mortis

You noticed them first: two girls by the bar, whispering, sneaking glances at your table. You caught one of them staring straight at Ghost. Classic. You elbowed him, grinning. “Looks like you’ve got admirers, big guy.”

like rub her feet, help her shower, help her clean her teeth, her hair etc?? <33

it’s not like you were doing it on purpose

pairing: husband!simon "ghost" riley x chronically tired wife!reader

summary: your husband takes good care of you and things around the house

masterlist!

a/n: what a cute request, anon <33 had so much fun writing!!! requests are open!!

your husband was supposed to be returning home sometime soon.

simon was sent on a mission for only two weeks this time, one of the shortest in his career, but it has felt like an eternity for you. your chronic tiredness has not been treating you well these last couple weeks.

it’s not like you were doing it on purpose. a few dishes in the sink turned into piles, garbage started overflowing in the trash bins around your home, some finding refuge on the floor, your dirty laundry basket spilling over with your clothes— all the chores you’ve neglected since your husband’s been gone.

you haven’t been able to get out of bed, and when you did, it was to lay on your couch. no matter how much you slept, it never got better. you could sleep for over twelve hours and still feel drowsy when you woke, like you could use another fourteen hours of sleep.

you couldn’t even muster up the energy to shower most days, nor brush your poor teeth and hair. you were just so tired all the time, your body always feeling sore in random areas.

knowing your husband was returning later, you planned on cleaning up your disgusting mess before he arrived. he’s spent the last two weeks living in tight, dingy bunkers getting shot at, so you wanted him to be greeted with a spotless house.

things didn’t go quite as planned.

your chronic tiredness having other ideas, you fell asleep on the couch before you could start.

“sweet’eart?” simon calls out, removing his size 13 boots as he closed the front door to your shared home.

the beefy brit shrugged off his jacket, a groan leaving him as his sore muscles ached. hanging the jacket in its designated spot on the coat rack, “m’ home!” he called again, voice louder.

he heard no response back, thinking to himself, wonda where she ‘s?

rounding the corner, he saw the overfilled trash bin first, using his hand to compress the garbage. “hon’?,” your husband tries again, tying the bag off.

he placed the trash bag beside the front door, turning on his heel to search for you. he can take out the trash later, he needed to find his wife now.

passing the kitchen, the brute’s eyes landed on the sink— plates, cups, silverware, skillets, spatulas— any dish you would find inside kitchen cabinets sat cluttered underneath the faucet.

continuing to the living room, he spotted you laid across the couch. the slow rise and fall of your chest made your husband’s eyes soften, content with how your were looking so peaceful.

he quickly moved to throw a blanket over your goosebump covered skin, saddened at how his precious wife fell asleep before she could even cover herself. how long had you been cold for?

placing a kiss on your forehead after, the man got to work, wanting to help relieve some of the stress on your shoulders.

your husband knows you’ve been struggling with your chronic tiredness for a few months, and with him being absent these last two weeks, he could only imagine what it’s been like here for you. he wanted to assist in anyway he could.

simon walked to your shared bedroom, having a feeling he probably needed to start a load of laundry. his instincts being correct— he carried the laundry basket into the laundry room, throwing your clothes into the washing machine.

the brute started the dishes in his succeeding actions, placing all the dirty cups, plates, bowls, and silverware inside the dishwasher. he started the cycle, a beep being heard from the machine.

the man had to hand wash the cooking utensils— because they didn’t fit it was better for them to be cleaned like that anyways— all the skillets, pots, pans, and spatulas put into their respective areas after he hand dried them.

then he went around the house, collecting all the trash he could. empty soda cans and half filled water bottles sporadically sat on counters and tables, crumpled papers (your husband assumed was from your journaling), junk food wrappers, all shoved into the trash bag, simon tying it off after he made sure the house was spotless.

he grabbed the first trash bag from beside the front door and proceeded to carry both bags outside to the wheeled bin. trash comes tomorrow. m’ should go ‘head and roll it to tha edge, he thought, using his gruff hands to pull the bin down the driveway.

when he returned back inside, he placed new trash bags into the trash bins around the house and washed his hands.

buzz the washing machine signaled the first load was done, your husband walking over to transfer your wet clothes into the dryer. simon went ahead and put a second load of your clothes into the washing machine too, seeing your basket was still full. you probably had one load left after this.

tha house ‘s clean for ‘er now. hope she likes it, your husband rubbed a hand across his face, eyes fixating on your sleeping form.

simon lifted your legs, plopping himself onto the couch, resting them above his meaty thighs. he started lightly rubbing your feet— a slow and sensual massage for his sweet fawn.

he missed you so fucking much while he was away, his mind only consumed with getting back home to you the last fourteen days.

he softly dug his thumbs into the soles of your feet, small shhh’s cooing out of him at your silent quivering.

the man couldn’t help himself, bringing your feet towards his mouth, littering soft kisses across your toes. this awoken you, the pleasure lulling you from your slumber, “hi, sweet’eart,” you heard your husband’s deep voice, “m’ back,” accent thick. you felt him place another kiss, this time on the dorsum of your foot, “m’ missed ya so,” one more kiss, “so much, hon.”

“si?” you groggily question, fingertips rubbing your eyes. “m’ ‘ere, baby,” you heard him respond, now recognizing he was also caressing your feet.

“oh my gosh— si!” you hastily jumped off the couch, stumbling a little to catch your balance, “y-you’re not supposed t-to be here yet,” stumbling a little over your words.

you watched your husband stand from the couch, a small grunt escaping him, “yer not happy to see m’?” he holds his arms out, waiting for you to hug him.

your eyes widened at his assumption, “no! i am happy to see you,” swiftly moving into his hold, “i missed you so much too, simon.” the familiar feeling of the beefy brit’s biceps wrapping tightly around you provided some comfort, but you couldn’t stop the sudden water works.

simon pulled away from you, raising his hand to lift under your chin, forcing eye contact. he frowned at the sight of his sweet wife, big tears rolling down her blushed cheeks, hints of purple under her enchanting eyes— the brute just wanted to help you. “wha’s wrong, hon?”

a sob left you, your husband using his other hand to rub circles on your back. “i-i needed to clean the house before y-you got here,” you cried out, “i wanted to get ready too, b-but of course i fucking fell asleep.”

simon pulled you back into a hug, knowing you probably needed comfort and for him to just listen to you. “i’m sorry, simon. i wanted everything to be nice f-for you when you got back home,” he listened to you hiccup out.

he slid his massive hands up and down your spine, eventually choosing to reach behind your thighs, lifting you. muscle memory responded, your arms encircling his neck, your legs tightening around his waist— your husband’s koala bear.

“haven’t been keeping up with myself o-or chores since you left,” you told him, simon walking you both up the stairs to your bedroom. he kissed your cheek, a hand moving under your ass for better support, “it’s alrigh’. yer okay.”

“i-i feel so pathetic, simon,” you whimpered, your husband walking past your bed, to your bathroom, “i’m just tired.” he placed you on top of the bathroom sink, kissing your forehead while you released him.

“m’ sweet wife,” he kissed your lips, “yer so fuckin’ perfect, y/n.” he kissed you again, tasting salt from the tears on your face. “handled everythin’ for ya, sweet’eart. did tha dishes, laundry, took out tha trash. know yer tired,” he kneeds your thigh, his hand swallowing it, “jus’ let m’ take care of it, hon.” a beat. “let m’ take care of ya.”

this only upset you more, wailing, “you’ve been away on a mission, simon! living in small, grimy bunkers. i k-know you’re tired! you’re getting s-shot at and escaping d-death—” your hand covered your mouth, simon bringing his to remove it. “don’ mean nothin’,” he kisses your knuckles now, “will always take care of ya and suppor’ ya. wanna be there for ya.”

you looked into your husband’s eyes, heart melting at his sweet words, “ya just gotta let m’, y/n.”

a few seconds passed, the sensation of your husband’s hands on your thighs making you relax more. i really did miss simon.

nodding your head, “yes, si,” sniffling your nose.

your husband smiled, kissing your lips, satisfied with your answer. “good girl.”

he turned away from you, the sound of water pattering filling the air, “gonna take one togetha,” he motioned to the shower.

simon undressed himself first, shifting to you to help remove your clothes. “thank you,” you told him, kissing his shoulder before he grabbed you off the counter.

he held the curtain open, grabbing your hand to help you step in, following after you, “‘s tha water too hot, fawn?” “no, si.”

your husband took time to scrub your body, gently massaging the tight knots he found across your back, stealing a few kisses along your shoulders. when he began washing himself, you crossed your arms over your chest, “seriously?” he laughed, handing you the washcloth so you could return the favor. you had to use your elbows on some of simon’s knots, your fingers being too small for them. of course your husband got huge knots, everything about simon was big!

he began washing your hair next, lathering the strawberry scented shampoo through your locks of hair threaded between his scarred digits. “lean yer head back, luvie’,” he directed, using the shower head to rinse your hair. “needa do yer conditiona’ now,” he repeated his actions, the conditioner frothing. “feels so good, si,” you hummed, lightly rocking on your heels.

you shampooed and conditioned your husband’s hair when he finished yours, the large man having to slightly lean down for you to reach— he loves accommodating himself to your height. you snuck kisses along his jaw and neck, down his sculpted chest and abs, eliciting a hushed groan from him. “love ya so much,” he smooched your head.

you both got dressed in your matching pjs, simon choosing them for you two, “wan’ to match with m’ sweet wife.” “great idea, simon!” you happily clapped, smiling up at him.

he brought you back to bathroom when you were clothed, squeezing some toothpaste over your toothbrush, “open for m’.”

you obeyed, the brute beginning to brush your teeth. he made sure to reach every side, the man using his thumb to pull your mouth apart wider, “stick yer tongue out.” following his command, ahhhh fled from your throat as he brushed the pink muscle, “atta’ girl.”

simon dried your hair for you, even detangling the strands, “sorry, luvie’,” when you’d slightly wince. “it’s alright, si!”

“light yer candle for us, yeah?” your husband asked, walking out your bedroom. continuing down the stairs, he shouted, “needa finish tha last load of laundry!” “i will, si!” you called back.

now, you were laying in your bed with your husband, entangled in one another’s arms, legs sprawled over his. some tv show you and simon started before he left played on the screen, laughs occasionally leaving both of you.

getting lost in your hypotheticals

pairing: husband!simon "ghost" riley x emotional wife!reader

summary: your husband always tries his best to comfort you whenever your overthinking becomes too much

masterlist!

a/n: love this request, anon <<<333 need this man sooo badly ;))) requests are open!!

silent sobs, at least you tried to make them silent, bringing both hands to cover your mouth.

you didn't want to wake simon up again tonight like you had every day this past week. knowing he had to get up early for work tomorrow, you tried to throw the duvet off you, shuffling from under the sheets when you felt his beefy bicep wrap around your waist, "where ya goin', luvie?" of course the military trained lieutenant heard me.

“s-si—” choking on your sobs, you couldn’t continue, simon quickly raising up to turn on the bedside lamp. “sweet’eart?” he frowns, placing a gruff hand on the small of your back, “please talk to m’.”

you were facing away from your husband in bed, legs hanging over the edge, arms crossed above your chest. roughly wiping your tears, “i didn’t m-mean to wake you up, si. go back to sleep.”

“not with ya so upset, fawn,” you felt him start rubbing circles along your spine, “how can m’ help ya?”

simon’s been coddling you every night when he’s caught you crying, physical touch from him bringing great relief to you. may as well give in, you thought, turning to crawl into your husband’s arms.

he instantly encircled both arms around your torso, securing you in his infamous bear hug. you slid your legs on both sides of his massive thighs, straddling his lap.

a few minutes passed with the two of you in this position, occasionally gripping one another to make sure you both were still present.

then, he gently lifts your chin, concern flashing across his features at your puffy cheeks and teary eyes. “oh, sweet’eart,” the brute wipes a stray tear, “please, m’ wanna help. let me listen to ya.”

no more holding back, your overthinking fully getting the best of you tonight, wailing, “si! i’m just so fucking scared!” he remains silent, kneeding his hands into your thighs, an encouraged, “go on.”

“e-everyday you leave to go to base a-and everyday i worry you’re not—” with more sobs exiting you, you fell into your husband’s chest, the man pulling you into a bear hug again. “hey, hon’. hear yer feelin’ real anxious ‘bout ‘tis,” he kisses your forehead, “m’ righ’ ‘ere with ya.”

you take a deep breath, “i worry you’re not gonna come back, simon. quite literally, anything could happen to you! i-i can’t lose my husband, si.”

the man felt terrible, like it was his fault his precious wife has been stressing herself out, staying awake every night, all week, crying because of her overthinking.

knowing it wasn’t beneficial to invalidate your feelings, the man just listened, keeping you in his hold. i should really start calling simon, “mr. bear”, you giggled to yourself. “w-what if your base gets infiltrated one day? what if a faulty grenade goes off? what if-” simon readjusted his hold on you, silencing your rambling. he could tell you were getting lost in your hypotheticals— your “what if’s?” making you panic more.

your husband needed to ground you, he tried, “it’s all scary for m’ too, y/n. bein’ away from ya ‘s already hard enough. can’t imagine bein’ away from ya ‘cause of somethin’ happenin’ outta m’ control.”

he looks into your eyes for this next part, “so we have to look to tha things we can control.”

slowly understanding what he means, “like me calling to check on you while you’re on base? i can see for myself that you’re alright when i start getting too anxious?” simon smiles, patting your ass, “tha’s righ’, luvie’. hell, ya can even come visit m’ in person on base if it makes ya feel betta.”

smiling at your caring husband, you kissed his lips, simon flipping you both on the bed. he now has you lying on your back, all 230 pounds of his pure muscles resting on top of you.

“tell m’ everytime yer overthinkin’ somethin’, sweet’eart. it’s m’ job to help ya,” he litters more kisses anywhere he can reach— your forehead, nose, cheeks, lips.

ghost fucking your throat viscously, tears well up in your innocent bambi eyes as the room floods with filthy wet moans. he pats the back of your head, encouraging you like the good little doll you are to take him whole

until your eyes are rolling back, fluttering shut due to the intense burn, drool dribbling down onto the floor creating a small puddle. his cock forming a bulge down your neck as you struggle to breath, gagging from his massive size as he continues thrusting relentlessly

"ey, easy love, don't be blackin' out on me" he taps your cheeks with his gloved fingers, wiping your smudged mascara as he pulls out of your mouth. you wrap your arms around his calf clinging to him, as you bury your face against his thigh letting out little whimpers, pain and pleasure electrifying your body, looking up at him with hazed eyes too fucked to think straight

he tilts his head to the side slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth beneath the mask. his fingers move slowly through your hair, waiting for your breathing to settle. the second he decides you are calm enough, he jolts your chin sharply, forcing you upwards and back to where you belong

You’re the last edition to the 141.

CW: fem!reader, reader described as tall and muscular

Based on this request.

You’re new to the 141. A last minute edition by Laswell to the squad. She was fine with Price’s team, then you came back from leave and she knew you had to be on the task force.

So here you were, freshly off vacation, on a new base with a new team.

Well, new-ish. You’ve worked with Gaz and Price before on a mission before, but Soap and Ghost are brand new to you.

Price had warned you about the guys before you arrived. Soap was going to be -extremely- friendly, and Ghost was going to be dry.

You were shocked when Ghost actually pulled you into a nice conversation upon your meeting. He asked about your tattoos, your military history, and your involvement in the mission with a level of empathy you were unfamiliar with.

While you were relaxing into a blossoming friendship, Ghost was freaking out.

He’d never seen such a beautiful woman before.

You were just shy of an inch shorter than him, with the same build. Thick muscles with a soft layer of fat over your thighs and stomach that strained against your fatigues.

He was instantly whipped.

Price eventually pulled you away to get you acquainted with the base’s layout and Soap took the opportunity to slide next to Ghost.

“You’ve got it bad for that Bonnie, aye lad?” He teased and nudged Ghost’s bicep.

It happened only one time and now here you are. Having gotten tired of your sweet, yet very nosy and persistent neighbor that kept trying to pair you up with one of her sons, trying to stage "accidental" meetings and always inviting you for dinner, one day you just had enough. So when she stops you again outside, gushing about her lawyer son and how cute the two of you would look together, you politely tell her you have a boyfriend. At first she doesn't believe it and asks to see a picture of him so you pull out the photo you secretly took of a slightly drunk Ghost, head slumped over your shoulder and his mask halfway off.

The picture has the desired effect, the image of that behemoth of a man whose biceps don't even fit into frame and mean look on his face are enough to make anyone back off. The problem is that news travel fast in small towns and now somehow everybody and their mother knows about your military boyfriend and can't wait to see him around.

Because fate has a twisted kind of humour, your lieutenant ends up temporarily living in your home after his apartment gets flooded. You only made the offer because he saved your ass during the last mission, not expecting him to actually accept it. And it's just your luck that the same neighbor happens to see him was spying through the blinds and decides to say hello and how good is to finally meet him.

It's just your luck that Ghost's taciturn demeanour cuts the conversation short, but the look he gives you is not encouraging. You try explaining the situation to him, apologizing every three seconds until he finally stops you and tells you that he's willing to pretend to be your boyfriend until his apartment gets fixed. You're so happy and thankful that don't even notice when he steps out on the balcony to make a call and break the lease for his old apartment, already planning to move the rest of his meager possessions here.

Ghost that gets very comfortable into his role as your fake boyfriend and maybe leans a bit too much into it under the pretense of "having to sell the picture". Suddenly he calls you "luvie", getting a special kind of satisfaction from seeing your embarassed expression when he does it that around other people. He pulls you into his lap while on a picnic, a hand on the small of your back when walking down the stree, even stealing a kiss or two after asking for permission of course.

You're not safe even inside your own home, finding Ghost only in a pair of boxers with a beer in his hand while watching a game on TV. The little patting motion he does on the spot next to him having your body moving on its own. It's him getting out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around him, watching that one drop of water falling down his neck, over his Adam's apple and then down his chest. He watches you back with a smirk curling on his lips. He sits too close behind you while looking for something in the upper cupboard, his body pressing flatly against yours, staying there for a moment too long to be accidental. It's only when the contact is over that you finally remember how to breath properly.

“can we book in sex on friday evening?” your voice cuts through the silence of your shared lounge - almost hesitant.

not hesitant like you're expecting to be rejected, hesitant in the way someone is when they feel out of practice. when somewhere along the way they lost all their powers of seduction.

simon looks up over the page of the book he's reading - eyebrows furrowed before they relax, like he's trying to make sure you're not asking out of some misplaced sense of obligation.

“friday works.” he confirms, “be back late so you'll… have some time to yourself first. to do your… preparations.”

preparations.

the polite way to say you'll either watch or listen to or read some porn in the bath before he gets home to try and kick start your body and brain into getting onto the same page about wanting to fuck.

you snort softly at the phrasing before nodding, "okay. just let me know when you're on your way home."

quiet settles over the two of you again, peaceful, yours.

then simon clears his throat.

"the new meds seem to be helpin'." he says quietly. "yer smilin' more. s'nice."

you nod, once. "they are." you confirm quietly. there's a beat of silence and then, "… sorry they've broken my fanny."

simon just shakes his head, brown eyes meeting yours. "not broken. an' don't be sorry. rather have you 'appy than horny. only one of those is important to me. an' it's not the availability of yer cunt."

your ears get hot at the bluntness, but your chest tightens with relief at his words. but still. there's a twinge of guilt in your stomach, like you're somehow not keeping up your end of the bargain you made when you decided to be each other's.

"i know. you always say that. but…"

"no buts." he cuts you off firmly, no room for argument. "no ifs. no fuckin' anythin'. i love you. i love yer smile and yer laugh. an' yeah, i love fuckin' you. but i'd rather you were smilin' at my bad fuckin' jokes again than drippin' all over the house."

Si ❤️: 10 mins off

Si ❤️: don't rush. take your time

Si ❤️: gonna shower in the en suite. you'll take one whiff of me and absolutely change your mind

Si ❤️: (which would be fine. no pressure. didn't think before i sent that.)

Tags: cumming in pants, meet-cute, lap dances, love at first sight

—————————————————————————

Quite possibly the funniest memory of the taskforce happened on Ghost’s 32nd Birthday.

Ghost was adamant not to celebrate it, eager to spend the night in the base’s gym, beating the punching bag to a pulp. His friends, however, had a much different plan.

One thing led to another, they were three bottles deep at the strip club, and Soap had insisted on spending an absurd amount of money to buy Simon a private dance with the club’s most popular stripper.

Enter you, towering in 6 inch heels, bare skin painted with body glitter and spilt liquor, all but naked except for the tiny g-string hugging your covetable hips.

Simon had barely downed a single beer all night, too outraged at his friends to get into the birthday spirit.

He’d been nearly at his wits’ end with Soap’s antics, but the second you’d strutted in, bare tits exposed and covered in hot pink glitter, his words had died on his tongue.

The boys had hooted and hollered as you hauled a silent (and completely stiff) Simon Riley from his chair and yanked him across the club by his shirt collar.

Their laughing had drowned in the music. Unbeknownst to him, they’d huddled around the crack in the door, choking on their laughter as you cranked up the music.

You’d rubbed your ass against his hips. Pulled his hands off the arm rests to grope at your tits. Toyed with the edge of that tiny pair of panties until he could see the neat little patch of hair hidden just underneath the scant fabric.

All the while, Simon had been ramrod straight in his chair. Unspeaking. Unmoving. Unblinking. Completely and utterly expressionless.

To the 141, it was downright hilarious, watching a pretty thing like you vigorously shake your ass up and down the human equivalent of a brick wall.

To Simon…well, it’s a much different story.

concur your timid tendencies

pairing: husband!simon “ghost” riley x shy wife!reader

summary: you surprise your husband with a new family member— if you can find out how to tell him

masterlist!

a/n: soooo cuteeee, anon :))) had soo much fun writing!! requests are open!

“awww, who’s the cutest girl in the world?” you quietly say in your best baby voice, “you are! that’s who!”

while your husband was away at work today, you decided to go to your local animal shelter, finalizing the adoption process for the precious kitten you’ve been bonding with over the last month.

it took you a while to muster up the courage to actually go to the animal shelter four weeks ago, your shyness getting the best of you.

simon usually helped you concur your timid tendencies, having you order takeout food over the phone, schedule his and your doctor appointments— some of his forms of exposure therapy. but, the brute happened to be absent from home daily, having to spend most of his days at work, meaning he couldn’t assist you all the time.

wanting to try your own form of exposure therapy, you started visiting the animal shelter, especially whenever you got too lonely. the puppies and kittens were always great company! animals were easier to be around than other humans— except for your si, of course.

and you may have gotten too close to one— an adorable kitten began following you everywhere you walked. she even started to yowl when you left the animal shelter, tugging at your heart strings. “she seems to really like you,” the vet said, squatting down beside you to pet the kitten, “would you be interested in adopting her?”

you were nervous about adopting your new pet, especially since you didn’t know how to tell your husband. you didn’t start going to the animal shelter with the goal of adopting, it just happened.

if anything, simon should be excited you added a new addition to your little family. she could help with your loneliness on the days he’s working, notably when the man gets deployed— his deployments were always excruciating to deal with alone. you needed this kitten.

“dada’s gonna be home soon, kitty!” you lifted the feline, snuggling her in your arms. “how am i gonna introduce you two?” you mumbled more to yourself, awwwing at your girl’s sweet purrs.

you played with your kitten in different rooms around the house, migrating from the living room, up the stairs to your bedroom, and even the bathroom— she had so much energy for such a tiny kitty.

placing a bowl of water and food down for her, you watched her consume it. “you’re probably really hungry, huh?” you giggled, petting along her back.

then, “hon? m’ home!”

it must’ve been a funny sight— you paused any movements, your kitty doing the same at your husband’s deep, thick accent.

“that’s him! we have to go kitty!” you scooped her up, lightly jogging up the stairs. hope si doesn’t hear me, you thought, placing the kitten in your bedroom. talking to her now, “please stay here and don’t leave! i have to prepare simon to meet you. i love you,” you kissed her, exiting the bedroom.

“sweet’eart?” you heard your husband again.

rounding the corner, “hi, si!” sweetly leaving you. throwing your arms around your husband’s neck, “how was work today?” just gotta act normal.

simon responded, encircling his arms around your waist, “same ol’, same ol’.” he kisses your cheek, pulling away, “wha’ were ya doin’? took ya a bit to come.”

thinking, oh great, questions! while putting on your best poker face. “you know, just listening to music in my headphones! i couldn’t hear you at first,” you replied, grabbing his hand to pull him towards the kitchen. “heard. jus’ don’ have it too loud next time, yeah fawn? could be dangerous for ya if it’s not m’ comin’ in,” he squeezed your hand in response. “yes, si! i didn’t even think about that!”

you ate dinner with your husband, chatting about the activities you both did today— you purposely leaving one out. simon was surely gonna find out about the kitten sooner or later, and you were okay with it being later! you just didn’t know how to tell the brit.

“luvie’?” your husband pulls you out of your thoughts, “wha’ are those doin’ agains’ tha wall?”

following where he was pointing, your eyes widened, landing on the kitty’s food and water bowls. shit, how could i forget to put those away!

“i-i don’t—” you stuttered, trying to come up with an excuse, but nothing.

simon raised an eyebrow, “mhmm?” vibrating deep in his chest. the man was having fun with this. “have somethin’ ya needa tell m’?” “n-no, si—”

meow.

a beat of silence.

“wha’ was tha?”

you winced, turning to look at the culprit in the doorway. “surprise!” you waved, walking to grab your kitten, she always follows me everywhere. i should’ve known better.

simon riley and his spouse don't wear wedding rings.

work makes it risky for him. you simply don't want anything between your skin and his when he entwines his fingers with yours.

instead, you get matching tattoos. small, black hearts on the inside of your ankles, and identical ones tucked behind his ears - hidden by the mask at work, and by tufts of blonde hair when he's at home.

no dates. no names. nothing that would obviously link the two of you.

now he’s got you folded in a mean mating press - knees crushed to your chest, legs hooked over his shoulders, cock buried as deep as it can go. every thrust makes you whimper, nails biting into his biceps, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. your ankles press against the sides of his head; the hearts tattooed there lining up perfectly with the ones behind his ears - permanent reminders of your favourite position to be in together.

Of course, that was back when you were a pup, small and soft and easy to love.

Nowadays, you're nothing anyone wants to cuddle. A giant anatolian shepherd, you can remember clearly the day your mom told you the weight was too much, and you'd simply have to curl by her feet. Age has changed you just as war has.

No one wants to hold you, too big and awkward to fit in anyone's lap.

That is, until you meet ghost, your new lieutenant. A giant of a man, even in your human form he easily outclasses you. Of course, ghost has worked with plenty of shifters before, killed plenty too, he knows exactly how to read your body language.

Meaning it almost takes you off guard after a bad mission when he drops a heavy hand on the back of your neck like he's scruffing a pup, grunting "with me, runt."

"Go on, shift." He orders you in the recroom he just locked that you're pretty sure he shouldn't have keys for. Maybe you see him a bit as a pack leader, so you shift without asking why.

Only for him to bodily haul you onto his lap, entire couch sagging with the weight of you both. He doesn't groan about how big you are, or how your claws dig into his jeans.

He only cards two hands into your fur and gently scratches until you let your mind really sink into it.