A/N: Thanks for all the love on previous chapter guys. This one sets their story in motion. I hope you all like this. Comments, reblogs and likes are more than appreciated 🩷
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After your first and last encounter with the lieutenant, you were convinced he hated you. Later, the other trainees confirmed it was rare if he *didn’t* hate anyone. The man radiated hostility. The kind that made you straighten your spine just by entering the same room. Like he’d cave your skull in for breathing wrong.
The power cut hit the base without warning. A scheduled security drill - for future operations. Outside, rain lashed the windows hard enough to make them shudder in their frames.
You were halfway through arranging mattresses when raised voices tore through the storm.
Shouting.
Engines.
Boots slamming wet concrete.
141 was back.
You sprinted outside just in time to see combat medics pouring in, dragging wounded soldiers toward the medic bay. Blood everywhere -dark, soaking through kit. Men limping, swearing, teeth clenched so tight their jaws trembled.
"He’s in the jeep" he said, jerking his head. "Ghost. He’s bad. Don’t piss about."
Before you could answer, bodies surged past you. Someone shoved you aside as gurneys were rushed in. That was your place - carry, assist, get the hell out of the way. No.hands.on.medicine.
Still, your eyes followed him.
They hauled Ghost inside.
Christ.
He was barely moving. Pale beneath the skull mask, blood leaking through his vest, pooling beneath him. Severe blood loss, your brain catalogued it instantly. But the entry wound -
A hand clamped around your arm.
"Inside. Now."
The nurse didn’t wait.
You stood beside Jake, jotting notes as the doctors worked fast and viciously efficient. Orders barked. Metal clanged. The air stank of antiseptic and iron.
By evening, your hands ached. Your legs felt hollow. You were halfway through cold noodles when footsteps thundered back toward you.
"Oi!!! you. He wants you."
The head nurse shoved a needle pack into your chest, scowling.
"He’s being a right bastard. Refusin’ everyone."
Apparently Ghost had been snarling at anyone who came close.
"Not you. Get off."
"Don’t touch me."
"Send someone who knows what they’re doin’."
Then, sharp and final:
"The short daft one. The trainee."
You stepped into the room and stopped.
Ghost was propped up on the bed, stripped of most of his gear. Bloodied. Furious. His voice was low and lethal as he snapped at the nurse adjusting the IV.
"Get your hands off me before I break ‘em," he growled, thick Mancunian cutting through the room. "I said wait."
The nurse scoffed. "You’re not in charge here -"
His head snapped up.
"Try me. These hands are pansexual"
Then-
He saw you. Everything stopped.
His jaw clenched. His shoulders went rigid. Whatever fight had been clawing its way out of him slammed back behind steel doors. Gods he wanted to fix his uniform and tidy up right this moment. He looks down adjusting his mask to sit properly.
"…Right" he muttered, quieter. Controlled. "You can go."
The nurse blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I said go."
She hesitated, then shot you a look and left.
You swallowed and moved closer.
"I’m going to stitch your wound, sir" you said, voice steady. "I need you still."
He didn’t bite back. Didn’t snap.
"Get on with it" he said gruffly, eyes fixed on the wall behind you. Acting indifferent as if he didn't beg for you seconds before.
You worked carefully. The gash across his abdomen was deep, angry. When the needle went in, his breath hitched - but he didn’t make a sound.
Not a hiss.
Not a curse.
"You need to tell me if it hurts" you said softly.
A beat.
"…I’m fine rookie."
A lie. You both knew it.
As you leaned in to wrap the bandage, his hands flexed at his sides, knuckles white. Like he was holding himself together by force alone.
"Careful. Are you carving yer name on me" he muttered - not sharp. Not threatening. Just strained.
"Sorry sir."
"Didn't complain. Just don't rush" he mumbles still looking at the wall behind you.
"I won’t" you promised.
The overhead lights caught the rain still clinging to your hair. Water dripped onto the floor. He noticed.
"You’re soaked" he said quietly as blood loss finally takes toll on him.
"It’s nothing."
His jaw tightened. His warm brown eyes tracing your face as lightning flashes revealing every speck of your eye. The ceiling lights forming a halo around your head as you loom over him wrapping the bandage. An angel, he thought, thanks to delirium.
"Shouldn’t have you out there" he muttered, more to himself than you. Then, harsher - like he was correcting the softness:
"Focus."
You finished the wrap. Stepped back.
Only then did he look at you properly.
"You know you smell like Manchester after rain..a proper storm" he whispers voice low, reluctant. His head falls back on the pillow as he looks around hazily now.
You didn't hear him as you clean bloodied hands in the basin. Before you could ask him to repeat-
The door opened.
"Well, I’ll be damned" Price said, stepping in. "You’ve gone quiet."
He draped a jacket around your shoulders. "Don't want our medics falling ill too."
"Two weeks, Riley. You’re not goin’ anywhere."
Ghost nodded once.
"Good."
Price frowned. "Huh. You want to stay?"
Ghost’s gaze followed you as you left the room.
"…Aye. Good"
Across the base, it spread in hushed voices.
Ghost wasn’t asking for discharge.
Ghost wasn’t fighting the medics anymore.
But if anyone else walked into that room? They got snapped at.
And every night, without fail, one question cut through the corridor - low, rough, unmistakably his:
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Ghost nearly burned the kitchen down trying to catch the gecko you had spotted earlier. He came bursting into the cafeteria the moment you let out a scream.
He entered to find you jumping around with other rookies, yelling about how a gecko had landed in your food bowl.
"It was so slimy - I swear it looked dead" you shrieked along with your friends. The lot of you trying to find it. Then the room went silent...
"All you useless bastards - what the fuck is all this screechin’ about?" he roared, voice thick, sharp, unmistakably northern. "This is the bloody military, not your mum’s bathroom."
His eyes locked onto you.
"You" he growled, stabbing a finger in your direction.
"S–sir, I can explain. There was a gecko --
"A gecko?" His lip curled. "And you’re trainin to be a fuckin sniper, are ya?" He stepped closer, towering over you.
"Pathetic."
His shadow swallowing you whole.You barely had time to gasp before he roughly hauled you up by the collar, boots scraping the floor as he dragged you into the kitchen.
"Where. Was. It?" he growled, shaking you hard enough to rattle your teeth. You pointed toward the sink with trembling fingers, biting your lip to keep from crying. Just a month in, and you’d already caught the attention of the worst superior officer - over your fear of reptiles. Even the small ones.
He shoved you aside and crouched, peering beneath the sink, muttering a stream of curses under his breath.
"Lieutenant sir, I’m so sorry. Won’t be that reckless again. I just -
"Quiet." One sharp word. Final. You could hear him cursing as he worked. What was he even doing. Was he that kind to help a rookie? Just when your thoughts begin to drift -
He stood up slowly, fist clenched. And when he stepped closer, the sheer size of him hit you full force - broad, solid, dangerous. No wonder enemies had begged for death before he ever touched them.
In a flash, he caught both your wrists in one brutal grip, pinning them down effortlessly.
"Sir - sir, I said I’m sorry -
He yanked you forward until your faces were inches apart. "Eyes on me" he growled, yanking you closer until your nose was nearly brushing his chest..his eyes brown and cold. You held your breath afraid even that will piss him off. Hearing you gasp, his grip tightened, knuckles digging into your skin.
Then, without warning, he raised his other hand - and dangled the gecko by its tail right.in.front.of.your.face. You screamed, louder than before, thrashing to pull free.
He laughed. Low. Amused. "Nah" he said calmly. "Face it, soldier. You’re gonna look at it."
"No - no, sir"
"Yes, you will," he snapped. "That’s an order or I'll shove it down that little screamin mouth of yours."
He swung it closer, deliberately slow, letting it brush your nose. You froze. He studied your face for a second before releasing your wrists and dropping the gecko into your palm.
"Deep breath" he ordered, forcing your hand still. "That’s it. You’re doing good, rookie."
But the moment the gecko crawled up your hand you broke. You dropped it with a sob and bolted, tears spilling as you ran back into the cafeteria. Simon just stood there, staring after you - brow furrowed, expression unreadable.
When Simon stepped out of the kitchen, he saw you like that.
Small. Wrecked.
You collapsed beside the other rookies in the cafeteria. Eyes red and puffy - as one of the boys awkwardly rubbed your back.
You pointed at him while choking on words, and the entire room turned to look. He would've made anyone else run circuits for being a crybaby. But for the first time in his career, Simon Riley felt like he’d crossed a line. Like he’d made an angel cry. You weren't crying cause of the gecko, you were cryin cause you faced a much bigger fear. Over 6 feet to be exact.
He watched you rub your palms against your cargos, trying to wipe away the feeling. No - not only your palms but wrists too. Where he held you so harshly. And something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Guilt.
He hated it. But right now, he stared at the floor, jaw clenched and nearly ashamed. He never meant to break you.
Later that week, in the common room, Soap - the mohawked superior handed out callsigns to the rookies. Titles you’d carry for the rest of your service.
You looked down at the metal tag in your hand and sucked in a sharp breath.
GECKO.
Your head snapped up. Everyone around you was 'Wolf' 'Storm' etc badass names; laughing how you were named after something so silly. You look around to see Simon watching you from the corner of the room, unreadable.
He stepped closer to you to speak so low you thought it was the wind - "Don’t let ‘em see you fold my little gecko" his hands accidentally brushing your wrists lightly before walking away.
Soap patted him on his back grumbling about some breifing as they stormed out of the room.
Looks like you’ve made an enemy. Or so you thought.
Jealous! Simon Riley × Sergeant's Wife Reader Part 3
Prev Parts here ♥️ Masterlist!!
A/N : This is a slightly longer chapter. To build the plot and ramp up tension. I hope you all love this one. Really worked my ass off to write it. Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. Plss I love comments. 🩷🌷🩷
A military ball.
Who would’ve thought. Ryan practically dragged you into it — tugging your wrist, already halfway dressed, already irritated.
"Everyone’s bringing their plus-ones" he’d said.
"It looks bad if you don’t show." Charity. Optics. Appearances...
He didn’t give two shits about anything besides his Rolex and who noticed it. And the fact he was a Sergeant in 141.
It was for local schools. Orphanages. There will be some media and lots of cameras. Refusing would make you the villain.
So here you were. Standing in front of the mirror. Black dress hugging your waist, your hips, the curve of your chest, you smile feeling hot as hell. It was a new one.
"Oh no. Nah. Not this one baby", Ryan appeared behind you, adjusting his tie with short irritated tugs.
"It’s too… revealing. Cleavagy."
You frowned at the reflection. "I can’t hide what I have, Ryan."
"I don’t want men staring at you", he muttered. "Wear something modest. It’s a charity event, not a casino."
You inhaled slowly. And let out a deep sigh. Arguing never went anywhere. It was happening too often these past months. Not after the last time — when his Lieutenant absolutely tore into him for leaving you stranded in the rain. Made him scrub toilets of base for a month, 'humiliated my soul' Ryan complained.
Ghost. Simon Riley. You hadn’t seen him since that night. He stopped coming to dinners. Stopped showing up when Ryan brought you around the team.
Gone.
You hadn’t been that rude… had you? He crossed the line first. Asking you personal questions. And Simon didn’t seem like the grudge-holding type.
Eleven months. Almost a year.
You changed dresses. A simple green gown. And tie your hair up in an elegant bun and put on heels.
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The venue stole the breath from your lungs. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. Gold detailing everywhere. Expensive paintings, some even original.
"Bloody hell", you murmured. "Didn’t know the military rented Oscar venues."
Ryan laughed. Loud. Showy. Already performing. You've started to hate the very sound of it.
After greetings and introductions and plastic smiles from spouses you’d forget in ten minutes, you drifted aside.
Observing. Soap grinning like he owned the room, showing his wife off. Perfect couple. Gaz nursing his drink. Price standing tall — commanding with silence alone. The team’s backbone. Good men. And you?
A chef.
You watched conversations spiral around weapons systems, intel briefings, operational strategy. Thrilling. You tried not to grimace at the mention of shredded body parts and torture techniques.
Then the air shifted.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t announced. But people straightened. Voices lowered.
You felt it before you saw it. Simon Riley entered.
Tall. Massive. Mask on. He wasn't the tallest in the room, hell you could see Konig at the corner trying to blend into one of the pillars.
But the way Simon carried himself – was massive.
A blonde on his arm – runway beautiful, polished confidence, easy charm. Perfect smile. She belonged here and in magazines. Fit right in. Your chest tightened anyway.
You stepped forward when he approached, smiling politely, hand extended.
"Good evening–" He walked past you. Didn’t pause. Didn’t look. Didn’t acknowledge you existed.
Your hand hung there. Then dropped slowly. It wasn't like you expected him to hug you but a simple greeting would've been nice.
And the dinner began.
Ryan vanished into laughter somewhere across the hall. You poked at your food.
Too bland. No spices. No soul. The meat looked as if it will start mooing. Undercooked!!
Where’s the love in this dish???
"So yeah" the blonde laughed brightly, "he practically dragged me along."
Soap chuckled, "Lt listens to you, eh?"
She rolled her eyes, "Only when I threaten him." Laughter. Everyone seem to know her, comfortable and way too pretty. Simon side-eyed her as he lifts his mask above his lips to eat.
Then – "Oh this is good" Soap said eating the soufflé. "Sorry, Y/N – looks like you’ve got competition."
He didn’t even look up. Silence hit the table like glass shattering. Where did that come from? What did you even do to piss him off.
You blinked,"I’m sorry?"
His eyes lifted. Cold. Guarded. Not the one you saw months ago. They were harsher, meaner.
"Nothin’."
Gaz leaned forward, "Mate, that weren’t nothing. What’s crawled up your arse tonight?"
Simon’s jaw flexed, "Drop it."
You stood abruptly feeling your bladder about to explode. You'll deal with him later. Can't hold pee for another hour can you.
"Excuse me." Chair scraping loud enough to echo.
You didn’t see Simon tracking you leave. Didn’t see his grip tighten around the fork, how he clenched his jaw hard enough for a headache looking at you.
You reach the bathroom door. And saw one stall open.
And your world collapsed. In the moment you wished you stayed down and argued with Simon.
Ryan’s voice. Breathless. A muffled moan.
A woman kneeling and gagging.
Your vision tunneled. "No…"
Ryan snapped his head up,"Wait..wait – listen it’s not"
You were already gone. Rushing past music. Past laughter. Past chandeliers and charity and lies. Don't mind the team looking at you rushing from their table.
Heaven had peed on you instead.
Cold air hit your lungs like knives as you make it out of the building. You braced against a lamppost, sob ripping out before you could stop it.
You knew. God –you knew.
Saw it coming months ago. Late nights. Excuses. Lipstick stains of a shade you never had. All those "training" sessions at odd hours.
Inside the chairs scraped.
Simon stood. Ryan rushed after you.
"Sir, my wife–" Simon blocked him. And pushed him back a few steps by his shoulders.
"Don’t" Ryan scowled. His face flushed like a child caught eating candy at night. A child is what he truly was.
"Stay right where you are, Sarge" Ryan froze. He might be your husband, but even Soap knows not to mess with the Lt. Especially when he uses rank outside of work.
"That’s an order."
Outside, Simon found you shaking. Mascara streaked. Breathing ragged. His chest tightened.
Christ. He never thought he'd see you like this. Your dress wrinkled at sides now from how tight you were fisting it to stop yourself from yelling. You hair spilling out of the once neat bun in every direction.
You turned when he approached.
"Miss Y/N… d’you want some water? Somethin’ stronger?"
"Don’t" Your voice cracked. "Just don’t."
He stopped immediately nodding.
"Did he hurt you?" Dead serious. No softness.
"No" you straightened. At least not physically...
You smoothen your hair back. Tying it with shaking hands. Wiped your cheeks dry. And pulled the strongest smile you could. Rebuilding yourself...bit by bit.
"It's nice seeing you after months sir."
He watched it happen. Piece by piece. Knew how strong willed you were. Saw it with his own eyes when you picked up a brick to hurl at him. No wonder you were smiling at him while anyone else would've not.
And something ugly coiled in his ribs.
Half an hour later. Ryan approached again as you stand at the exit taking deep breaths. People were leaving now, 12 at night afterall.
"Baby, let’s go home and talk" he said tugging your hand back.
You ripped your hand away "No."
You spotted your black sedan taxi pulling up — and rushed inside. It was better to stay at the hotel tonight. Ryan will not hurt you but hell he would make you feel a lot worse by just his lies and cheap cover ups.
"I –uh… 3163…" you blurt out the Otp to the driver.
Silence. The car didn’t move.
You looked up. Simon in the mirror, balaclava off now. Blonde in passenger seat frowning as to why a random woman climbed in their car. Fuck.
"Hey" you panicked. "So so sorry, I'll get off."
Before you could open the door, Simon started driving.
"I said stop!" you shrieked at his audacity. Was he hard of hearing or what.
"Relax, miss. You bolted. I saw", his eyes flicked to you through the rear view mirror.
"I uh..last time I checked you drove a buggati, not a sedan. My taxi must be waiting back there. Stop the car please. Please stop!!"
"This one's new. That's why I dunno how to stop it", he says looking over at the blonde who was rolling her eyes.
"Well if you want to play taxi, can you please drop me at Hotel Tiffany's then."
"You’re stayin’ at mine tonight", he says with zero hesitation.
"What? No–"
"Got spare rooms. You’re not goin’ to a hotel like this", something in his tone ended the argument before it began.
Penthouse. Warm lighting. Expensive. Quiet.
"Charlize" handed you water. (Even her name sounded like a models)
Simon loosened his tie, watching.
"You sure he didn’t lay hands on you?" he goes rolling up his sleeves taking the jacket off.
"…Just an argument" you mumble looking around. It was decorated but who did it. Simon looked like he would sleep on a mattress and had nothing but guns in his house.
He stepped closer. Too close. Finger under your chin. Eyes locked as he moves your head side-to-side checking for something.
"You can't cook lies can you. When I find out what he did. He'll pray he never met me", his voice dropped to gravel.
Later you were in the guest room. Charlize had insisted that you sleep in there, they had way too many rooms. She was even kind enough to lend you her clothes for the night. She was warm, way too warm. Definitely not the typical mean blond you always thought.
You sigh changing into the comfy tee and pajamas taking in the room around yourself.
A small photo frame at the bedside table. Young Simon and Charlize smiling ear to ear holding a german shephard pup.
"Riley siblings". Oh. You laughed weakly at yourself. It should've been obvious to anyone else. Same hair, height, same deep brown eyes, freckles. But a girl can't see clear through tears can she??
Downstairs Charlize sits on couch looking at her brother pacing the room. Definitely planning murder she thought. Hadn't been this restless in years. He could kill without breaking sweat and here he was.
"She’s hurt, Si."
"I know."
"You scare her. She nearly jumped out of the car", she sighs.
"…Not intendin’ to."
Morning. You tried to leave. This was way beyond your boundaries. Rambling excuses. "I have a meeting in my restro" "I have to take some interviews" blah blah blah.
Charlize nodded at every line.
Simon stood up from where he was seated. A simple shirt and joggers. But oh my he looked even bigger in casuals. He stepped in close tilting his head as you go on about excuses.
Before you could continue — he suddenly leaned closer and gave a quick nip to your ear.
You froze. Wide-eyed. What.the.fuck.
"There" he murmured. "That shuts you up."
You stay frozen for way too many seconds. Did he just bite your ear like a feral cat??? Your husband's senior bit you???
You sputtered,"I’ll tell Price."
He smirked, "And I'll do it again Miss chef."
You shake head snapping out of it as Charlize moves around turning the stove on to cook.
"Teach her too Charlz. Her skills are bit rusty these days. No loaded lunchboxes", Simon goes moving away and sitting on the couch looking at some files. As if he did nothing.
Oh...who does he even think he is. You were a michelin star chef! And so what if you stopped packing lunches for Ryan after he complained about "too many carbs" too many times. But why did Simon notice...
"You think I can't cook good anymore?? I'll show you what I am", you huff standing next to his sister taking knife off her hands. "I'll cook you go sit. Please."
You glare back at Simon and he just cocks his head smirking.
"Go on then cupcake. Cook."
Nicknames? Did his manners die in morning or is he usually this level of feral? Rude as fuck man– you'll feed him till he combusts.
God in heaven...what will happen now. But you knew you had to leave this penthouse today itself. Before Ryan gets back to his senses. Wherever he was.
Jealous! Simon Riley × Sergeant's Wife Reader Pt 2
Part 1 here ♥️
Next part (pt3) here❣️
A/N: I'm sleep deprived writing this. Ignore any mistakes please. Likes, reblogs and comments are more than appreciated. Love y'all. (I get hard reading comments😩)
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It was raining as you rushed out of your restaurant.
Not rain–proper Manchester-style rage from the sky. Cold, sideways, relentless.
“Fuck” you mutter, yanking your jacket tighter. Didn’t check the weather today, did you? Brilliant.
You pull your phone out with numb fingers and call Ryan.
He picks up on the third ring. Music’s loud enough that you can hear the bass crackle through the speaker. Women giggling and glasses clinking.
“Uh–love, hellooo” he says, distracted.
You close your eyes. “Ryan, it’s pissing down. Like–really bad. I didn't get my car today.”
“Yeah, well… call a taxi, babe. I’m in the middle of somethin’ important.”
“You think I haven’t tried?” you snap. “It’s a thunderstorm. No one’s picking rides.”
A pause. Laughter in the background. Someone shouts his name.
“Come on” you say quieter. “Please. I just wanna get home.”
“Why don’t you just wait in that little restaurant of yours till it stops?” he says, irritation creeping in. “You’re safe there, yeah?”
Then the line goes dead.
You stare at the phone.
“…Did he just”
You call again.
Switched off.
“What the fuck” you whisper.
The rain soaks through your shoes as you step under the shed. The street’s empty–too empty. Even the usual late-night traffic’s gone.
Mr. Humphrey, the security guard, jogs over with an umbrella. “Kid, you alright? I can drop you home.”
“No, no” you shake your head quickly. “Your place is the opposite direction. You should go.”
“I’m not leavin’ you alone in this weather kid.”
“My husband’s on his way,” you lie smoothly, bumping him with your elbow. “You should go, yer old bones will freeze in rain. Promise.”
He eyes you, unconvinced, then sighs. “Alright. If he doesn't come go back in. But don’t linger.”
“I won’t.”
He drives off.
The second his taillights disappear, a car tears down the road, tyres slicing through a puddle–
—SLAM—
Freezing water drenches you head to toe. Cold, disgusting and humiliating.
You gasp, soaked, shaking.
“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” you scream, bending to grab the nearest brick. “COME BACK! I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE!”
The car screeches.
Stops. Then reverses.
“Oh” you breathe.
“Oh fuck” Shouldn't have yelled.
The headlights glare at you like eyes. The engine hums–slow, deliberate. It was an expensive car.
You lift the brick anyway. “DON’T TEST ME!”
The window rolls down.
“Get in, miss. Get in–now.”
That voice.
Low. Rough. Familiar. That cute accent you heard few months ago.
You blink.
Simon Riley stares back at you from behind a balaclava, eyes sharp and dark.
“Ghost?” you snap. “You’ve got a lot of nerve”
He’s already out of the car, rain plastering his jacket to his broad frame as he yanks the passenger door open.
“Get. In” he says again, accent thick now. Mancunian, unmistakable. Finally know where he was from.
“Before you catch hypothermia or brain damage—whichever comes first.”
“I’m not gettin’ in your–”
“Miss Y/N” he cuts in, voice dropping. “That brick won’t win against a windshield. Not mine. Trust me. Get in. Or.I.carry.you.”
Your jaw clenches.
“…Prick.”
You climb in.
He shuts the door hard and circles back, sliding into the driver’s seat. The silence stretches–tense, loud, broken only by rain hammering metal.
“I didn’t see you” he mutters.
You let out a sharp laugh. “Oh funny. You didn’t see a grown woman under a light?”
“Road glare” he says stiffly. “Rain.”
“Bullshit.”
You fumble with the heater controls, fingers clumsy.
He reaches over, catches your wrist–gentle, but firm.
“Careful” he murmurs. “You’ll break it.”
He turns the heater on himself.
You yank your hand back. “I don’t need your help.”
“Clearly” he mutters, reaching into the backseat and tossing a shawl over you. “Put that on.”
You flinch seeing the shockingly pink and flowery shawl. Must be his girlfriends you think.
“…What's this”
“Dry” he says shortly. “You're shiverin.”
You wrap it around yourself despite yourself. It smells clean. Warm. Comforting.
“Why didn’t you call Ryan?” Simon asks suddenly.
You stare straight ahead. “I did.”
“And?”
“He was busy.”
His jaw tightens. “Team’s on leave.”
“I know.”
“So what’s so important he can’t pick his wife up in a storm?” he snaps.
You turn to glare at him. “You’re his superior, not his keeper.”
You swallow. You can't be rude to your husbands boss can you.
Neither of you speaks for a long moment.
“Wanna do renovation” he smirks raising a brow.
You glance down. The brick’s still in your lap.
“…Sorry.”
That earns a low huff of laughter. Dangerous. Brief. He reaches up to take his balaclava off placing it on dashboard.
You see him as he watches the road. How his blonde hair were curled up now thanks to rain. This was a different Ghost, not the balaclava clad brute. This one was the one who ate biryani in your home and devoured plates in your restaurant smiling ear to ear. The streelights light up his cheeks and you see freckles dusted...oh.
You guide him toward the mansion, rain blurring the windshield.
“Thanks” you say quietly when he parks. “I mean it.”
You step out.
“Come in” you add before thinking. “I’ll make something warm.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You said it’s an off.”
He hesitates. “Bloody stubborn” he mutters, following you inside.
Later, you’re stirring soup, sleeves rolled up, hair damp. Simon leans against the counter, massive arms folded, watching.
“You don’t stir like that” he says.
“Oh?” you glance up. “And how should I stir, mister Lieutenant?”
“Like you mean it” he says. “You’re being gentle.”
You snort despite yourself.
“See this” you say, pointing. “If you don’t keep it moving, it clumps. Never add salt to tomatoes, it shrinks them.”
You look upto to check if he follows.
He nods solemnly, staring at your lips “Aye. Bugatti design. Sleek. Expensive.”
“…You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?”
“Not a bloody clue” he admits proudly.
You sit on the couch together, soup steaming between you.
“This is unprofessional” he mutters.
“Then leave” you laugh shrugging. Suprisingly, you were relaxed around him. He was just so adorable in that stupid mask of his.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he blurts out “Why’d you marry a jerk?”
Your spoon clatters as you choke on bread.
“What did you say?”
“A jerk” he repeats calmly eating soup. “Man lets his wife walk home in a storm.”
“He was busy.”
Simon’s eyes snap to you. “Busy doin’ what?”
“That’s none of your-”
“Busy enough to lie about you?” he interrupts. “Said cookin’s just a hobby. A top chef. Michelin star. Funny hobby–run a Michelin kitchen. A whole chain of them.”
You stand. “Stop.”
“No” he says, standing too, towering over you now. “He shrinks you. Makes you small.”
“That’s not–”
“You let him” Simon says softly. “That’s the worst part.”
Your chest tightens. “You don’t know anything about my marriage.”
“I know a loser when I see one.”
“You’re crossing a line. Sir Riley” gods you were wrong. You wanted to feed him full till Ryan comes home but now you wanted to yell at him for being such a jerk twice in a day!! How dare he question your marriage when he doesn't even know your maiden name.
“Someone should’ve crossed it ages ago.”
Silence. Thick. Electric.
“I think you should leave” you whisper.
He studies you for a long moment. How your eyes look around uncomfortably but you were still not backing away..fierce. A woman who picks bricks..
“…Aye.”
He won't say anything further, not now. Not today. You're his seargents wife who 'likes' cooking. Why should he care.
At the door, he leans in, voice low, dangerous, intimate.
“Don’t throw bricks you can’t take back, little bird.”
Before you could ask if he wanted his shawl back – the door shuts behind him. You see him settle in his car tugging his mask back down as it roars to life. He nods at you and drives away.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
What you don’t know that he’d seen you under the shed long before you saw him. He waited till the kind guard left you alone. He could see snipers hiding in trees in missions and you believed he couldn't see you??? Hah.
That he sped up on purpose to splash you.
That the shawl wrapped around your shoulders was his mother’s. The only thing he had left of her. It was expensive, one of a kind Pashmina. The one she asked him to gift his "future wife".
And now?
It was with someone he’d already decided—
He wasn’t letting go of. He had to fight fate now. Sometimes we make our own destiny.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
P.S - Yes guys she has cold now. Yes she's wiping her nose on the pink Pashmina. Ryan is still not home :))
Civilian Reader Y/N! who absolutely loses it when Simon parks his 🏍️ directly in front of her door like he’s claiming territory. She shoves past him, muttering about civic sense, common sense – Simon, who physically flinches at the creative slurs (cockgoblinslutbraindeadpest). Once. Never again. (He lies.)
Simon! who stares at her like she’s the devil reincarnate when she blasts music at night. Dirty Diana has played five times on loop. He’s convinced she’s hard of hearing.
What he doesn’t know is that she passed out an hour ago, face-down, loudspeaker on.
Y/N! who throws parties every other week. Her friends end up whispering about “the creepy big man who keeps peeking through the windows.”
Simon! who is absolutely not peeking–he’s conducting surveillance to make sure there’s no drug racket. And is wildly offended when she calls him an old geezer for being paranoid.
Y/N! who spots her grumpy neighbour doing push-ups half-naked in his front yard and yells “MANWHORE!” while pretending to be on a phone call.
The next day, she drags out dumbbells and does her own workout in front of her house, grunting loudly (caveman documentary audition)–far louder than any man ever could.
Simon! who revs his bike unnecessarily loud just to piss her off. Immediately regrets it when she yells back.
“HARDER, MF THAT ALL IT’S GOT?”
“MY HOUSE LIZARD CAN FART LOUDER THAN THAT!”
Simon stalls the bike. On purpose. Definitely on purpose. And looks at her as if she did it. 👁️👁️
Y/N! who hears loud, ridiculously exaggerated moans at three in the morning and knows! knows it’s another one of her neighbour’s hookups.
The man has a new girl every week whenever he’s home. She rates them mentally. Pure 0s.
Simon! who wakes up the next morning to aggressive knocking. Y/N is yelling down the street –
“Mr. Riley!! I've got your medicine for the CRAB SITUATION you've got going on!”
At full volume. Before sunrise. And yeah every girl ends up running out of his door.
Y/N! who intentionally colors her railings hot pink to piss him off. But he ends up liking them and paints his side pink too to match...huh?
Simon! who knows if he gets low she'll go lower. But stays on his porch at two in night when he hears her cry after a date. Silent. Watching.
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Hii ya'll!! I'm Rho. I go by she/her. Bisexual. And new here on Tumblr. I write fics and imagines of Call of Duty's - Simon Riley. Let me know if you have requests for any other character of Cod fandom.
ISRAELIS PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW ME YOU DISGUSTING PESTS.
Please Let me know if any of the links below is broken. I'll update it 🐛
How to navigate :
#semwrites for oneshots
#semimagines for imagines
What I won't write aka my big ass No-Nos:
misogyny and transhate/ I dont fw omegaverse (idk what it is + I can make him a cockroach at most)/ homophobia is not tolerated/ any sort of non-con.
