#ghost x reader

Something about feeding the ones he loves, about keeping them nourished and alive. He used to cook with his ma, dented cans and store-brand pasta. Despite how his ma hated it, simon would often give his lunch to the kid at his table who never had any.

Maybe that's why he notices you, the intern of some mechanic on base.

You, who always carries around a lunch box, but never actually eats anything. In fact, when ghost got the chance to look inside, it only held water bottles.

At first he thought it was a situation better handled by kyle but he noticed how you'd scarf down any food given to you. The same way he sometimes does and– oh.

Doing some digging, ghost learns interns are paid like shit.

"This is for you." A lunchbox slams down on your little table in the corner of the shop. You flinch, then look up to see the ghost nearly glaring down at you.

He crosses his arms "open it. Eat."

You remember the blood-splattered engine of the car you helped repair last week, your boss explained exactly what to expect from ghost. Oh shit, did you mess it up somehow? Is this how you die?

Ghost doesn't move. You slowly unzip the box.

The smell hits you first, absolutely delicious ham with rice, some grilled veggies on the side. Did he just make this?

Ghost hasn't moved from his position. He tilts his head, as if daring you to tell him no "yer not allergic to anything, I read your med file. If you want something else say it."

What.

Tentatively, mentally saying goodbye to your shitty job and your old ass car, you take a bite.

Flavor explodes across your tongue, warm and delicious and actually filling. You hardly take a moment to breath before shoving down the next bite, and the bite after that. Somewhere between one thought and the next you've completed cleared the dish.

Only then do you look at ghost and realize that squint to his eye is a smile under the mask.

"Good. Meet me in my office tomorrow, we'll need to discuss what foods you like." He nods, takes back the box and just...leaves.

The man had his fixations: bones, bugs, dirt sometimes- he kept jars of it in his room, hidden under the bed for reasons he would not disclose. Wild life seemed to calm the man’s incessant anxiety, oddly enough. The rot, the violence and beauty intertwined in the forest. Humans tried to sanitize their existence, pretend they didn’t murder and fuck and shit themselves. The forest did no such thing- was upfront about its violence, its depravity.

Simon liked stuff like that, only ever had stuff like that.

So you never thought he’d actually keep the little skunk stuffie you’d gotten him. Just a 99 cent little beanie baby, black and white just like all his masks and clothes. You’d given it to him after a small shopping spree to the local thrift store, laughed about how he stunk just like it when you handed him the toy. It barely sat in his massive palm, the man staring down at it before stuffing it into his pocket with a grumble of something you couldn’t understand.

You couldn’t quite believe your eyes four months later, when you popped into his quarters in the night. Only there to grab some of his reports you’d forgotten, just to see the man actually sleeping for once- little skunk stuffie gripped tightly in his fist, the fabric of its tiny head pressed up against his face as he slept.

It was.. sweet. He still had that balaclava on, safe and tucked away in his own world. You debated taking a picture, before glancing at the shot gun next to his bed and deciding against it.

You hug Ghost extra tight the next day though, burrowing into his chest to hide your giddiness as he clutched onto your back. Massive hands gripping your shirt tightly, like he never wanted to let go- but couldn’t bring himself to cling to your actual body itself. Huffing your hair, rubbing his masked face against the top of your head like a weird cat.

Simon, who lives in an apartment with Soap, and Ghost being nice, offered to drop Soap off at the pub, but when he got back to the apartment he realized he left his keys inside. And Soap, who was likely already drunk or too busy flirting with someone, wouldn't answer his calls or texts, and Simon knew damn well Soap wasn't going to be coming back tonight. So he heads back out to grab some beer, and he plans to just get drunk and chill in the hallway, Simon’s buff aa fuck and military trained, no ones going to mess with him.

And that's when you, his sweet little neighbor, shows up, and surprisingly you are also locked out, but unlike Simon you are not willing to wait in the hallway for hours. Technically you could call someone, but that would probably take forever and cost, so you try to get the door open on your own first. You tried jiggling the handle, and pushing with all your might. Simon stared at you the whole time, even whispered “this is nice” He was utterly unhelpful, but you did feel safer with him here.

Eventually he says “kick it luv” which isn't the worst idea you've heard, so you try and end up falling flat on your ass. And after Simon stops laughing he gets up and helps you up “that was terrible luv, either gonna put a hole in the door or break yer leg” Simon pulls you back in front of the door, he points to the side of the handle “kick ‘ere, with yer heel” he helped hold your leg up so you didn't fall, he pointed to your other foot “put yer weight in yer heel, and lean forward” you followed his instructions.

He took a step back “that’s how ya kick a door luv” you nodded, took a deep breath, then backed up and kicked the door again, making sure to follow his instructions. The door shook slightly but didn't open, still Simon clapped “much better” you pointed to the door “it’s still not open though” you were about to give up “well of course, takes lots of power and strength to kick a door open like that, come ‘ere” Simon pulled you towards the door again. He had you stand with your back to the door “kick the same spot as earlier, it'll take a few tries but it should open” you were skeptical but you still tried.

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: you and your boyfriend like to take turns making each other cum

masterlist!

a/n: requests are open in my ask box!!!

“unngh, si!” your boyfriend heard you moan into the air, the words slightly muffled from your thighs clenching against his ears. simon’s tongue was going to work on your clit, two of his thick fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, the lovely combination forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head, “si! i-i’m cuming— please!” you gasped out, body shaking as you came undone. using a large hand to loosen your thigh’s hold on his neck, simon pulled back to admire the sight, leaving his digits stuffed inside your pussy. letting you clench around him, helping you ride your first orgasm out, “atta’ girl, lookin’ so pretty.” he slips his fingers out next, you whining at the loss of contact, “m’ poor baby, shhh,” he coos, “we’re not done yet. ya know yer always first.”

“gugh. gugh. gugh,” disgusting, guttural sounds vibrated from the back of your throat, your boyfriend abusing your mouth and throat with his massive, girthy cock, his favorite glory hole! you were laid on your back, head hanging off the edge of the bed, your boyfriend standing in front of you. your perky tits bounced as gagging left you each time he grazed past your uvula, “tha’s it, choke on ‘tis fuckin’ dick,” he grunted out. your jaw was starting to hurt from how wide and long you’ve had it open, small tears starting in the corners of your eyes. “little mouth feels so good, luvie’,” he looked down to see a mixture of your saliva and his precum dripping out your mouth, dripping over your nose and eyes. fuck, the messy sight was so intoxicating to see, you covered in all these liquids— your boyfriend was cuming in no time, taking a final thrust to push deep into the back of your throat, “mmmpf,” choking out of you. simon somehow pushes even deeper, “swallow every fuckin’ drop, fawn,” his accent thick, “good, good girl.”

skin slapping skin. plap. plap. plap— the only thing that could be heard echoing throughout the room, the occasional slap of your boyfriend’s massive hand ricocheting off your ass joining. your back was sexily arched, ass raised high in the air— high enough for simon’s large frame to comfortably reach, greatly surprising the brit. you were just so small compared to the man, he often had to lift your hips to fuck your pussy— he’s never seen you arch so well for him, “must really fuckin’ need it, huh, slut?” gripping your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling your head back, arching you more, “puttin’ tha ass all tha way up, hmmm?” your boyfriend made you a moaning mess, his dirty talk and rough housing getting you closer and closer to your next orgasm, “yes, sir- mfrm!” you unraveled again, simon leaning his torso against your back, somehow thrusting into you faster, “feel ya cumin’, sweetheart. she’s squeezin’ ‘round m’ real tight,” he kisses your cheek, “let yerself feel it, baby,” another kiss, “m’ know.”

(reader feels insecure but she doesn’t really express those feelings. simon is described as taller than reader. also probably ooc simon because i’ve never actually consumed any official cod media.)

you’re a big girl, you always have been. you’ve been overweight for most of your life and in grade school you were always the tallest. thankfully in highschool a few of the boys outgrew you, but it was still rare to see another girl your height.

you’re used to taking up space.

it used to bother you. you would feel unworthy of the space you occupied, trying to shrink into yourself anyway you could. but it got exhausting to care so much all the time, so you slowly let yourself just exist as you are.

you tried not to let the ways boys your age would ignore you get to you, but it still took a toll. you act confident, but years of being treated like you were less pretty than other girls left its mark on you.

simon is a big guy. he feels uncomfortable in his skin. he has to slouch to fit through most doorways and his legs are too long to sit comfortably in regular cars. cans of pop look tiny in his hands, and his muscular build makes him even larger.

when he enters a room the air shifts. people tense up and try not to get caught staring. this makes simon very uncomfortable. he doesn’t want to be noticed in every crowd. he doesn’t want people to act differently when he’s around. in the ideal social situation, he’d merely be a fly on the wall. as far as simon is concerned, outside of combat, his size has zero advantages.

You've been kinda-maybe-dating for nearly a month now. It's about time you take him to your apartment, you can tell after the third time he asks "where are we going tonight, love?" That he's dissapointed when you say his.

"Do you not trust me?" He finally huffs one day, half-curled into your side while some match neither of you care about plays on screen.

It's not because you don't like him. You care more about ghost than you have any reason to. You're terrified of rejection, but your own fear is hurting both of you anyways. "It's....i trust you, simon."

"Then what, love?" Simon rolls to prop up on his elbows and really look at you.

"It's...i..." you bite the inside of you mouth, twist around your anxiety and spit it out "I still have stuffed animals on my bed!"

Silence. You brace for the mocking laughter that you always hear.

Feeling ghost slip off the bed hurts more than you want to admit. You blink up at the ceiling and try not to cry. It's fine. He can think you're stupid and childish, you don't care, you still love him and—

"Here. Open your eyes." You do. Plastic, black beaded eyes stare back. Cupped in scarred hands is a small cat plushie, body sagging from beans, fur a little dulled. Well-loved. You look past it to stare at ghost, stunned.

"This is Mr. Kitty." He tells you. Gently, ghost scoots right back to your side and sits the plushie in your hands "I've had him for...years. he means a lot to me."

Oh. You try to imagine ghost, this giant of a man curled in bed with the tiny kitty plush next to his face.

"...I have a cat plushie." You tell him, belatedly fishing your phone out and trying to ignore the tightness in your throat at such easy acceptance.

You spend the rest of the night looking at photos of your plushie collection with ghost. He likes the cats the best, has strong opinions about sanrio characters, and insists on seeing them soon.

Well. Him.

Silent, eyes distant as you roll through the motions of the morning. It’s strange, to see you so skittish- arms folded like you’re hugging yourself. Like you’re keeping all your insides in, desperately not trying to let your guts spill out. The others all notice pretty quick, Soap visibly deflating when you don’t laugh at his usual antics. When he reaches out- you stand, letting out some kind of half assed excuse that your breakfast isn’t sitting well.

You end up hiding in your garage most of the day, fixing their gear up- exchanging parts, counting ammo. It helps, physically doing something you know will make a difference. You don’t answer the group chat, or their individual texts. You’re just.. a black hole. A pit of this strange emptiness, your scent stale and brittle- like dead grass. He wishes your pheromones were stronger, wishes he could understand you better.

When you skip lunch, Ghost decides it’s enough. The hangar is silent when he opens the back entrance- large garage door shut tight, like you were in a cocoon. No music, just the sound of a welding machine and distant sparks from under one of your little personal projects. He knows you can smell his scent- the way it sours when you don’t stop working and sit up.

“Hey.” He grunts, nudging your foot. The sound of the welder clicks off, and you slowly slide out on your creeper. You don’t lift up the welding mask, a black pit of nothing for Ghost to grasp onto.

“You skipped lunch.” He grunts, his scent souring more when you look away instead, shrugging your shoulders.

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“Weren’t hungry at breakfast either. You broken?” His voice sounds far harsher than he means, and he can tell it’s not working when you roll back under the hood of your project again.

“I’m fine, Ghost. I’ll just eat later,” you growl, and he probably should leave it at that. His broken instincts click and spark in the back of his skull though, an urge to examine his pack mate- soothe them, maybe.

How did Gaz usually do it? His nest was always clean and nice, he usually coaxed Ghost into laying down and taking a nap in the omega’s nest. He purred too, let Ghost relax on his chest and fall asleep to the vibrations.

Hm.

That must be what you needed.

You let out a shout that Ghost ignores when he yanks you back out from under the car. You thrash and kick at the alpha, snarling and yowling when he yanks off your welding mask-

“Simon- quit it- let go-!”

Puffy eyed. Your face is red and wet, and those broken instincts are suddenly pounding at the inside of Simon’s skull. He lets out gargled chuffs, hugging your body tightly against his and rubbing his masked face against you. Your teeth try to sink into his shoulder, only to shudder when you get a face full of pheromones instead. Usually Simon isn’t very good at using his, relying more often on physical presence since his glands worked poorly on good days, too thick with scar tissue to properly fill a room.

Somehow, the need to soothe you makes something in him work- old alpha instincts that are gnarled and twisted howling with desperation. Of course your arms go limp, huffing and sucking in deep breaths of your lieutenant. It’s almost cute, how fast you settle against him- that snarling dog you were mere moments ago fading like smoke.

He carries you like that all the way back to Gaz’s nest, your body clinging tightly to his massive frame the omega yips and jumps at the sight of you two. Circling the pair of you, his own pheromones blanketing you as the man wraps you both in blankets.

“I knew something was wrong, you should have been honest, pup! Now look at you both, all tuckered out hm? Simon, you did such a good job, such a good alpha,” Kyle cooed, scratching under the man’s chin and pressing kisses against both of your heads. Simon’s rumbling became louder, pleased alpha mixing well with the omega’s calming scent. You felt high, drooling and blinking tiredly against Simon’s tit- his rumbling rattling your skull just slightly in this- super satisfying way.

Your eyes finally closed when Gaz curled up against the two of you, face tucked into your hair as you drifted off to sleep.