’t have done that, it was a total betrayal of trust!”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry, ‘m gone.” His arms went up in surrender as he mirrored your own backward movements.
Your mind really went blank as you took deep breaths to calm yourself, Simon’s heavy footfalls receding and eventually fading from earshot entirely.
While you focused on calming yourself from your “mistaken” judgement, Simon could only think of one thing.
If his bird couldn’t be happy because that fuckin’ asshole was still in the picture, he’d have to weed out the problem from the root.
He was a dead man walking.
ok reverse the TROPE !!!!!! sugar-mommy!f!reader x retired!simon <333 (18+)
he got discharged on a medical injury. his knee flares up now, phantom pains that shoot up his leg and pinch his spine. he feels like a failure--a lieutenant in his prime, and now he has to acclimate to civilian life and grit his teeth instead of drown the voices in his head out with gunfire.
he's been deployed as much as he could be just to stay away from this kind of place. so he didn't have to get on a train, or take the tube. so he didn't have to think about looking over his shoulder in the shops or learn how to pay a wifi bill. he hates going to the doctor's office, and he hates learning how to properly open his bank account, just to learn that there's nearly nothing in it.
the numbers just dwindle before his very eyes. the rent is too high, even in his shitty studio. when did cable cost that much? why can't he go to the pub for just a few pounds anymore? where is the compensation for giving more than a decade of his life in service of his country just to have to wait in fucking lines to get his medication and argue over the phone about where all his fucking money went.
maybe he never had any. maybe it's all lost somewhere. he'd ask his former captain, but he's halfway across the world, and over his dead body would he hold a hand out and ask for charity when he's 36 years old.
"don't get that one."
simon turns his head, a snarl caught in his throat. there's a pretty thing standing beside him, also staring at the array of ramen packages in focus. you take the orange package out of his hand and put it back on the shelf before reaching for a different package. it's got japanese characters on it, so he can't read the label, but you smile up at him.
"this one is way better. good price for it, too."
"'s more expensive."
"yeah, but you get eight packets in this one. that one only gives you five."
at the till, you notice him subtly counting the notes in his wallet. you pretend not to notice, rocking back and forth on your heels, but just as he picks up his bag to leave, you speak up.
"you wanna get a drink? on me."
and fuck, he could use a bourbon. on the first one, he thought your presence was pleasantly tolerable. by the fourth, he's staring down your shirt, dark eyes mapping out what the curves of your breasts might look like in the palm of his big hand. by the sixth, you're pressed up against a sticky bathroom wall and holding on for dear life as he pounds into you from behind, knickers in his back pocket, manicured nails digging slits into his tattooed forearm.
you sink those claws in that night; and you do not let go.
the third night you ask him out, he sees your flat for the first time. in a nice building downtown, doorman holding the door open for you. the elevator ride is long enough for him to see the tops of buildings, and when you step inside your flat, he swallows hard when he realizes you are way out of his league.
gorgeous leather seats and couch. large tv with surround sound. a french kitchen with a gas stove. your flat is filled with knickknacks and candles, low yellow lights and wonderful collections of art and little glass vases and sculptures. your home is filled with warmth, and you don't belong with him.
just as he thinks about backing out of the place, you turn and grip the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. you touch your nose to his over his mask, smiling, and you push the door closed behind him and press him up against it.
"so, which room do you wanna christen first? i thought we could start in the kitchen."
you're a woman that knows what she wants, he'll give you that; and he doesn't have it in him to say no.
the sun wakes him up in the morning. he doesn't remember falling asleep--he doesn't like to make staying over a habit. when he sits up on his elbows, he takes a deep breath, realizing his back hurts a lot less. the mattress of your bed is wonderful, much more supportive than the flat mess he has on the floor in his own place, and he blinks himself awake when you come out of the bathroom.
you're freshly dressed, makeup on, and you're putting on your jewelry when you see him. you smile at him, coming towards the bed, and you bend down to kiss where his mouth would be under the mask.
"good morning, simon. sleep well?"
"mmm..."
you take that as a yes, cupping his jaw, and you kiss him over his mask again before going to get some shoes from your closet. he doesn't comment on the fact that when you open it, he realizes the closet there is only for shoes...
"you hungry, baby? want some breakfast?"
"i--oh..." simon lays back down when his back tweaks, and you reach for him when you see him fall back in the mirror. you smooth a hand down the side of his body, frowning.
"why don't you stay in bed? i'll have my assistant bring you something."
"no, tha's--"
"i'm not asking, simon, i'm telling you," you coo. you pick up one of his hands and trace one of his scars with your finger. you have long, almond-shaped nails. there's pretty chrome nail art over the wine red color you wear, and he focuses on it as you kiss his knuckles gently. "will you wait for me to come home?"
"where y'goin'?"
"gotta work, honey," you wink down at him. "and i want you to be here when i get back."
"tha' so?"
"mhm," you smile. "right here. in my bed--" you lift the covers a little and peek, giggling as you put it back down after getting a glimpse at his cock resting against his lower stomach. "just like this, simon."
he doesn't remember if he ever goes back to his flat. he thinks he went one more time, to grab a few bottles of his medication, but the tick in his knee hadn't been so bad with the great physical therapy you started paying for and the warm massages you gave him every night.
and his back--your bed always contours perfectly against the muscles of his back, and he finds himself sleeping a full seven hours every single night.
not to mention his new work outs. simon hadn't been to the gym much since coming home, but he knows he must be burning hundreds of calories with you. you test his limits. as soon as you're home, you jump on him, and the stress relief your pussy brings him is just what he needs to get the edge off. you're a fiend, especially after a rough day, and the way you bounce on his cock in every room of your flat keeps him up at night sometimes with the most glorious wet dreams.
you're up late that night. you're curled up on the couch in one of simon's shirts and a glass of red wine, and there's a mountain of papers around you that you're focusing on reading. you have a huge presentation tomorrow, and everything needs to be perfect. simon comes into the living room, shirtless, and you smile when you see him standing there. he's wearing the new sweats you got him, but you can't focus on that too much when you're staring at his pudgy, toned stomach and his nice pecs. you bite your lip, taking a long sip of your wine, and simon hikes up his mask to take a bite out of his bowl of ice cream.
"gonna be up late tonight?" he asks, and you nod. "want me to sit with ya?" you nod again, lifting up your legs, and when he takes a seat next to you, you drape them across his lap. you lean over to give his scarred cheek a kiss, and when you turn back to your paperwork, a thought comes across your mind.
"we should get married," you say softly, circling a note over something. simon keeps eating, as if what you said doesn't phase him.
"why's tha', love?"
"tax benefits."
"mmm..." simon drops one of his hands and thumbs against your ankle. the flat is warm. his stomach is full. his body hurts less, and his heart aches with something nice. "olright then."
you smile.
"good. cause i already bought the ring."
So. Highly inspired by this series
Imagine dying next to Ghost. Alongside him. In bed, asleep together, and it’s no one’s fault. It wasn’t a targeted attack. A gas leak. There was no pain, no panic, nothing. Tragic, before your time, and wrought with the impotent agony that can only come about when there’s no target for revenge.
There are worse things, than being a trapped spirit with the man you loved in the house where you loved him. Despite how all of the world has gone quiet, you can still feel him, and he can feel you.
You can still make love.
But every so often, when he takes you from behind, you feel this sharp, burning pain in your back. You know it’s his doing, but something about him has been so… hard to read, since you both died. Even though you don’t have anything left to lose, he holds you tighter than he ever did before. Won’t leave you alone for a moment. There’s terror in his eyes. You don’t understand it— he died in peace. None of the things that haunted him in life can follow him here. But you don’t have the courage to ask him.
He’ll die a thousand times over before he tells you that he’s ripping the feathers from your back because god is trying to take you somewhere he can’t follow.
This is such a niche thought I got while watching a tiktok
Imagine you’re like a runner or someone you is really active and you are running a marathon of some sorts. It’s such a big milestone for you to complete and the 141 is there along the supporting you. You’ll run pass them with huge signs, screaming good job at you and all that lovely stuff. Maybe even a few of them jogging along side you for a minute cheering you on.
That’s it 🫠
That’s it I’m writing a ghost fic. I can’t do this no more! Question is, do I do like like 141 at the beach or like 141 chillin and shit like WHAT.
I wanna write a ghost fic now. My brain has been rotting with ghost fics for the past few days now and I can’t get him out of my mind. Not that I’m complaining.
I’ve had nothing but tiktok lives show up on my fyp of ghost cosplayers for the past like 3 hours. How does tiktok know I’ve been blowing through a bunch of ghost fics the past few days 😭
Putting my desire for Ghost to put me in a headlock aside, I fucking love the spooky monster design this is so goddamn cool🤩
i need him so bad