uglygirltrying

[uglygirltrying]

Omg price and healer!reader??? I wonder whats fucked up with the old man this time😔

Its been a few months since the bullet with Johnny, and price is convinced gaz had a go too but he can prove it. Ofc everyone knows about the fever with ghost, the lieutenant was moaning loud enough the entire house heard. The only thing is, price still hasn't felt ur magic.

He hears about it plenty, knows from the look on his men's faces when one of them have felt you recently, but he hasn't personally indulged. It would be an insane reach of power, to have his subordinate use their magic on him for the sole purpose of sexual gratification.

So he just...doesn't. He's not in pain, so he doesnt ask for it. Except, you know hes in pain. Your magic practically screams to go help the poor guy out, tendrils of pain shooting from him at any moment. Eventually it bothers u so much that you corner the captain in his office late one night.

The lights and small print of the papers are hurting his eyes, you can tell. He's had a migraine near constantly the past two weeks, hiding it well enough but you can sense it. "Price," you begin, tone firm "youre in pain. Im here to heal people. Youre snappy and rude far more than usual."

You dont have to say much more, price sighing and setting his reading glasses on the desk. He rubs a tired hand over his face and relents. "Fuckin- fine. Sure." He settles on, moving to stand in front of u "get it over with."

You comply, pressing ur palms just below his jaw over two pulse points. You slowly apply magic and- holy shit- Price crumbles.

He drops to a knee, you following with a worried yelp. He's panting like a dog and you've hardly done much yet. Still, once you start its easier to just get it done, so you manhandle ur boneless captain to lay down on the floor and properly apply the magic.

He's huffing out lungfulls, hand coming up to twist into ur shirt mindlessly. Face red, price whimpers out thanks and he comes twice back to back. Ur brow furrows, you can't feel the migraine anymore but you can still feel alot of pain.

Price isn't pushing u away yet, so you send the magic further. He's babbling nonsense now, back arching off the floor with another orgasm. Ur probably there nearly a half hour, much longer than usual, before he finally pushes you away.

"...holy fuck." Is all he says after a long pause, voice raw from all the sounds he'd been making "holy shit. My fucking joints dont hurt." He sounds breathless, blissed and well-fucked.

"Hm. Give it an hour, it'll come back." You give his thigh a firm pat before standing, "goodnight, captain" and just like that ur gone.

(WHAOH I hope u guys liked it🤭 inspired by people suggesting severe arthritis. Also next part will have all four guys, and a surprise abt reader!)

[uglygirltrying]

Ghost getting you a dildo that’s a mould of Prices cock, he probably didn’t tell you that’s what it was, he just wanted to see you all stretched out on his captains cock. Of course what he didn’t expect was how much he desperately wanted to use the dildo on himself. Everytime he saw how much pleasure it brought you he was desperate for it. So, he gives it a try. And fuck does it feel good. He just can’t help himself, he has to take a video to send to Price. A video of him desperately fucking himself with his Captains cock over and over. And god does that video drive John insane. Ghost has no choice, he has to ask you if you can have a three way with him and John. And to his excitement you agree. When John joins you in bed though, you can help but notice how familiar his cock looks…

-🫧

The familiar stretch and burn of him filling your cunt, pushing all the air from your lungs as you toss your head back, and John is caressing your thighs, cooing down at you as one of his hand slides down to thumb your clit, small jerky circles that have your legs tensing and sobbing as John pushes deeper. “Atta girl, biiiiiig stretch sweetheart. C’mere Simon, give your pretty girl a kiss.”

[uglygirltrying]

Lowkey socially inept ghost who has NO CLUE just how horny reader is for him😔

You've pulled out all the stops, complimented his outfits, pointed out how tall he is, how warm he is. Fuck, you even compared hand sizes! But nothing! Ur pretty sure hes just dense, bc its not like hes rejected you yet, just nods along with whatever you say but he doesnt *do* anything!

You learn that ghost has a bad back and send him sex positions designed to reduce back pain, nothing but a thumbs up. Its not even you that ends up telling him, gaz sees you offer chapstick after *just* applying some and he denies it. He cant take it anymore, watching u is becoming actually painful.

"Ghost, mate, she wants to fuck you." He says blunty, dodging the indignant slap aimed at him "preferably sooner than later." Gaz gives you both a firm pat on the shoulder then walks away.

....anyways ghost ends up railing u into the mattress and u learn that u just need to be blunt with him. From then on you either drag him to ur room or say it to his face, only mildly embarrassed abt being so bold but the dick is worth it.

[uglygirltrying]

So, ghost and healer!reader, whos magic feels good, right?

(Pst here's pt 4 with price)

He's unfortunately heard plenty from soap and gaz about how good ur healing feels, but he by principle avoids medics anyways. If he can tough out the injury, he will.

Sucks though that his body decides to fall into the most brutal fever known to man the second yall settle into a safe house. It would be risky to go to an actual doctor, that requires documents and paperwork that could put the whole team in danger. Medicine wont work and ghosts fever is only rising.

Its actually you that suggested using ur magic. You took some med classes, you know if his fever gets any higher it will be permanently harmful. You also know just how uncomfortable ghost is with medics and being touched, so ur gentle as you explain "look, ghost, im worried for you. I wont touch you if thats what you want, but we can try and mitigate your discomfort."

You explain how he can keep his mask on, you wont even remove his shirt, just slip a hand under. Hell, you offer to kick the others out into the snow if it makes him feel safer. In the end, he agrees and just kicks the guys out into the kitchen.

You slip a hand under his shirt, looking at a wall to hopefully make him less tense, and allow ur magic to flow into his chest. Instantly, ghosts head falls back into a loud groan, fists gripping the sheets as his hips buck into nothing.

He comes with a whine, but you can still feel that sickness in his body and mutter "just a few more seconds, okay?" While tears start to gather on his lashes from the sheer pleasure of it all.

Except, when you finally move to pull ur hand away, his grips ur wrist in his palms. He seems just as shocked as you are by the movement, but carefully remains silent for ur response. You hum, brows furrowed, and feel around gently for any more injuries. There's a gentle undercurrent in his body that you dont recognize as normal, but its not blaring pain. Either way, you gently stretch you magic back out.

Ghost outright sobs

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, hand trembling where it holds urs against his chest. Youre a bit confused, unable to truly find the source of whatever u sense in ghost, but he seems to be having a good time. Its actually pornographic, the sounds hes making, and you have no doubt he can be easily heard from the kitchen.

Three more orgasm later and a wet "thank you- fuck- thank you, shit, I cant- thank you-" and u finally pull your hands away. There's a visible wet patch on his pants, but you decide not to say anything, silently passing a bottle of water.

When he finally calms down, ghost keeps his eyes locked to the ceiling "chronic pain." He explains gruffly, trying to settle his nerves at just having acted like a desperate slag in front of u "it just- went away, felt good. Thanks."

(Hope u guys liked this🤭 it got a bit away from me lol. Wonder what ill do for price🤔)

[uglygirltrying]

Soap and reader who are extremely casual abt sex. Like, in the sense that you two are so horny that its second nature to slip a hand down his pants, or for him to drop to his knees.

You could be watching a movie together, hands in eachothers pants, and its not even a big deal. Hell, you hardly even thought abt it by now, its just so constant and warm and nice, yknow?

Which makes it all the worse when his mates come to visit and you literally look them in the eyes and say hi before plopping down next to soap and reaching into his joggers. He just groans appreciatively and keeps talking, so you dont even think about it until the indignant splutter gaz makes.

"Mate what the fuck?!" You furrow your brows, before realization and mortification wash over you in equal parts.

"Shit! Sorry- sorry, uhm-" you flee the room, not even sure how to recover from that while soaps voice follows u out, asking for u to at least finish him off lol.

[uglygirltrying]

cw : major character death, baby death, angst

Simon Riley who says he’s still married even after your death when people hit on him

Simon Riley who still wears his wedding ring and keeps yours on the same chain as his dog tags

Simon Riley who lost not only you, but the baby you were going to have the day you died

Simon Riley who keeps the nursery the same as it was when you painted it and set up the crib

Simon Riley who shows up to the pub on Fridays an hour or two later than the rest of his team because the show you used to watch all the time only airs at eight p.m. on Fridays, he hasn't missed an episode

Simon Riley who goes to you and your babies joint grave first thing each time he gets back from deployment, there's a third joint part on the tombstone for him one day

Simon Riley who keeps the house the exact same as you left it, he even unfolds and refolds your clothes and the babies when he can't sleep

Simon Riley who doesn't really talk about it, doesn't check in with your family, doesn't take Price's advice when he tells him he should take time off after your death

Simon Riley who wakes up some mornings thinking you're in the other room with your baby, only to remember you aren't

–

You met through a neighbor, your sink had broken and she had pointed you in the direction of the scary guy down the hallway who had fixed her shower last year. He was in your flat for three hours, came out a bit sweaty and with grease on his hands and shirt, but he made your sink better than it was before it started leaking and he walked back down the hall with cash in his pocket.

The next time you see him is when you ask him if he knew anything about cars and if he'd mind taking a look at yours. He gets the check engine light to turn off and makes that wrong-sounding whirring sound to go back to normal, instead of cash, you offer dinner.

He didn't even think to turn you down, he wasn't due back on base for another week, he could use some company. You learned Simon wasn't a handyman or plumber, it was just an odd job he got good at, the military is where his duties lay, no wonder you hadn't seen him around much before.

After deployments, he comes over for dinner each week, then you start going out for dinner and go out to see movies and he starts to show up at your doorstep with flowers. The kiss comes first, officially dating comes second.

The longer you were together, the harder it was to be away on deployments. And you're everything Simon could ever want. Too good for him, too understanding and patient. But Simon still comes home to you, he still kisses your shoulders and lets you wash his back, he still wants to marry you.

And he does, he puts a ring on your finger that looks like the one his mom used to wear before she just took it off one day and never put it back on. He buys you a nice house with a backyard and a fireplace, plans out the whole wedding with you, he does everything right.

Pregnancy comes next, he never saw himself as a dad, but he got more and more comfortable with the idea as your pregnancy progressed. The nursery was yellow, you put a little mobile with seals and starfish and otters over the crib, Simon put the rocking chair together and painted it blue.

He held your hair back when you puked in the mornings, cooked most of the meals you ate over the nine months, did all of the massages, went to all the check-ups, even took that paternity leave he was convinced he'd never use.

He held your hand all through the delivery, your baby girl came out completely silent, one of the nurses in the room with you was new and he didn't know why she started crying at first.

He had thought he'd seen enough blood in his life for it not to really startle him the same way it did when he was a kid, but you and bleeding out being used in the same sentence put a whole new sense of terror in him. The nurses actually had him leave the room, there was only one way it could go, he knew that, but he sat in the hallway bouncing his leg like he was waiting for good news.

He drove home alone that day.

Simon spends his days waiting around now. You were really the only one for him, he knew that far too soon, but by now, he would've been picking his daughter up from her first day of school, maybe you'd even have another baby on the way. When he's not deployed, going through the motions aimlessly, he's daydreaming.

He's sad, of course he is, what else are you supposed to feel? But he doesn't cry as much as he probably should. He imagines school pictures in his wallet and hanging on the walls of your house, birthday party invitations stuck onto the fridge and date night's marked on the calendar.

He goes into the nursery sometimes, like he's waiting up with the baby, trying to get it to fall back asleep. He'll spin the mobile and sit back in the chair that he was meant to hold his daughter in and just stare at it, even after it stops moving, he stays.

Your grave is so heartbreaking to see, but it's comforting, also. That you'll always be there, you and your daughter, and one day, he'll be right next to you again.

[uglygirltrying]

Scientist reader who just cant let soap go.

It took some time, and it was a hell of a struggle keeping his body fresh, but eventually ur beloved sargeant opened his eyes again. Sure, there was some off stitches cradling his temple now, but it was just the embrace of ur love for him, thats all.

His heart beats again, and soap doesnt seem to have any cognitive issues besides getting a bit dizzy sometimes. Ur just so happy hes back. After a month of monitoring him closely, hardly even stepping out of ur lab, u reintroduce soap back to the team. They have...mixed reactions. But the learn to appreciate soap being back soon enough :]

Its just, well, soap *is* mostly back. But its hard to disconnect the feeling of ur hands inside of him, wrapped around his heart. Sure, he may not have been cognizant of it, but the body remembers what the brain wont. Soap cant really sleep right or relax if ur not in the same room as him, but thats okay! You dont plan to let him out of ur sight again, not after u worked so hard to get him back :)

[uglygirltrying]

i've had nikto on my mind lately, and then it spiralled into a 28 days later au i am not fucking writing (free to a good home)

cw: zombies, death, violence, manipulation, alcohol mention, rough sex, unedited brain hairball with an abrupt ending

but like, take my hand and go on this little journey with me- nikto, who's privvy to all sorts of top secret bullshit finds out they're doing rage virus testing in moscow. he's smart enough to know it's a Bad Fucking Idea, that it's absolutely going to go sideways, but he doesn't do anything about it. doesn't raise any alarms, doesn't pack his bags and get the fuck out- but he does, however, start stockpiling canned goods, weapons, water, ammo, generators- everything he's going to need when this goes tits up.

because what nikto felt when he realized what was at stake wasn't worry or fear- it was excitement. this is his chance, no, his excuse to finally live out his deepest desires- to hunt the most dangerous game out in the streets of moscow, being able to use it as his personal playground of violence and mayhem. he can spend his days hunting people to his heart's content- he won't have to wait for a mission, wait to be told who specifically to kill and how. he'll have free range, the ability to perform his craft as creatively as he likes- and what's more, they'll call him a hero for it.

what fun.

but nikto soon realizes the wait is going to be longer than he'd expected, and he gets impatient. his apartment is fortified, his stockpiles are secure and plentiful, he just needs the lab to get the show on the road and fuck up already... ugh. it's so boring, waiting for the fucking collapse of society, so he decides to give it a little kickstart.

so he hops on reddit, uses a burner account to inform a local animal activism group about the virus testing, and watches the dominos start to fall. they form a groupchat and invite him to it, allowing him to observe the plans to liberate the primate test subjects. they're so gung-ho in their activism that they forget the first rule of covert operations- don't invite people you don't know, and certainly don't invite them and allow them to stay completely anonymous.

he sets them up to fail- underreports the security, fudges with the blueprints to ensure they get lost, transposes a number at the end of a security code on the door to their escape route. all things to make them panic and screw up, hopefully loosing the virus so he can finally play.

the night before the crew is set to break in, he gets a message from you. he'd done his due diligence, already knows who you are, what your day job is, where you live, how much you make- all of it. you were the only one of any interest- someone who was just online enough to leave a footprint, but not someone online enough to give him any sense of your experience in this sort of direct action. he'd assumed it must be your first time- all of your comrades have bragged about prior experience, naming off protests and vandalism projects as if listing off items on an activism resume. but not you.

you ask to meet him at a bar just a few blocks from the eventual pre-break in meeting spot. you tell him you're not quite convinced, that you'll feel better following this plan if you meets the person responsible for the intel. he agrees to it immediately, curiosity piqued and a new plan slowly forming in his head.

he sets the meeting for the night before the lab break-in is planned to take place. he opts for casual, putting on a hoodie and a kn95, trailing his fingers across your shoulders before sitting down at the stool next to yours. it's easy to tell by your expression that you found it unnerving, and nikto doesn't bother suppressing a smile behind his mask. you're going to be fun, he can tell.

both of you order vodkas that you don't touch, allowing the dew on the outside of your glasses to soak into the cheap cardboard mats as you interrogate him about everything you can think of.

where did you get this information? why are you sharing it? why don't you go to the media instead? why should we trust you? who are you hiding from? why won't you be coming along on the mission? why are you covering your face now?

he has answers prepared for everything, and even deigns to answer your last question by unlooping his mask and showing you the scars and burns that have warped his face beyond recognition, the exposed teeth, the scarred lips, and the hole he has to plug with his thumb whenever he drinks. he watches tenderhearted little you soften up at that- after all, animal lover and activist that you are, of course you're compassionate, aren't you? a sweet thing hidden under a tough exterior built to protect yourself.

how precious.

it doesn't take much work to get you back to his bed- he just pretends to be self-conscious, lonely, empathetic- things he knows a soft hearted girl would find non-threatening. you probably see him as a project, some poor broken thing in need of rehabilitation and care, don't you?

he nearly laughs in your face when he sees your stunned expression at the way he roughly fucks you. he watches you recalibrate your opinions of him in realtime as he digs his scarred fingers into the soft fat of your hips and jackhammers himself into your pussy so hard that your big, wide body slides up the mattress towards the headboard, where handcuffs are waiting.

he fucks you hard all night, and when you try to leave the bed to put your clothes on and go home, he reels you back in with the sloppiest, wettest, loudest head he's ever given. based on the way you gripped his hair, rode his face, and screamed the fake name he gave you, it's no surprise you fell asleep immediately after, crashing out so hard that you didn't even awake to handcuffs being cinched tight around your wrists.

nor do you stir when he drives a superfine needle into the plush outside of your thigh, injecting you with tranquilizers that keep you under far into the next evening, when the streets begin to broil with chaos and a newly unleashed rage virus. the phone in your jeans had buzzed periodically in the early evening, texts and voicemails piling up as you sleep in nikto's bed.

the tv in the living room is on when you finally do awake, the sound of it seemingly compounding the pulsing headache you already feel. when you realize your hands are cuffed, you can't help but yell from surprise and fright.

nikto is in the doorway in a flash, handgun barely visible in the brightness of the flashlight that's shining in your face. he asks you questions- are you feeling angry? hungry? sick? and puts on a display of relief when you answer in the negative. he makes a show of telling you that he's trusting you aren't lying when he unlocks your handcuffs and leads you to the living room, where news reports about the spread of the rage virus through the city's streets show reel after reel of grisly images.

he fills up a glass of water for you, watching your eyes grow wider and wider in the light of the television. something hits the reinforced door, and his cock twitches at the way you jump.

nikto loves the way you lean against him, carefully sipping your water as the two of you watch the news reports on his beat up old couch. tomorrow he'll decide whether or not he will tell you about the reserves of food he's piled up- but he is going to say how he's willing to share resources and shelter with you if you continue to warm his bed. he'll go out tomorrow under the guise of getting 'supplies' from your place- that should earn him the use of that pretty mouth of yours, he thinks.

sitting there in the dark, nikto pets over your hair as you shiver in fear against him, your soft body shaking slightly with every new sound from outside the window. the television casts the only light- a sickly blue that washes over you with images of gore and violence. nikto luxuriates in it as he plans out his days- murder, chaos, and fucking the soft pretty prize he managed to squirrel away in the nick of time.

it's not until he realizes that he's grinning in the dark that it finally strikes him that this is the happiest he's ever been.

[uglygirltrying]

Oh to be nik’s pampered kitty with a big scary Simon for a mate 😩🫶🏻 (love that hybrid writing my thanks to the chef)

Thinking about a couple scenarios for them

Simon using his teeth at your neck to scruff you, making you lay still while he settles his weight onto you and purrs violently. John will tell Nik— Simon isn’t usually the type to purr at all, so it sounds rough and low. He grinds himself against the soft white cotton covering your ass after rucking up your skirt, determined to get his scent all over you.

And Nik sitting behind you, holding your legs open by your thighs so that Simon can bury his rough tongue in your cunt while you unsuccessfully try to hide your face in Nik’s shoulder.

By the end of it you’re practically burning up and too dizzy and overwhelmed to move, but you can faintly hear John saying something about coming back when your heat sets in.

[uglygirltrying]

You and gaz as prices beloved little pups🙏🙏

He knows exactly how to treat you, making sure u both have plenty of playtime together, knows ur just pups so its only natural to playfight. Usually gaz wins and pins u down, ruts into u with his teeth in ur neck, growling when u try and shift away.

Ofc price makes sure he doesnt get too pushy, scruffing gaz when he knows ur near ur limit. U both get matching collars that price loves to loop a finger under when u suck him off. U and gaz licking at his cock with pleading eyes, hoping price will fuck u first😫

(Price also learned his lesson and keeps yall in separate crates bc the one time u and gaz were in the same place at night price woke up to u stuffed full of cum lol)

[uglygirltrying]

You make an offhand comment to ur friend Johnny abt how hot that guy hes always hanging out with is. Yknow, the behemoth of a man who makes hilariously dark jokes and wears a mask? Yeah that one.

Its said in passing, and ur pretty sure Johnny forgets abt it entirely, until late one night he sends u a link to a dildo??? And its like, big, right? Much bigger than anything u go for. Johnny knows this, bc who doesnt discuss their sex life with their bestie? So u reply back "Johnny wtf u know thats not my thing, its huge lol."

His response? "Well I'd start practicin' if you wanna take on my 'hot friend'. Its to scale ;)"

...you add the dildo to ur cart.

[uglygirltrying]

You were facing the wall.

Arms tucked close to your chest, your back turned toward the door, and a blanket pulled up to your chin even though it wasn’t cold. Your eyes were wide open. You weren’t even trying to sleep. The light from the hallway bled under the crack in the door, and every time it shifted, your breath caught, half-hoping, half-dreading that it was him.

He’d left without another word. You’d told him to sleep on the couch, and he didn’t argue. Just looked at you for a moment, his lips pressed into that hard line he always got when he was trying not to say something he’d regret. And then he walked out.

That was almost an hour ago.

You blinked slowly, eyes stinging. You hated fighting with him. Hated the way it left your chest tight and your mind buzzing. You hated the silence afterward even more. And this time… you weren’t even sure who was more in the wrong.

The fight started with something stupid. It usually did. You’d asked him why he hadn’t texted back when you messaged him earlier in the day—just a casual check-in, nothing serious. He said he’d been busy. You said you understood, but something about your tone made it obvious you didn’t. And then he said, “It’s not always about you,” and you froze.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them, like you’d been a burden instead of someone he missed. Like he didn’t have space for you in his head that day, and you were wrong for noticing it.

You’d snapped and told him if he didn’t want to talk to you, he could’ve just said that. Told him you weren’t going to beg him for attention. He looked at you like he wanted to speak but didn’t, and you’d finally said it.... go sleep on the couch, Simon, because you didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t hurt more.

And he left.

Now you were here, pretending the pillow was more comfortable than his chest, replaying the words in your head until they lost all their meaning. You hadn’t even told him goodnight. And he hadn’t told you he loved you, not like he always did before bed.

Your throat tightened. You blinked at the wall again, trying to will yourself not to cry, not now when you’d already said your piece, already told him to leave. You didn’t want to be the one to break first. But still, your chest ached in that way that only came when something between you felt wrong.

A floorboard creaked somewhere outside the bedroom. Then silence came, a pause just long enough to make you question if you’d even heard anything at all.

And then—

The door creaked open slowly.

You stayed still. You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to seem too eager, didn’t want him to think you’d just forget everything because he came back. But your heart betrayed you, picking up speed the moment you heard his quiet footsteps on the carpet. Then the bed dipped behind you, before his arm wrapped around your waist, fast like he was afraid you’d push him away if he didn’t do it quick.

You didn’t.

“I know you’re awake,” he said quietly, his breath brushing against the back of your neck.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“I thought about what you said.” His voice was low and soft. “And I thought about what I said. And I didn’t come back to fight. I just... I needed you to hear this.”

He paused, exhaling slowly.

“I fucked up,” he admitted. “I was tired and distracted, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just lookin’ for me and I made you feel like you were too much.”

Your eyes burned. Still, you didn’t speak.

“I never want you to feel that way,” he murmured. “Not ever. Not when you text me, not when you talk to me, not when you just exist near me. You’re not a burden. You’re… you’re the best part of my day, and I treated you like you weren’t. I’m sorry, love.”

You felt his hand squeeze your side gently, like he was grounding himself just as much as he was trying to comfort you.

“I meant what I said before I left,” he added, “but I meant it wrong. It’s not always about you, but it should be. You’re my person. I should’ve answered you. I should’ve checked in. You have every right to need me.”

You blinked hard, finally managing to whisper, “I wasn’t trying to fight.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “I know, love. You were just tryin’ to connect. And I shut down on you. I let shit get in my head and I pushed you out. I won’t do that again.”

You turned slowly, finally facing him. His eyes met yours in the dim light, and god, he looked wrecked.

“I just missed you,” you whispered. “That’s all.”

He reached up and cupped your face gently. “I missed you too. More than I can say. And I don’t want to end a single fuckin’ day with you wonderin’ if I care. I do. So much.”

You leaned in, tucking your face against his neck. His arms wrapped around you fully now, pulling you in close, holding you tight like he’d fall apart if he didn’t, before his lips pressed against your hair.

“I’m not goin’ back to the couch,” he said softly. “Even if you ask again. I’ll sleep on the floor next to you before I ever leave you like that again.”

That made you laugh, just a little.

“Sorry I got mean,” you mumbled.

He smiled into your hair. “You weren’t mean. You were hurt. And I made you feel that way. I deserved it.”

You looked up at him, eyes searching his face. “You’re really good at this. Talking about it. Most guys just shut down.”

“I used to,” he admitted. “Didn’t fix a damn thing. I’d rather talk and hold you than be right.”

You snorted. “You were wrong though.”

He grinned. “I know. Fully aware of it.”

You finally let your body relax fully against him, tension leaving piece by piece as he kissed your forehead and whispered, “Still love you, even when we fight. Especially then.”

“I love you too,” you murmured.

And you meant it. Even when it was hard. Even when things got messy. Because he came back. Because he chose to come back and say the things that mattered. Not everyone did.

But Simon did. And that was enough.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373

[uglygirltrying]

Ghost and reader who flirt via violence. You take gaz down particularly hard on the mats and ghost nearly swoons. He shows off his custom rifle to u and you've gotta remind urself ur in a public space. You two flirt mercilessly over comms, but it just sounds like some radio banter "just took out three." "Perfect,im right behind you." And unfortunately soap is the only one who can see it for what it is.

U two are debating the best methods of 'interrogation' (torture) and accidentally scaring the hell out of the recruits, and soap is disgusted bc he cant tell ghost is lowkey giving u bedroom eyes in the middle of a training session.

When u two finally *do* fuck? Get the med kit ready. The first time u accidentally broke one of ghosts ribs (he came so hard he nearly passed out lol) and its was probably the most awkward conversation you've had with price abt why ghost cant leave for the next mission...

[uglygirltrying]

a gouge in the wood - unfinished 1.7K words came back wrong au, simon 'ghost' riley x reader cw. violence

The thing wearing your ex-husband’s face stands in your living room and watches you.

You map out where he’s standing, the muck on his boots, flaking off and sticking to your wooden floors. There’s a mad moment where you think it may not be him - might not be Simon. Some other threat, that is raising the hair on the back of your neck. Some faceless military grunt, here to string you up, just like Simon had always feared they would.

You know him though, even when you cannot see his face. Something beyond knowing just the curve of his shoulders, like how he holds his right just an inch further back than his left. Where your amygdala takes over at the sight of him, like you know what he is before you think of his name.

You also know that it cannot be him, when you identified him on that cold autopsy table just a few hours ago.

You hover in the open doorway, eyes on him as if that will stop him from moving, and consider your options. You could run out the door, screaming, but you know his bulk belies his speed. You may make it back onto the step behind you before he caught you, but you wouldn’t get further than that.

You flex your keys in your hand before you step inside and let the door swing shut behind you. His eyes track your movement, dead on, centre. You wonder if you should stop thinking about it as a ‘he’ but rather something else. Something unknown, something that’s alive and grown and decided to invade your home.

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, can you knock it off,” you say, voice slightly tilted as if you want to make it a question. It doesn’t move. “What do you want?”

Now, that generates a response. Tiny, but a slight shift of his head. You’re too far away, but you like to imagine you can see his pupils flex. So, it does want.

Something about that, desire in something that you do not understand, has your body choosing flight. You flinch back, hare brain kicking you towards the door, and it’s on you.

You’re knocked back, skull rattling back against the door, its forearm braced against your chest and the other around your jaw. Thumb pressed into bone, catching sound there and stealing it.

You blink up at him, restrained. It’s Simon, you know it now that he’s closer. His dark eyes, you’d thought he still had his paint on his skin but you can see that it’s a bruise now. It’s also not. Maybe Simon was a little heavy handed in a way that you knew your friends wouldn’t like if they found out, but this was a new level. Simon always knew that the best way to corral you was to create the perimeter around you and let you tire yourself out. Patient, in the way that predators are when they crouch in high grass.

“Simon?” you wheeze, dots around your vision. A question.

The thing wearing your ex-husbands skin says your name. An answer.

You swing your hand up and only feel a brief satisfaction as it cuts the side of his shoulder. The feeling disappears when he doesn’t even flinch as he yanks your keys out and lets them drop to the floor with a terrible clink.

You shriek, muffled under the paw of his hand and he rattles your skull against the wall.

Your vision goes blurry, as if you have been submerged underwater. Pain blossoming out with each thump of your pulse, weighted and red.

You crumple but you’re caught and dragged upwards. You feel like you’re made up of static, as if someone has yanked the station and you’re hovering in some no man's land, an irritating buzzing noise that needles until it's fixed.

Given the way that you’re being carried, tossed over a shoulder and limp, you are placed on your couch with a lot more care than you expect.

You slump to the side, and the black lump that must be Simon - or whatever it is - shifts up and slants a cushion under your head.

He’s saying something, but you feel groggy, sickly. Unable to do anything other than stare at your coffee table as the sounds filter through to you. Water through paper, soggy and ruined.

Simon reaches up and takes off the balaclava, and he looks like he did on that cold table. Stubble grown out, you know he must be complaining about not being able to access a razor. Bruises cutting across his temple to his eyes. They said a bullet to his head. The way that you put down a dog.

“Fuck off,” you slur. He doesn’t crack a smile. He crouches down further in front of you so that your faces are level and you feel peculiar about being so close to his bare face. There had been a layer of deniability that you hadn’t truly believed when he’d been wearing the mask. At least you could maybe start to kid yourself that it isn’t him. The wrinkle of his brow, unbearingly intimate, this close to your eyes.

He reaches his hand out and into your hair. Pain whites out your vision - station found and blaring - and you whimper. “What -”

“Do you feel nauseous?” he asks, pulling his hand back, a jerk in his at your pained noise. He squints at his fingertips, the back of his hand against your cheek. His skin is so cold against your own, a block of ice against your fever.

The pain beats like your heart, and you can barely formulate a thought to force it out as a sentence. You blink at him, dumb and mute.

He shifts his hand and cups your cheek to hold your head steady. A balm, drawing sickness out of you and into him. You shut your eyes, inhaling deeply. A smell of dirt and moss lingers on him, the outside, dragged into your living. “Do you feel nauseous?” he repeats. The LT voice, commanding.  You grit your teeth against it, petulant.

“Yes, you fuck,” you groan, refusing to open your eyes again before you sick up all of the food that you ate that day.

He’s satisfied with your response, hand still as steady but melds into the curve of your face. Thumb on your temple, smooths your baby hairs out of your face. Like an apology, like you're a stunned bird in his hands and he didn't mean to break your wing.

“You’re dead,” you say, when he doesn’t move. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your face, but refuse to open your eyes to the rollercoaster that your body is on.

He grunts in response, knees clicking as he shifts on the floor.

No comforting response is forthcoming. You think of the bullet rattling around in his skull. No death will take, not even the real, permanent kind. It’s so ridiculous that you feel a manic laugh start to bubble up in your chest but you stifle it before it can escape.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he barks, shaking your head to jostle it until you cry out.

“Fuck you, asshole, I hope I fall asleep and die, you fuck,” you whimper.

He doesn’t have a further response to that, but stares you down until you stare back. Awake, against your will.

You drop your gaze to his shoulder, can see the cut in his jacket, where you managed to dig your keys in. You reach a hand up and press your thumb into the fabric, trying to part it to reach his flesh.

He lets you, his gaze still heavy on your face as if waiting for you to suddenly fall asleep. The look in his eye is different, but the weight of his attention is the same as it was before. Encumbering, to be loved by Simon. He had clutched on with both hands, but always had the stiff back as if waiting for the command to curl up and die.

You realise that you’re seeking something here that you cannot find in his hands. Some type of truth that touch will provide when your eyes won’t confirm it. His hands could be that cold for any reason. But here, in the meat of his shoulder, this is where you used to tuck your head under when it was cold at night.

There’s no comfort here. Simon is a stiff wall of flesh under your palm. Goose-flesh rise up all over your skin, your body finding a truth that you don’t want to acknowledge. Unsettling, like seeing something out of the corner of your eye and actually catching it in the full of your vision. 

You drop your hand, unsettled, and stare at a point over his shoulder.

Once he’s satisfied that you’re not going to drift off and get yourself killed, he gets up slowly. It’s unnerving, watching him move out of your vision and he completely disappears. He’s soundless, the faint shuffle of clothes as he moves before that disappears as well. If it wasn’t for the wet smell of mud that he’s left, you wouldn’t have known that he was in your home at all.

You stare out at your wall, unseeing. Fear of the thing in your home stops you from closing your eyes like you desperately want to. Sleep like molasses that drag your limbs down and leave you heavy. Drift downward like a weighed anchor, drowning.

Time slips away, meaningless. Memories feel like silk, forming in your mind before fluttering away, entire minutes forgotten. One moment Simon isn’t there, and then he’s back. The time between smacks together until it is thin enough to wear through in your mind. “It’s you,” you slur, although you don’t think he is.

He grunts, and reaches beneath you and hoists you up into his arms. The world takes a sharp turn and takes your vision along with it. You groan unhappily, but he ignores you and slings you around until you’re across his shoulders.

A mountain of a man, you had thought once. The view from the top is horrifying now that you’ve reached the peak, you tuck your head into his shoulder to hide from it. You wish he would hit your head again, you don’t remember your last journey up here just a few minutes ago.

“Where we goin’?” you ask, mouth choked in the cotton of his jacket.

“Out,” he says, helpfully. You throw your leg out in a pathetic attempt to kick him, which is so sad that he doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He opens the door of your car and places you in the passenger seat. His hand on your throat as he steadies your head.

It’s starting to rain, fat droplets that smack against the roof of your car.

“I’m going to pass out,” you let him know, polite, at least. The shift of his brow as he goes to snap at you again, but you’re yanked down into a pillowy darkness and you much prefer that company to this one.

[uglygirltrying]

any zombie au i would write with simon would be like. he rocks up to the settlement that ur staying at and you do Not like him

he's off-putting, he has weird flat eyes that look right through you, he's massive and it keeps kicking some deep-buried prey mindset you have into first gear

but he's able to do the work of two men easily enough. an arsehole, yeah, but he's willing to go further out than most and all he wants in exchange is one of the houses to get out of the rain

maybe other people have an issue with the way he looks and speaks, but he's useful enough that they don't say it too loud

you don't know how to voice that you don't like the way that he stares over at you, how he barks at you to get back if you ever do find yourself in the same group - takes the lead into any unexplored buildings and treats you like a nuisance

he firmly tells you that you won't be going back out if he's not there and lets you bitch all you want but you find that no one will let you leave if he's not there

the settlement setup seems to be working for now, so he's letting it be, but god help you when he decides everyone is interfering too much with the two of you or he decides you guys are better off making your own way

he'll be off in the middle of the night and you'll be coming with him - and you're not exactly asked for your opinion on the matter

[uglygirltrying]

yeahhh we need more omega verse ghost

He can smell it, seeping under the door, piecing itself through the cracks in the wood, soaking into the pores of oak as if it were a fine lacquer: heat. The soft sweetness of vanilla almost acrid on his tongue, turned into something burning and alcoholic by the influx of hormones the usual milky afternote does nothing to smooth over the fermented air. And yet he draws in breath through his nose until his chest swells against the constraints of his armor. The sting in the back of his throat only warms him more to the idea of intruding on such a delicate time.

It must be painful, he thinks to himself, terrible to shut an omega away to whether the worst of the period with no one to sooth them but a middling maid. He's sure you're cramping, your poor body desperately searching for something to clamp down around, only to curl in on itself. If he presses his ear to the door he can almost hear the soft panting whimpers that you must be letting out. He can imagine the scene, his pretty charge with a pillow shoved between your thighs to keep from touching yourself, your skin slick with sweat, your night clothes sticking to you. It's not his place to intrude on your heat, he hasn't been invited, there are rules to these things, but God he wants to.

Wants to take you overwhelmed body into his arms and brush the sweat from your forehead until you're squirming away, insisting that even that much contact is too much, that you can't stand the touch of skin against yours. It is... immoral of him to think then about the way he'd roll you onto your stomach, muffling your protesting whines in your pillows and lift your hips to his mouth. To drink his own pleasure from you when you're too addled to stop him. You wouldn't push him away, no not you, his perfect princess, always so good for him. You'd fuss and whine, but you'd let him slip his fingers into your leaking cunt, would clench around them so nicely that he could delude himself into thinking you both wanted this.

He doubts you could take his knot, might not take more than the head of his cock, but you'd be so pliant and loose that he could try, could be a little mean. You'd forgive him for it, would blame it on the heat and not his own selfish desires. Not him, your fearless knight would never do anything to hurt you, you're sure.

It is only when his hand finds the latch to your door that he comes back to himself, the cold iron breaking whatever spell your scent cast over him.

Ghost licks over his teeth, the fangs there sharp and aching. He digs one point into his tongue. The pain does nothing to combat the way his cock presses insistently against his armor. Some other time perhaps.

[uglygirltrying]

Okay… I hope this isn’t weird but I really do love cannibal kinks and the symbolism of giving oneself to the other for them to live but also… I like it when they’re deranged as hell.

I remember you talking about Ghost and how he’d definitely survive the apocalypse by going to cannibalism when food runs out and you’re so, so right.

I want to say he doesn't even wait for food to run out but that would be a lie, the man is utilitarian to his core. He stockpiles dry food, canned goods, he butchers the cow and deer he buys from farmers outside the city, stores them in his deep freeze (the one with its own generator). He has meat for months, rations for years, and yet as soon as shit hits the fan his shitty apartment in the city doesn't cut it the way he thought it would. There are too many people, too much noise, too much chaos. Not the sort he relishes in, the kind that crashes into buildings like a wave, attempting to shake their foundations like the horns of Jericho. It's a chaos he knows, the kind that always follows political upheaval, the kind that makes leaving the city feel less risky than sticking around.

So he packs what he can into his car, and to be fair he can pack quite a bit in there, and he gets the fuck out of the city. Takes the back roads, avoids highways and the city center. He pats himself on the back for getting something suited to rough terrain, remembers Soap complaining that he was bringing the military home with him. He finds a cabin out in the middle of the woods, remembers seeing a listing for it on some bnb website while the internet was still up, and hopes no one else had the same idea.

He avoids opening the freezer he managed to stuff in the back seat, digs a cup into a sack of beans, eats them just barely cooked while he checks the ropes on the generator strapped to the top of his car. He chews on jerky while he drives, tries to remember the farms in the area, reasons over whether or not he could nab a cow even just for the milk. Considers setting rabbit traps, nearly grabs a duck from a pond he drives past for the eggs, thinks better of it when he has the poor creature by the neck and isn't sure where he's supposed to put it in his crammed car.

All this to say he's fucking exhausted by the time he reaches the dark little cabin. Somehow all that sleep deprived insanity reaches a peak spotting your little sedan sitting between the trees, the flutter of someone peeking through the curtains... he hardly waits to unload his own vehicle before breaking the door down to see what a suddenly merciful God has granted him. Toys, he thinks to himself as you spit and kick and scream for someone to help, knew I forgot something.

The skin around his eye is starting to darken by the time he gets dinner on the table. Most of the fight went out of you at the promise of food, and you'd even been kind enough to help him get the freezer inside once he'd gotten the generator running. He'd have to get some of the trees around the place limbed up so the solar can keep it running, but he'll worry about that tomorrow.

"What's this," You sniff at the meat sitting nicely charred on your plate.

"Don't remember 'is name." Ghost smiles, the scars around his lips tugging the skin twisted. You grimace and push the plate away, your lip starting to wobble for a second time. "Eat," He tell you, "or it'll be you next."

You give him a long searching look, likely trying to see if he's serious. You must not like what you find, because you drag the plate close and start to pick at the meat. You do your best to hide the gag that nearly slips past your lips, choking down distinctly inhuman meat. Oh well, Ghost thinks, be easier to get you to eat it later.