La Petite Lapin

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Call of Duty

Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!OC x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Double the Love (on hiatus☁️) More coming soon...

Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!OC

Unlikely Friendships (ongoing) Killer Queen (ongoing) More coming soon...

Captain John Price x female!reader

Keeping Secrets More coming soon...

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female!reader

Quickie More coming soon...

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x female!OC

Coming soon...

[la-petite-lapin]

Quickie | Johnny MacTavish x female!reader

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x afab!reader Word Count: 1.7k Content warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, explicit sexual content, unprotected P in V, porn with a little bit of plot, just a little mini smut fic, no Y/N

Johnny hooks up with a stranger in a bar

Johnny didn't think of himself as the kind of man who actively sought out quickies in public places.

But then it happened: Gaz's birthday.

It started with the Scotsman gathering everyone in the 141's private rec room, announcing that it was a crime to let a man turn thirty uncelebrated. Which was how he ended up in some moderately shady-looking sports bar that Ghost had led them to, tucked into some random alleyway.

" 's my local," was all the lieutenant had growled when Price shot him a sidelong glance. "Don't judge just based off 'a first impressions."

And he was right. It was a decent bar; the drinks were reasonably priced, the music was at the perfect volume to both dance to and hear conversations over, and there was a sea of good-looking faces in the crowd.

The bartender especially.

She was dressed in all-black - a V-neck top and close-fitting trousers that clung to the generous curve of her ass. And she moved with the surety of a woman who knew she was stunning, and didn't need some mediocre man to tell her it.

Two rounds in, she strolled over to their corner booth, planting a big kiss on Ghost's scar-flecked cheek. He'd pocketed his medical mask as they'd walked in - a sign that he was well at home in the place - which gave the group a clear view of the fierce blush that lit up his face.

"Spooky boy!" the bartender cheered, referencing some inside joke between the two. A brilliant smile lit up her beautiful face, genuine warmth igniting in your eyes.

Johnny bent his head over his half-drained whiskey, feeling a surge of jealousy. He bit back on it - feeling more than a little stupid for the childish impulse. Besides, he knew that he should be happy for his LT. It was rare for him to find people outside of the 141 that he could trust.

Your name rumbled out of Ghost's throat, spoken like an admonishment. Giving a playful tug to a lock of your hair, he directed your attention to the rest of the table with a dip of his chin. "These are the guys I was telling you about from work. Guys, this is my friend."

One by one, they each took turns announcing their names. Price shook your hand - much to all of their amusement - and Gaz introduced himself as the birthday boy, which earned him a sweet peck on the forehead and a shot of tequila on the house.

When you got to Johnny, your smile grew. Little did he know, you'd been watching him just as eagerly as he'd been watching you. There was an energy to him - somewhat puppy-like in its nature - that drew you to him. He looked like a man who'd do anything to please you, and wouldn't dream of bringing any harm your way.

And then there was his beard. You didn't know whether to attribute the ginger prominent in the stubble to his Scottish accent, or to a love for a certain bedroom activity.

"Johnny," he said with a half-smile, letting that rich accent peek through. Intrigue flashed in your expression and he savoured it. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Your answering smile was akin to that of the Cheshire Cat.

Shortly thereafter, your colleague called you from the bar, needing help with the large hen party that had just walked in. You slipped away into the crowd, leaving Johnny with a single lingering glance to tide him over. Then - when you got to the bar - you leaned forward, giving him a spectacular view of your chest. When you caught him looking, you winked - a husky laugh leaving your throat.

So, technically, it wasn't his fault when he got up a few rounds later, telling the lads that he needed to go for a slash. It was a lie, obviously. He'd just seen you make your way down the narrow hallway that led off to the small concrete square that Ghost called the "beer garden" and the restrooms, giving him the perfect alibi to catch you before you made it back to the bar.

Someone must have been looking out for him because - just as he crossed the threshold of the hallway - you stepped out of the ladies', a small smirk forming on his lips as you took in the sight of him standing there.

"Can I help you?" you asked, looking up at him with big doe eyes. Acting coy.

He cocked his head to the side. A challenge and an invitation.

You glanced around the otherwise-empty hallway before turning back to him. "I have about ten minutes." Your tongue peeked out to moisten your lips as your eyes glittered. "Can you be quick?"

"For you," he said, letting some of that trademark cockiness that always got him in good with the women shine through, "I can do just about anything."

Lips splitting into a wicked grin, you took his hand in yours and pulled him back into the bathroom you'd just exited. As soon as you were both inside, you flicked the lock shut with steady, capable hands, backing yourself up against the cheap plywood. "So, what are you gonna do?"

"What do you want me to do?" he countered, assessing his surroundings.

A shrug. "Your choice, soldier."

He couldn't pin you against the door. In all likelihood, the minute he thrusted with any decent force, both you and him would do straight through it. And then there was the sink - the cheap porcelain cracked and crumbling. That wouldn't be comfortable for you, which ruled out him balancing you on it. As the seconds ticked by, he fumbled for a game plan.

Bingo.

"Put your hands on the sink and look in the mirror," he ordered, voice steady despite the excitement revving up into his chest. He palmed himself through his jeans as he watched you, obediently shifting into position in the small, dimly lit bathroom. "Pull your trousers down to your knees and bend for me."

Leaning over your back, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear, delighting in the shiver that ran through you. He relished in the heaviness of your breathing; in the rustle of fabric as you unzipped your trousers like a good girl, sliding them down then putting your hands back on the sink. Your fingers curled around the chipped edge of the basin, ass pressing back against his growing erection.

A quick glance revealed that you'd left your lacy thong on. Johnny hooked a finger into the band, snapping the elastic against your skin.

"Are you ready or do I need to warm you up a bit?" he asked, tone surprisingly soft given the context of the situation.

You shook your head. "I'm good to go."

Johnny's teeth nipped at your ear lobe. "Tap my leg if you need me to stop, okay?"

"Trust me, I won't need you to."

His chuckle echoed around the room as he unbuckled his belt, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion.

A thick finger nudged your thong to the side, tucking it away from your slit. You shuddered as he ran the same finger through your folds, finding you absolutely soaked for him. But a few more too-tentative passes had your growling through gritted teeth.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?" you hissed, lifting your eyes to meet his in the scuffed mirror above the sink.

The answering throaty huff told you all you needed to know: that he'd been waiting for you to call him out. That he'd been toying with you for his own amusement.

Suddenly, with no warning, Johnny notched his cock at your entrance, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust. You braced yourself as Johnny's hands clutched at your waist, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He withdrew almost to the point of slipping out of you completely before thrusting in again. Harder.

Deeper.

The heat and thickness of him was driving you wild, your head tipping back as your eyes rolled.

Without you even needing to ask for it, a hand dropped to the space between your legs, finding your clit with ease and pinching it. The gasp he was rewarded with encouraged him, and he built up a fierce, punishing pace as he played with the bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," he growled in your ear. "Fuck, I wish I could see you completely naked."

You nodded limply - completely beyond words - eyes locked onto where your bodies met in the mirror. There was something so inherently hot about the things he was doing to you - the way he reacted to all of your body's responses like he'd been doing it for years, not just a matter of minutes.

"I'd have you in the shower." A harsh thrust. "Riding me in bed." A lingering kiss to the side of your throat. "Eating you out on my kitchen counters."

He brought his hand down in a firm, stinging slap against your ass before giving your clit one last, firm pinch. Like a rocket, you came - muscles spasming around him and squeezing his cock like a vice.

Limp and boneless, you fell back against Johnny's strong body, letting him hold you up as he carried on driving himself into you. Until he found his own release, buried in his own personal paradise between your thighs.

A moment of silence passed, filled only by two sets of heavy breathing.

Johnny pulled out of you almost reluctantly, immediately grabbing a tissue to clean you up with. You accepted the small gesture of kindness, held up by one of his strong arms as he helped you pull your trousers back up. Only once you were decent did he turn his attention back to himself.

Without the haze of lust clouding his vision, Johnny regarded you somewhat bashfully, a blush darkening his cheeks. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You watched him silently for a second, observant eyes raking over his face. He seemed worried; that he might have hurt you, that he'd left you unsatisfied in some way. It made him even more endearing to you.

Rocking up onto your tiptoes, hands stilling his where they were toying with his belt, you pressed a long, lingering kiss to his lips. As you pulled away, he levelled you with an open, honest look. "Johnny, you were perfect."

Reassured by his bashful grin, you interlinked your fingers with his and unlocked the bathroom door. You hadn't been missing for long, but - as you caught Ghost's knowing expression where he stood, waiting, at the mouth of the hallway - you had a feeling that you had some explaining to do.

[la-petite-lapin]

Unlikely Friendships | Part Five

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 1.9k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions and threats of violence, a fluffy little chapter to say sorry for my absence :)

When the weekend finally arrived, Simon was more than ready for it.

You'd texted him your address well in advance - even offered to come and pick him up yourself - but he insisted on driving himself. It gave him an excuse to give his car a run-about: the blacked-out Range Rover that was one of the few luxuries he'd allowed himself since joining the 141.

Besides, he had a few stops to make along the way.

By the time he arrived on your doorstep, arms laden with his duffel, a bouquet almost as wide as his chest, and a carrier bag of snacks and treats for you and the little one, it was pushing afternoon. You didn't give him any crap for it though. No - you were just happy that he was there.

He stood by your side in the kitchen as you carefully trimmed the ends off of the stems, setting them in a vase of water. He silently preened at the adoring look in your eyes; the way you praised him over such a simple gift. Pleased with his work, he finally let himself part from your side, toeing off his combat boots in the hallway and setting his duffel down in the living room. He'd deal with that later.

The telltale mumbling of a little voice told him that Sunnie was playing up in her room, which brought a small smile to his lips. It meant that the coast was clear to spend a few moments with you, making up for the past few days of not seeing you.

"Simon," you sighed, leaning back into him as he stood behind you, large hands finding your waist. Trimming the last flower, you nudged the vase, knocking it away from the edge of the counter.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

You turned in his hold, looking up at him with soft eyes. He'd taken the balaclava off in his car and he couldn't be any happier with that decision, especially as your attention ghosted over his bare features. "I know it's soon - really soon - but... what is this? Where is this going?"

Simon could have chuckled at that. You knew damn well what this way. You both did.

The only way that this was ending was with a ring on your finger, and a house with a garden big enough for kids to play in and a dog to run around in. A small ceremony with your family and friends, and his squadmates from the 141. Johnny as his best man otherwise he'd never hear the end of it. Maybe Gaz officiating if you didn't mind his lot being so heavily involved.

Maybe even a couple more kids if you'd do him the honour of having them; if you even wanted any more, that was.

Biological kids, he could live without. Just so long as Sunnie grew up happy and loved, knowing that he thought her as good as his own.

The thought brought a smile to his scarred lips, but you were still looking up at him, waiting for that verbal confirmation.

"Well, love," Simon started, the words coming out slow at first.

He wasn't very used to expressing his emotions. Heck, other than therapy, most of his self-expression pertained to sporadic outbursts of violence on his ops. But - for you - he'd do anything. Even the hard stuff.

"I never thought I'd have someone like you in my life. After what happened back in Manchester, I had no one. Meeting Price gave me the guys, but it's not the same as having a family - I know that.

"So I got comfortable with the idea that it would just be me." He cleared his throat, swallowing the lump rapidly forming there. A quick glance down at your face showed that your own eyes were clouded with unshed tears, but he pushed on regardless.

This was important and you needed to hear it.

"Never thought I'd have the opportunity to settle down, or marry, or be a dad. But meeting you changed that. I want all that stuff with you, if you're willing to have me."

A beat of silence passed. A single tear fell from your lashes, cutting a path down your cheek before Simon's thumb swiped it away. There was a sad little smile on your lips - one that made the corners of his own mouth lift.

"Of course I'll have you, Simon." You wrapped your arms around him, tugging him close and burying your face into his broad chest with no hesitation. Muffled by the fabric of his hoodie, you added, "I'd say that I wish we met sooner, but I think we met at just the right time. I have Sunnie, and I wouldn't trade her for the world. And you're working through your trauma. We're in just the right place."

Simon lowered his chin, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. "That we are, sweetheart. That we are."

"Are you mummy's friend?"

Simon almost spat out his tea.

Sunnie was standing right behind him, blinking owlishly. It only took him a second to realise it: Sunnie didn't recognise him. She'd only ever seen him with his mask on.

Instead of letting the rising tide of panic cresting inside of him win over, he placed his mug down on the counter. He'd been getting the biscuits out of the cupboard for you, but that could wait a minute.

Slowly - with the caution of Johnny diffusing a bomb - he lowered himself down into a crouch, dropping one jean-clad knee onto the kitchen tiles. Sunnie didn't move, unphased as her little eyes studied his face - brows furrowed, and one fist clenched around Mr Rabbit's soft, floppy ears. But she didn't look scared, or mistrusting - just a tad confused as to who he was and what he was doing in her house.

"You don't recognise me, princess?" he said with a smile, watching her eyes light up at the sound of his voice. " 'm offended."

"Si!"

Sunnie's shriek of excitement almost pierced his eardrums. Mr Rabbit still clutched in one hand, she threw her arms around him, eager to be scooped up into his arms. Happy to oblige, he tucked her against his chest as he stood, grabbing the biscuits for you and abandoning his mug of tea as he made his way back into the living room.

As he walked in, his eyes immediately went to where you were sprawled out on the sofa, legs kicked up in the space Simon had vacated as you scrolled through Netflix. He'd left you in charge of picking the first movie, but that task was quickly forgotten when you looked up and saw them.

Your eyes widened as you watched Sunnie, her delicate hands running over Simon's face. Tiny fingers traced the lines of long-since-healed wounds. He didn't mind though; if anything, the tingling sensation in the scar tissue was oddly pleasant.

"I see you found our visitor, baby," you said, making grabby hands for your daughter.

Instead of eagerly complying, she tightened her hold on Simon, turning her face away and into the crook of his neck.

Your jaw dropped.

"Sorry, love," Si said, trying hard not to blush as he peeked down at the precious little girl who'd stolen his heart in just a matter of weeks. His most loyal friend. "Think I'm the chosen one tonight."

Looking a little offended, but mostly amused, you said, "In that case, you can be on bedtime duties tonight."

"Gladly".

You lifted your legs so that he could sit back down beside you, handing you your beloved biscuits as he adjusted Sunnie so that she was nice and snug in his lap. With the other hand, he pulled your feet back onto his thighs, running his thumb along the side of your ankle bone.

There was no feeling like this; being surrounded by people he cared about. It was a nice change of pace too. For once, he was guaranteed a lie-in in the morning - something he could only dream of most days. The thought alone was bliss.

It didn't take long for Sunnie to drift off to sleep. Halfway through the second movie of the night, you scooped her sleeping frame out of his arms, carrying her up the stairs to take her to bed. A grand total of fifteen minutes later, you were back.

The absence of your little terror meant that you could finally snuggle up to your soldier - tucking your feet under his thick, muscled thighs.

It was easy to let your guard down around Simon; you knew you had nothing to fear from him. He was the complete antithesis of Daniel. Yeah, he was hardly a Golden Retriever in human form, but he was incredibly kind and caring. A brilliant listener. And his communication skills were top-class - a benefit of him being part of an elite taskforce.

And then there was the way that he was with Sunnie. You'd never have thought it upon first laying eyes on him, but he was probably the biggest girl-dad you'd ever met.

"After this one, I think I'm going to turn in for the night," he said somewhat gruffly, twirling a finger around a lock of your hair. Blunt nails scratched gently at your scalp, just the way your liked it.

You glanced over at him. The movie had less than half an hour left. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "Promised the little one I'd take her to the park tomorrow morning. She's dead-set on showing me around the one at the end of the road, if that's okay with you."

Your heart soared. "Of course that's okay."

With a grumbled reply, he shifted his hands - one slipping behind your back and the other under your knees - hoisting you onto his lap with minimal effort. He met your surprised shriek with a quiet, "Shh, you'll wake her up."

Instead of saying anything at the gentle reprimand, you started to pepper his face with kisses - making sure that no scar was left untouched. You couldn't fathom how he'd once been so reluctant to show it to you; couldn't imagine how he could look at himself in the mirror and not see the beauty that you saw.

Those scars made him a survivor. A fighter.

"You're a very pretty man, Simon Riley," you said when you were finally satisfied with your work. The skin of his cheeks, forehead, and jaw were covered with the faint smudges of whatever lipstick you'd applied that morning, giving him a rosy flush.

He let out a playful groan, the throaty sound going straight to the space between your legs. "Don't be letting anyone else know that I let you do stuff like this. The lads 'll never let me live it down."

The mention of them gave you an idea. "Hey, let me know if this is me overstepping but... how about you invite them here for dinner one night? I'll do all the hard work, but it'll give them a chance to be around Sunnie - to get her used to them being around. And it might be nice for them to see you a bit more..." You trailed off.

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Relaxed?"

He chuckled. That was one way to put it.

One minute around you and the harrowing drill sergeant they all knew and feared was reduced to a lovey-dovey mess. He could already picture their gleeful faces; hear the comments that he'd be subjected to for years to come. But it would be worth it to see them in your home. To see that glimpse of a future with you that he was building inside his head coming closer to reality.

"I'd love that, sweetheart. I'll pop a message into the group chat tomorrow morning." He paused for a moment, smoothing a hand down the length of your back before gently squeezing your ass. In a suggestive, bedroom voice, he added, "Ready for bed?"

He'd never seen you move quicker than when you dashed up the stairs, waiting for him to give chase.

a/n: long time, no see :) I just wanted to give you this short, fluffy little chapter as an apology for being MIA for so long. also, please let me know if you want the next chapter to be a spicy one, or to keep up with the wholesome vibes - lapetitelapin 💚

Taglist: @onlyforyuto @limitless180 @megzdoodle @missj609 @gazsluckyhat @little-mini-me-world @marcysbear @heyitsmarimari

[la-petite-lapin]

unlikely friendships part 5 dropping this afternoon? it is indeed 🙃

[la-petite-lapin]

so I've just seen The Old Guard 2, which reminded me just how much I loved the first one. how would we feel about a series inspired by it? (it would probably be another ghoap x reader fic 🙃)

💚

yes

yes, but not with a ghoap pairing

we want to see something else

Voting ended onJul 5, 2025

[la-petite-lapin]

fyi, I'm currently rewriting Double The Love and changing the design around to fit my new blog theme ☁️ hope to be finished in the next day or so

- much love, lapetitelapin 💚

[la-petite-lapin]

hi guys

long time, no see. so, here's the deal: I may or may not be ending my posting hiatus on here. if I do, what would you guys want to see? continuations of my existing works or some stuff that's entirely new? - lapetitelapin <3

[la-petite-lapin]

Unlikely Friendships | Part Four

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 2.1k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions and threats of violence, mentions of pregnancy (past), cannon-typical violence, shitty parenting (not by reader), swearing

Now that you'd seen Simon's face, you weren't sure that you'd ever be ready to see him in the balaclava again. You thought as much as you stared at him shamelessly, trying to drink in all the details you could.

The morning after your trip to the bar, you both took the liberty of having a lie in - undisturbed by prying colleagues or small children. It was his idea to get to know one another by playing some form of 21 questions. You were only slightly disappointed that it didn't appear to be the dirty version that you'd played in university.

Above everything else, you were pleased that he was opening up to you - more than you thought he was capable of until the night before.

"Where'd ya grow up?" he asked, voice still gravelly with the last hints of sleep. On his back, he alternated between looking up at the ceiling and you. Though it was mostly you.

He wasn't too ashamed to admit that you were probably one of the most - if not the most - beautiful women he'd ever had the pleasure of being around. Which was why he was so surprised that you hadn't run for the hills last night when he took of the mask. When you stayed.

You answered his question, telling him about the handful of childhood friends you were still close with. He could've listened to your voice all day no matter what you were talking about, so he didn't complain.

Humming, he asked his next question. "How'd you meet Sergeant Harper?"

"A friend set us up just after I graduated from uni." You swallowed thickly before continuing, "You know, he wasn't always a prick."

Simon chuckled warmly. "I'd assume he wasn't to pull a bird like you."

Ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks, you stared up at a patch of ceiling over the bed. "He was actually quite nice. He used to make a real effort; plan all these dates, cook dinner, talk about the future... and then I got pregnant with Sunnie."

He could feel your mood shift with those seven words.

Rolling onto his side, he propped his head up on his hand, placing the other on your cheek. "Hey, we don't have to talk about this now if you don't want to."

You shook your head, placing your own hand over his.

He marvelled at the sight of your smaller fingers trailing over his own, stroking the back of his scar-flecked palm. Once again, he was entirely enamoured with you - in awe of everything you were. Your strength; your love; your ability to care.

"Daniel's parents didn't let him have a normal childhood. They didn't let him play outside with the other kids, took all of his soft toys away when he was still a toddler, and treated him more like a colleague than a son. It was weird. I don't let them near Sunnie because of it."

You wrinkled your nose as you thought about how to word the next part. How to not send Simon spiralling into a fit of rage. Finally, you settled on, "At first, he was thrilled. A bit miffed when he found out that she was a girl, but happy."

Simon ground his teeth. With a single look from you, his jaw unclenched.

"He took a massive step back when it came to decorating the nursery. I had all these ideas about a rocking chair and a reading nook-" Your face glowed just talking about it; your excitement contagious "-but he vetoed most of it. For the first year of her life, Sunnie's bedroom walls were beige. He only read educational bedtime stories. Didn't show her much affection." A long moment dragged by before you finished with, "I know he isn't entirely to blame. His parents didn't give him anything to base healthy parenting off of. But, it wasn't fair on me or Sunnie, so I left just before her second birthday."

The urge to march down the hall and beat Sgt Harper bloody was almost too overpowering for Simon to resist.

But he didn't; you deserved better than that.

A soft, fluffy part of Simon that somehow hadn't been stamped out during the numerous missions and years of torture he'd been subjected to in his years of service started to paint idyllic pictures in his head. Of the nursery you so lovingly described; the walls painted a gentle pale yellow with a cot in the corner. Of you, him, and Sunnie preparing for another baby. His baby.

Swallowing, he shifted, tucking you closer into his side. You moved even further of your own accord, practically clambering atop him with your cheek buried into the muscle of his chest, legs tangling with his much longer ones.

"Was he ever cruel to you?" Simon asked softly, voice barely audible even in the otherwise-silent room. He was so gentle as he asked it, clearly worried about your response. "Did he ever hurt you?"

"No," you said with a small shake of your head, not a trace of a lie in sight. "Never anything like that. He just... I don't think he ever really wanted to be a father. He just did it because I wanted to have children, and he thought just going along with it would make me happy."

Relief filled him at that reassurance.

Good, he thought. If Harper had hurt you, it would have been a lot of hassle to sneak into his barracks and slit his throat in the night, unseen. Too much effort for such an insignificant prick. And - if he got caught - he ran the risk of being separated from you and Sunnie.

That couldn't happen.

"I didn't think I'd be a good dad either," Simon confessed quietly. "Even before the army. Still don't know if I'd be any good."

You gnawed at your bottom lip for a moment before saying, "I don't know about that. You seem like you're good with Sunnie, and she likes you a lot."

Silence hung between the two of you. A comfortable one, though.

Simon weighed it up in his head. It was true - he was getting used to spending time with Sunnie. He looked forward to seeing her, and not just because it meant he'd be seeing you too. He thought that she was brilliant, with all of her sassiness and confidence crammed into such a small stature.

She looked like a miniature version of you - complete with your adorable smile.

You changed the topic after that, leading the conversation back to safer territory: dinner plans for the following week.

By the time you left, he'd booked a table for the two of you at a nice restaurant, promising to wine and dine you like a proper lady. Once you'd stopped laughing, you thanked him and kissed him again.

And Simon decided that he needed to do something to ensure that he could keep you around. Permanently.

A week passed before Simon had to deal with the consequences of pursuing you.

"Ghost." The annoying, whiney voice pierced through the laughter and joking in the gym. "Can I have a word with you in private?"

Around Simon the other members of the 141 turned to stare at Sgt Daniel Harper, wondering if he had a death wish or if he was just stupid.

No one interrupted Ghost's wind-down time after sparring. It was just common sense; it was safer for everyone that way.

Simon just grunted and rolled his eyes, looking up at the man standing before him. After what you'd told him the other week, he saw Harper for what he truly was: a coward. Someone who was truly and utterly undeserving of you.

It didn't do him any favours in Simon's estimation that he'd only just sought him out now, either. A whole week had passed since the two of you had gone for dinner, with you publicly showing up at the base, dressed to the nines. Then you'd wrapped yourself around his arm, giggling as Price wished you both a good evening.

Even a blind man could have guessed what was going down.

Had he been in Harper's shoes, it would have taken him a matter of hours to hunt down the bastard who tried anything with his ex-wife. Before the cheque arrived at the table, if he was particularly motivated.

Instead, Harper had hidden away like a coward, leaving Simon to bumble his way through acting like a perfect gentleman in his pursuit of making you his.

It wasn't anything malicious; just a slight exaggeration. He needed you to see that he really cared about you. Needed you to see that he didn't just want you for your body.

In fact, he still had yet to see you naked. Every time he'd gone to put the moves on you, he chickened out - panicked that his timing wasn't right, or that he hadn't put enough effort in. That he didn't deserve you either.

"What is it?" Simon grunted, reaching under his balaclava to pull an earbud from one ear.

Sgt Harper glanced around the gym, empty apart from the four trained killers staring him down. He looked flustered - cheeks ruddy and jaw tensed. It was almost laughable.

"Can we go somewhere private?"

"Nah, you can say anything here in front of them." It was safer for Harper that way - not that either of them would ever admit it out loud. If Simon managed to get him alone, he was liable to dispose of him.

Thoroughly.

With lots of blood, and gore, and several bin liners.

"What are you playing at with my wife?" came Harper's blunt question.

Soap visibly bristled.

If there was one thing that none of the lads could stand, it was any sort of disrespect towards women. Even more so now that they'd met you - the fabled woman who'd claimed Simon's heart, and now possessed the ability to walk him like a dog.

" 'ah think ye mean your ex-wife."

Harper winced like the little bitch boy he was, shifting uneasily on his feet.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," came Simon's dead-pan reply. Slowly, he got up from his seat on the bench, rising to his full, considerable height. "She's a grown woman and she's more than capable of making her own decisions. I'd advise you to respect that."

Harper's eyes widened, taking on a slightly crazed quality as he barked out a shrill, disbelieving laugh. He took a step closer, and the air disappeared from the room.

He was within reaching distance now.

"She doesn't know anything about you," Daniel seethed, toeing a very dangerous line. "What do you want with a girl like her anyway, huh? Some single, suburban mum-type: is that what does it for you these days, Lt?"

Simon closed his eyes and counted to ten. By the time he got there, he no longer wanted to squeeze Harper's head until his eyes popped out of their sockets.

Instead, he took a slow exhale and said, "Careful what you say, Sergeant Harper." He took a step forward, forcing the other, shorter man to retreat. "The way I see it, we're going to be spending a lot more time together from now on. It'll be a lot easier for all of us if you don't lash out at my girl over this." The dangerous gleam flashing in his eyes paired with the menacing drawl to his voice made his threat entirely clear as he added, "And you'd hate to see what I'd have to do if you made either her or Sunnie upset."

A possessive warmth filled his broad chest at the thought of the two of you; his sweetheart and little Sunnie. He wasn't going to let this jack-ass screw it up for any of you.

Harper, on the other hand, paled under the fluorescent gym lights. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Simon preened smugly. He wasn't too proud to admit that he was taking immense joy in this; stripping down the man who'd brought so much heartbreak into you and your daughter's lives. "It means that I'm in this for the long haul. She's a remarkable lady, and I want to get to know her. And I'm already forming quite the bond with Sunnie." A smile formed on his scarred lips regardless of the fact that Harper couldn't see it under the mask. "In fact, the three of us have plans this weekend. I'm taking off on leave to go spend some time with them. You know, since your team screwed up the recon and got our op delayed."

Harper looked like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

As he stumbled pathetically over his words, Simon resumed his seat on the bench, leaning back against the cinderblock wall. "Now, if that's everything, you can go, Sergeant."

He takes off at the clear dismissal, leaving the guys to chuckle over the sight that just unfolded.

"You can go," Gaz said in a forced, deep voice, clapping Simon on the shoulder. "Well done, mate. Happy you held your ground and didn't snap his scrawny neck."

Simon chuckled as they carried on, mimicking Harper's scared rabbit-in-the-headlights expression before resuming their workouts.

He was pleased that he'd managed to hold it together, but he had the faint, nagging feeling that it wasn't over just yet.

a/n: hi guys! I know this one is a bit shorter than usual, but I have a lot planned for part five :)

also - edit - if you wanna be on the taglist, please just let me know 🙃 - much love, lapetitelapin <3

Taglist @onlyforyuto @limitless180 @megzdoodle

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Killer Queen | Part Three

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 2.2k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), referenced past trauma and capture, allusions to forced prostitution (past), graphic injury detail/description, reader suffers from night terrors, swearing, this series will be significantly darker than my other works

Your eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, just enough to make out where the walls are. Where the low ceiling meets the edges. There's no window and the floors are bare concrete, exuding an inescapable chill that permeates your skin and bones.

The metal of the chains bite into your ankles and wrists; the bones more prominent that usual after weeks of starvation and exhaustion. You can hear faint screams beyond the single, barred door; the voices of your team echoing through the halls. Haunting your every waking moment.

There's a man in the corner, armed with a rifle. He watches you day and night - unsympathetic and unmoved.

He will be the first to die, you think. It's a though that keeps you sane. You cling to it like a buoy on a stormy sea.

The door opens and another man enters. He carries with him a bundle of cloth, tucked under one arm. You know what's in the bundle before he even opens it - the rows of polished blades sheathed within. As he takes a seat opposite you, he unrolls it onto the crude wooden table, little more than a barstool. And, as he sets about his daily work, he mentions a man; one who you will eventually be taken to.

Makarov.

You'd met him before; knew his particular brand of cruelty.

After all, he'd had to go through so much trouble to find you again.

You awake to the sound of shrieking. To the taste of copper bitter in your mouth.

It takes a second for you to register that the screams are your own.

Someone is trying to get through the door, but it's been locked and deadbolted on your side. It seems like they've realised that, as the frantic, pounding knocks give way to heavy thuds like someone is trying to break it down entirely. They're shouting too - trying to ask you if you are okay, but you're far beyond words.

You're a sobbing, shivering wreck when the door finally bows inwards, splinting and falling away from the frame. Four men are standing in the hallway, illuminated by the harsh ceiling spotlights. It's an ominous sight that only serves to make your panic worsen. You try to tell them that you're fine, but you're paralysed - frozen under the too-tight sheets.

"Tiger?" the concerned voice comes from the doorway, the men huddled there unsure as to whether or not they should enter your den.

"Go. Away." The words leave your gritted teeth, sweat drenching your skin. The screaming has stopped but your chest still shakes violently, limbs leaden with an invisible, impossible weight.

There's a pause. The four figures remain there.

"Are you sure?"

You screw your eyes shut, unable to calm your own body. You feel pathetic, reduced to a cowering wreck in front of these virtual strangers. Even worse: in front of Ghost.

"Leave," you hiss.

When your eyes open moments later, you home in on the one man still loitering in the doorway. You'd recognise that body anywhere; the broad, sloping shoulders and the tapered, masculine waist.

"Ghost," you growl, "I said leave."

The shadowy outline stays. Instead of doing as he's asked for once in his life, he asks, "You still get the nightmares?"

You don't humour him with an answer.

Regardless, he carries on, crossing the threshold of your room. The door lies, battered and useless, on the floor. "I thought you were still seeing that therapist Laswell suggested? What's the point of them if they don't help you? I thought by now you'd be..." He trails off absentmindedly.

"Better?" you supply, the word drenched in bitter sarcasm. "I'll never be better, Simon. You made sure of that."

"Don't say that name here," he snaps, instantly on the defensive. It brings you a small amount of comfort to think that he feels even half of the tension you do. "Didn't I teach you anything?"

"You said a lot of shit." You blink. "I ignored most of it."

The sound of footsteps fills your ears, heavy as they step over the fallen door. You look up at him as he moves to stand at your bedside, staring down at you. His face is covered by that stupid mask again - the cold, hard plastic shell concealing any hint of emotion from sight.

"What do you mean I 'made sure of that'?"

You frown up at him. "Huh?"

"You said that I made sure you'd never be better. Explain it."

You want nothing more than for him to leave. You're tired, drenched in sweat and pinned to the bed by the scratchy, standard-issue sheets. The door of your suite - the one flimsy layer of privacy in the barracks - has been smashed off of its hinges, and it's most likely the early hours of the morning based on the lack of sunlight coming through the drawn curtains; i.e. not the time to be having this conversation.

The best time, in fact, would be never.

Ghost taps his foot impatiently and you sigh, rolling your eyes. "You got me to trust you and then you left without a word. You went out of your way to reach out to other LTs in the area and tell them not to work with me. You poisoned the well; you made doing my job impossible." A beat of silence passes before you continue on, letting your words settle in the air between you. With every memory, you pick up steam - tone steadily rising in volume. "You moved out of our house and said nothing. I couldn't pay the mortgage so I had to sell it, and I couldn't find my family's new phone numbers or details after they were moved for their own protection, so I was completely on my own and scared shitless."

There are tears in your eyes now, but you refuse to let them fall. Not for him. "I got back in touch with Laswell. She tried her best to help me; to have me moved into sheltered housing because I couldn't get my head on right to look for a new flat. And then I..."

Your mouth feels like it's full of cotton. Throat so dry that you could choke on air.

Never in your mind had you thought you would be here with him, finally able to confront him for everything he did back then. In all honesty, you would have been happy to never see him again. To never have to dig up the horrible, brutal depths of your failures and lay them out in the open - raw, bloody, and exposed - for him to pick through and examine.

"I broke down. Completely." Your hands clench into fists under the covers. "You ruined my fucking life, Ghost. More than Makarov ever could."

"Don't you dare fucking say that." Ghost's voice thunders through the room, his thick, Manchester accent rumbling against the gravel of his tone. You turn away from him, rolling in bed to face the wall. Your refusal to acknowledge him only seems to piss him off all the more. "You were the one who ruined us. Not me. You were the one who chose to lie again and again, and ruin the trust between us. You."

Anger pounds in your ears, rising to a crescendo of boiling rage. You're up on your feet before you know it, squaring up to the man you once loved with all of your icy, savage heart.

Practically snarling in his face, you shove him square in the chest, crowding him against your desk. So unlike himself, he takes it - takes your wrath and allows himself to be backed into a corner.

"You're so full of shit, Simon!" you hiss, no longer caring that you're using his real name within earshot of the others. "You left me! You did the one thing you promised me you'd never do. You ran away when it all got too real. And now you have the balls to call me a coward."

At that, he pushes back slightly, straightening up until you have no choice but to ease back a few steps. Snarling, he retorts, "I left before you had the chance. You made it clear that you were putting distance between us - I was just doing you a favour."

A laugh leaves your lips, the sound bordering on hysterical. Even he looks a little taken aback by it.

"A favour?" you shriek. Someone opens a door down the hall. "Get the fuck out!"

Ghost's jaw slackens under the mask, but you shove him again. He stumbles back.

You push him until he's out in the hallway, blocking the doorway with your body so he can't get back inside. "Once this is all over, I hope I never fucking see you again. I mean it, Ghost - you're fucking dead to me."

He stands there, his stance almost... accepting? You don't know if that's the right word to describe it. He looks so defeated. And when he finally manages words, all he says is, "I'll get someone to fix the door first thing."

As you watch his broad back retreating down the hallway, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness. A stab of pain at what could have been had he just stayed.

Before you turn back into your own room, your eyes meet the weathered ones of Price. He's standing further down the hall, eyeing you with something akin to pity. And then he closes his door, leaving you completely alone once again.

It's safe to say that you don't fall asleep before sunrise.

The next day, when you return from your morning run, the door is fixed. There's a new lock too - better than the built-in one that was there before - and it brings a small smile to your face.

You don't know if it was Simon or Price, but someone had clearly taken the time to put it there. You highly doubted that the Chuckle Brothers had done it - they'd taken to steering clear of you since you blew up on MacTavish.

Over the next few days, you avoid your new teammates like the plague, and they return the favour. If they hear your night terrors, they do you the solid of ignoring them.

It's a rainy Tuesday when Laswell finally summons you all, declaring that they've finally found something that might help you track down Makarov.

Some small, selfish part of you almost hopes that you never find him; that he'll just drop off the face of the Earth again, but stay gone this time. That he'll fall through the cracks and wind up someplace where he can't hurt anyone. Where he can't hurt you.

But another part of you - the bloody, seething mess that crawled out of that militia base years ago - she savours it. The methodical planning that's been ticking over in the back of your head for years now; keeping you going in the quiet moments.

You sit stiffly in your preferred seat - in the corner, facing the rectangular meeting room's only entrance and exit. You were the first to arrive, followed shortly after by Captain Price. Every once and a while, he makes fleeting eye contact with you, always being the first to break it.

"You really did a number on him, you know?" he says after a few ticks of the wall-mounted clock.

The words surprise you. "I'm sorry?"

The captain clears his throat, shifting in his crappy plastic chair to better face you. "He never said why he was so bent out of shape when he came back to us from leave. We thought it was the same reason he wears the mask; thought it was about Mexico." He eyes you warily before tacking on the next part. "Soap always reckoned it was about a woman."

You just roll your eyes.

"Just never could have predicted it would be the infamous Tiger." Leaning back in his chair, he takes off his hat and rests it on the table in front of him, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips. "You know, there's files on you that even I don't have the clearance to access."

"If you have any questions pertinent to us working together, I'm sure Laswell can make some arrangements for you," you reply, tone devoid of any emotion. You're used to this - to superior officers getting curious about your closed past. "Or, better yet, you could just ask me."

Price's expression shifts, seemingly shocked that you've called his bluff. "I... I don't think that's entirely necessary, ..."

Watching him struggle to find the name he's never received, you out him out of his misery. "You can call me T, if that helps."

It beats being solely referred to as Tiger, and you're sure as shit not about to tell any of them your legal name. Not even Simon knew that.

"Alright then, T. I think that if I don't have clearance, there's a reason for it. I'd also like the think that anything I find out about you will be done on your terms, in your own time; that it will come with your respect. Does that sound alright with you?"

You nod slowly, feeling like it's some sort of trick.

It doesn't take long after that for everyone else to file in, taking various seats around the table. Sergeant Garrick fills the seat beside you, regarding you with a somewhat-awkward smile and nod combo.

By the end of the meeting, all you have is a few more possible leads, but it's more than you started with. MacTavish and Garrick are tasked with heading to Spain - Makarov's suspected current hideout - to do some recon work, and Price and Ghost are going to Russia to interrogate some of Makarov's captured allies.

Leaving you.

"I need you to do something important for me," Laswell asks, deep blue eyes locking onto yours. Immediately, your back straightens. "There's an asset in London. She used to be... one of Makarov's girls."

You know what that means. The sea of disturbed expressions around the table tell you that you aren't the only one.

To be one of his girls was to be a prisoner; a slave in his harem. You would know; for a brief time before you joined the military, you were one of them.

"We have her under a new identity, in hiding, but there's a few questions that she might be able to answer for us. I thought that if anyone here knows the right approach, it would be you."

You can feel Ghost's gaze heavy on your side profile. Feel the heat of his eyes burning holes in you as you swallow, nodding slowly.

Solemnly, you hold Laswell's cautious gaze. "When do I go?"

a/n: hi guys, I just wanted to say a big thank you for the continued support on this work/my others! please do feel free to request to be added to any taglist :) also, the next thing I'm working on will be the next part of Unlikely Friendships, so if you are interested in that, please hold tight! - much love, lapetitelapin <3

Taglist: @420-hun @honestlymassivetrash

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Killer Queen | Part Two

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 2.0k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), split POV in this one, referenced past trauma, graphic injury detail/description, mentions of gore, death, capture, and torture, swearing, this series will be significantly darker than my other works

In the immediate aftermath of the meeting, the base was a frenzy. An entire wing of the barracks was sectioned off within the space of an hour - designated solely to the newly reformed Taskforce 141.

You'd stormed off as soon as you were dismissed, retreating to the private sanctuary that was your car. You'd all received the same parting orders; all been told to go home, pack up what you needed, and return to base.

It didn't take long for you to get your affairs in order. Half an hour to sort out the meagre belongings in your rental unit, boxing up what you wanted to take with you, and setting the others aside to drop at a charity shop on the way. Not that you had much to begin with; your lifestyle was nomadic - had been since you retired. Before that, even.

You dropped your keys off with your landlord on the way back to the car, notifying them of your immediate departure. The old lady was understanding - kind, even - having already gathered the vague sense that you were military and just passing through.

Driving back through the English countryside, you kept your prized possession in the cup holder in the centre console. It was only little; a small, gold St Christopher pendant about the size of a penny on a long, thin chain. Back in simpler times, you used to wear it, the engraved disc laying over your heart. Back when you could bear the feeling of a chain around your neck. Back in the days before "Tiger" was your sole name.

God, you hated that name, though it was preferable.

It had been years since someone called you by your actual, birth name. Letting someone know that meant letting them in, and that was something that you refused to do.

Never again.

Soap and Gaz were the first two to make it back to the base. Together, they claimed the battered old leather sectional in the rec room attached to their barracks, drinking cups of tea and nattering like two old ladies in a retirement home.

"So, what do you think the odds are that she's 'the Tiger', as you put it," Gaz asks, leaning back. Despite the roguish smile on his face, the rigid set of his jaw gives away his concern.

Like Soap - hell, like most British soldiers - he's heard the stories.

Stories about men being killed in their beds in the dead of night, militias toppled within a matter of days, and enemy soldiers going missing from their posts only to be found days later in the middle of nowhere. And that's just the light-hearted stuff. That woman's ledger is soaked in red - probably rivalled only by Ghost, which is a troubling thought to say the least.

The worst story Gaz could recall was one he'd been told years ago, back when he'd enlisted. Allegedly, it detailed the incident in which Tiger had earned her nickname. It was probably an exaggeration in parts - he kept telling himself as much, trying to settle his unease at the idea of being stuck in a confined space with her for the foreseeable future.

As legend goes, her and her team were sent out on an infiltration mission, and she returned a month later as the sole survivor. For three weeks after their capture, her teammates were tortured, beaten, starved - herself included - until, one by one, they were executed. But, before they could get to her, she slipped free from her restraints and disappeared into the enemy base. For days, the militia searched for her as she bided her time, stealing food and weapons as she essentially lived within their walls. And then, when she was finally ready, she unleashed herself upon them.

Forty-three men and women died that day.

Some - the ones to whom she'd bestowed some degree of mercy - had had their throats slit; their heads caved in; their necks broken. But the others...

A small minority had done something to incur her wrath. Instead of blades, she'd taken to them with her own sharpened nails. In some instances, her teeth.

She'd butchered them like a wild animal.

Gaz had taken some time to read the report after he'd been promoted to sergeant, although most of it was redacted and required a much higher level of clearance than his own to access. The basics he'd gleaned along with a handful of photos from the militia base had told him enough: the stories were true, and Tiger was someone to be feared to the highest degree.

And - somehow - she and Ghost seemed to know one another. Well enough to have an opinion, at that.

Soap makes a noise, something between a wince and a huff, pulling him back to the rec room. Back to beige, plasterboard untouched by blood and gore. "'ah don't know, Gaz. But, based on form, ah'd say yes."

Gaz grimaces.

"An' if they've had to call her 'ere, ah'd say we're all fucked."

Ain't that the truth.

"Think she's as bad as they say?" he asks, voice giving an involuntary shudder that he hopes Soap won't catch. Last thing he wants is to look scared, especially with her lurking the halls.

Instead of answering the question, Soap shrugs and offers, "Perhaps we should ask Lt? He seems to know 'er."

Gaz nods non-committally. That'll be a fun conversation.

And then a familiar gravel-laden voice rings out across the room, sudden and harsh like a crack of thunder. "Ask me what?"

Both men twist around so fast that Gaz is surprised they don't end up with whiplash. Ghost is standing in the doorway, balaclava and hard-shell mask on, dressed in all black with a duffel slung over one shoulder. Even after years of working together, he's still a spooky bastard - creeping around soundlessly despite his sheer size.

"Tiger," Soap says in that fearless way of his, blue eyes unhindered by any trace of doubt. It's something that Gaz has always admired and been amazed by; the bold, unabashed bravery with which the Scotsman handles their Lt, refusing to coddle or humour him like other soldiers do.

The light in Ghost's already-dim eyes gutters. "What about her?"

His growl sets Gaz on edge. Makes him wonder if it's not too late to back-track on their line of questioning. If it might be safer to wait for the morning and ask Price or Kate instead.

Regardless, Soap ploughs on. "How d'ya know 'er? Seemed like a pretty explosive reunion back there."

Ghost takes a few more steps into the room, slinging the bulky duffel onto a vacant armchair. He folds his brawny arms across his broad chest, puffing it up. "There's nothing to know. I knew her once and now I don't. That's all there is to it."

Soap guffaws, folding his own arms with a grin. "'ah, come on, Lt. Tha's just begging for questions to be asked."

"All I'm going to say is that you need to watch her. I don't trust her; don't let your guard drop around her; don't ever make the mistake of thinking that you know her. Treat her like you would a hostile. That way, we might just all come out of this on the other side."

And - with that - Ghost stalks back to the doorway, grabbing his duffel on the way. His stark warning hangs in the air long after he's gone.

Both of the men listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps as he pads down the linoleum-tiled hallway, no doubt claiming a room as his own to brood in until Price arrives.

"Note to self," Gaz says aloud after a few minutes of silence have dragged by, "never bring up Tiger around the Lt."

You sit at your desk, listening to the sounds of the taskforce's laughter just doors away. They'd ordered pizza to the barracks tonight, and you'd stayed in your room to prove a point - away from Ghost's hollow, accusing eyes.

It's been a week since you relocated, and Kate has yet to provide any actionable information on Makarov and the plot to stop him. Meaning it's been a week of isolation, eating and training in solitude, avoiding the men at all costs. You'd caught the whispered conversations and furtive glances when they thought you weren't looking - exactly the sort of thing you'd hoped to avoid - and it made you hate Ghost all the more.

From day one, he'd done nothing but poison them against you.

Your eyes slip to the black plush box at the side of your laptop; the St Christopher pendant nestled within its protective lining.

More than anything, you wish you could travel back in time to last week and not pick up Kate's call. That way, you'd still be in your rental unit, curled up in front of the TV or jogging around the neighbourhood. You'd still be alone, but at least you wouldn't be judged like this.

It was a little known fact that your reputation was what had pushed you to retire.

Surprising, you knew, but that's just how it was at the time. It wasn't the trauma of the 'incident' but the aftermath of your return that made you consider an exit from the army. How people who had once considered you a friend looked at you with nothing but fear and disgust in their eyes, like they could still see the blood staining your fingertips and dripping from your maw. Like you were a rabid dog in need of putting down.

You'd still stayed for a couple of years before you put in your papers, aided by Laswell, who advocated from an early retirement instead of a discharge. By then, you were sick of being shunted from base to base, pushed between assignments as an increasingly shrinking number of captains agreed to work with you.

To some, you were an asset; to others, a liability; to most, an unknown.

But, it was towards the start of it that you met Ghost. In fact, it was only something like three months after the incident, fresh from therapy and evals that you first crossed paths.

You exhale a long, shaky breath, freeing yourself from the tangled web that those memories weave within your mind. It's always risky to look back on that time - too clouded with emotion and fear for you to view objectively. It's safer to ignore it.

You lose track of how much time passes before there's a knock at the door of your suite, faint and hesitant.

It's purposeful, the exaggerated amount of time you take to open it. Giving whoever was sent to poke the beast ample time to escape before the door opens.

To your surprise, it's MacTavish - the cheerful, blue-eyed Scotsman from the meeting - standing in the hallway with a wide, encouraging grin. Wasting no time, he dives straight in with, "Coming out any time soon, lassie? We were starting to think ye'd starved to death in there." He nods to the room behind you, the only sources of light being the hallway and the small lamp on your otherwise barren nightstand. "Want to join us for a bit?"

The invitation lingers in the air between you. It takes another moment for it to register in your brain as a genuine offer. One of kindness, not malice.

It puzzles you.

"Why?" The simple question leaves your lips as a snarl; half-feral and significantly more impolite than initially intended. "Why do you want me there?"

Something glimmers in MacTavish's eyes. For a second, you think it might be pity, and it heats a fire in the pit of your stomach. "Because 'ah know the Lt does'nae seem to like ye, and I think ye could use some friends around 'ere."

There's a beat of silence. Then another. By the third, MacTavish is shifting his weight between his feet, that handsome grin faltering just slightly.

"Listen," you say primly, taking a step out into the hall. He retreats the same distance, eyes focused on your face as you smile coldly. "I want to be on my own. I like it that way. Beats people gossiping about me; telling all sorts of stories about my past. About how I earned my callsign." The colour drains from his face. "So, no - I don't want friends. Not here; not anywhere. I do, however, want to be left alone. I want my wishes to be respected; my personal space too. Got it?"

Balking, MacTavish nods.

You ease back into your room as he starts to walk away, heading back up the hallway towards the rec room, where the laughter seems to have dissipated. But, just before he slips back inside through the ajar door, he twists back to face you, offering a kind, "We'll be in here until late if ye change yer mind."

Instead of dignifying him with a response, you retreat back into your suite, closing the door with a firm shove. You lean against the thick wooden slab, exhaling a trapped breath from your tight chest.

Back sliding down until you meet the floor, you can't help but regret agreeing to come here. It's all starting to feel like such a huge, massive mistake.

a/n: happy new year folks! - much love, lapetitelapin <3

Taglist: @420-hun @honestlymassivetrash

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hey guys, what do you wanna see next?

part 2 of killer queen

part 4 of unlikely friendships

Voting ended onDec 18, 2024

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Unlikely Friendships | Part Three

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 3.5k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions of drinking, swearing, vague injury description (Simon's scars), mention of guns/shooting (not serious), Simon being a protective guy with feelings, it's not gonna be a slow burn- its a wildfire

In the month that followed, you brought Sunnie back to base a grand total of three times.

Every Saturday afternoon, without fail, come rain or shine, Simon would take a strategically timed walk around the base. He'd also just happen to pass the gate to the visitor's car park, intercepting you before you could set off in search of Daniel.

He'd even taken to calling you Sweetheart in his head. It seemed entirely fitting.

Today was one of those days.

He left the gym at 1, giving himself plenty of time to shower and mellow out in his room before slipping on his trainers and balaclava. As he ducked out of his suite to start his stroll, he grabbed his trusty hoodie - slinging it over his shoulder - and the tiny yellow gift bag that had been taking up residence on his desk for the best part of a week. It was silly really; daft that he'd felt the need to rush out to the shops on his free day to pick up something for Sunnie.

She'd mentioned it on a whim, he was sure, but the week prior, she'd been telling him all about this new Jellycat that had just came out. It felt like fate when he saw it in a Waterstones while browsing for some new reading material. Like second nature to scoop it up into the wide cradle of his arm and carry it over to the tills.

He didn't even feel awkward when the young female cashier assumed it was for his daughter.

Disturbingly, Simon was growing fonder of both you and Sunnie each time he saw you. Your last outing had consisted of him taking the two of you out for ice cream, and eagerly listening to everything his tiny, newfound friend had to say. He was genuinely interested in Sunnie's stories; even though he thought her friend Tara sounded like a bit of a catty bitch, which is probably a horrible thing to think about a child.

So, imagine his surprise when he made it to the gate. You were leaning against the passenger-side door, phone raised to your ear and Sunnie nowhere in sight.

Despite his happiness to see you, Simon couldn't help but feel a little wounded by her absence.

Had she chosen not to come? Had you finally realised just how dangerous he was? Were you here to tell him that neither of you were coming back ever again?

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His palms were sweating in his gloves; a thin sheen developing on his forehead, dampening his mask. Fuck. What if this was the last time he would ever see you?

You crossed the stretch of concrete between your car and the gate, his eyes not leaving you once. It didn't take long for you to spot him, lifting one hand to wave as you quickly checked for any other cars driving about on the lot. Finding none, you jogged across to Simon, completely surprising him by wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing your cheek into his chest as you mumbled, "Fancy seeing you here."

It only lasted a moment before you pulled away, but it was one of the best moments of his life.

Clearing his throat, he managed to get out a soft, "Where's the little'n?"

Your lips quirked up into a smirk. "What? No hello, how are you, or anything?"

Simon cursed himself. You were right. He was a rude prick...

You let out a laugh, bright and brilliant. "Relax. She's at my mum's house for the weekend. I forgot to mention it last week because I was so distracted by-" Your voice trailed off as you smiled up at his masked face. Not wanting to freak him out, you kept the ending of "how good you were with Sunnie" locked up tight behind your sealed lips.

"Ah," Simon said softly, visibly relaxing. "Don't want to sound impolite, but how come you're here then? I mean, you only normally come to bring Sunnie to base."

A thought crossed his mind and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. The unspoken idea that you might be there to see Daniel.

You let out a wistful sigh, hand making a sweeping gesture towards the main buildings that made up the military base. "Well, you see, I have a friend who lives here, and I thought I'd drop by and check up on him."

He grinned under his balaclava. "Is that so?"

You nodded somewhat bashfully, a big dopey grin forming on your lips that he instantly adored. "Yeah. You might not know him though. He doesn't get out all that much."

Simon made a wounded gesture, clutching at his chest. With a guffaw, he reached across to ruffle the hair on top of your head. "Well, it's much appreciated. I do like the company: yours and Sunnie's."

That was how the two of you ended up in a pub a short drive from the base, tucked into a corner booth beside the small, tiled patch of ground that passed for the dancefloor.

The music was loud despite the fact that it was barely 6 o'clock - an obnoxious compilation of early 2010s dance hits - and the lighting was dim at best. The smell of stale beer permeated the air, and the wooden floors were sticky with it, but neither of you cared.

Two hours in and you were on your third drink, your thigh pressed against Simon's much thicker one as you pressed your lips to the spot where his balaclava covered his ear, whispering something about him driving your car back to the base. His focus sharpened when you added something about maybe staying the night on his sofa.

That wouldn't do. No; you'd have his bed, and he'd figure something out.

He leaned back against the padded backrest as you stood, pointing in the direction of the restroom sign. With a nod, he motioned to stand to let out out of the cramped booth, but was beaten to it when you slipped between his knees and the table edge. The view of your jean-clad ass was almost enough to give him a heart attack, but not enough to stop him from watching you walk away.

With you gone, he slipped his phone out of his pocket, checking the taskforce group chat.

SOAP: aye, lads SOAP: Si's gone out with a lass! PRICE: a lass? SOAP: THE lass!! GAZ: oh, Sunnie's mum GAZ: well done mate ;)

Grumbling, he fired a quick reply into the chat.

GHOST: ha, ha, ha GHOST: fuck you all

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he downed the rest of his beer - his first and only drink of the night. Contemplating getting up for a pint of coke, he turned his gaze to the bar. But, before he could get there, his gaze snagged on something that boiled his blood.

You were standing halfway between the booth and the restroom door, some preppy blond fuckwit standing in front of you with a sleazy grin decorating his too-thin lips. Simon couldn't see your face, but your body language was a mix of anxiety and boredom. The epitome of please stop trying to hit on me as you tried to edge around him towards the restroom door. Though, this guy clearly wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Standing up and unfurling himself to his full height, Simon stepped away from the booth and towards you and the asshat. With slow, measured steps like a jaguar on the prowl, he stepped up behind you, placing a large paw of a hand on your shoulder.

You relaxed back into his touch - like you recognised him from that alone.

A primal growl rose up in Simon's throat.

"Are you lost, mate?" he asked, letting just a hint of the malice he was feeling peek through into his tone.

Poor preppy blond looked like he wanted to die on the spot. His jaw slackened, mouth falling open a couple inches.

Simon huffed a laugh. "Want my advice? Move on. Find someone more-" He made a show of looking the other, shorter man up and down "-in your league, maybe."

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the offensively loud voice of Sean Paul as the blond awkwardly walked away. Simon let out a deep exhale, shoulders easing back to their usual, resting position, as you spun around in his hold.

For a second, he thought you were about to give him hell - ask him what the fuck his problem was - but instead, you just laughed. A rich, honeyed laugh that lit a fire low in his belly.

"I- I can't believe you just did that!" Your eyes were bright as you looked up at him, a tipsy buzz softening your features slightly - bringing a flush of colour to your cheeks. "That poor guy!"

Simon winced, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I-uh... panicked? Didn't like the thought of someone making you feel uncomfortable."

A cooing sound left your lips as you reached your hands towards him. One palm rested flat against his collarbone, the other on the side of his neck. You were so close that he could smell the floral notes of your perfume; the faint cocoa butter scent of your body lotion.

"My knight in shining armour." Simon thought he was going to die when you leaned up, pressing a kiss to the patch of mask under his left cheekbone. You drew back, angling yourself in the direction of the restroom. "Wait here for me?"

Simon nodded clumsily, works evading him as you turned and disappeared through the swing door. He stayed there on that exact spot - frozen like an obedient dog waiting for its master - until you came back, wiping the last traces of water from your hands onto the thighs of your jeans. The moment you saw him, your eyes glimmered.

Your approach was quick and smiley, nudging him backwards until he could feel the coolness of the wall against his back.

"Simon." You said his name like it was a question.

"Yes, sweetheart."

You swallowed, throat working as you stared up at him with those soft, dazzling eyes of yours. There was something so casually vulnerable in your expression; so endearing.

"Why do you wear that mask?" you asked.

Simon froze up. "Uh- what?"

"The mask." You bit down gently on your bottom lip, trapping it between your front teeth. "Why'd you wear it?"

He tamped down on the urge to create distance between the two of you with a bone-weary sigh. Gently, he brushed a loose piece of hair away from your perfect face. "Because, sweetheart, when I was just starting out in my service, something bad happened. I, uh- I have a lot of scars on my face, so it's not very nice to look at. Don't like getting stared at either."

He could almost see the cogs turning in your head as you processed the words he'd just spoken. After a moment, you said, "Would you ever show me?"

Would he?

Not even Soap had seen his face. He hadn't let a single living soul see it since all hell broke loose in Mexico, ruining his life in the process. It wasn't even something he'd considered.

Until now.

Until you.

"Yes," he croaked, throat impossibly dry.

Just like that, you sobered up. "Now?"

He nodded once.

"Should we- do you wanna go back to the barracks?" you said softly, barely audible over the music. "Somewhere you're comfortable."

Simon nodded, intertwining his gloved fingers with the hand hanging down at your side. It felt oddly intimate as he led you through the crowd, guiding you back towards the front door of the pub.

The ride back to the base was quiet; you staring out of the window and Simon's eyes focused on the road ahead with laser-like intensity. Then, as you pulled up at a red light, Simon reached across the centre console and placed a hand on your knee.

From anyone else, it wouldn't be much, but - from Simon - it was everything.

Anticipation thrummed through your veins as you sat, perched on the edge of Simon's uncomfortable mattress. You'd seen the inside of Daniel's room; knew that he - like most of the other guys in his squad - had changed their rooms up the moment they'd gotten the keys for them. New desk chairs, maybe even a couple picture frames up on the walls. Bookshelves, even. But not Simon.

No, this was a standard issue army mattress if you'd ever felt one. It was like sitting on a sandbag.

Any buzz you may have acquired from the three glasses of wine you'd drank at the bar was long gone. Instead, it was replaced by the electric hum of nervousness.

You'd asked to see his face; he was letting you.

Or at least you thought he was, whenever he decided to stop hiding in the bathroom under the guise of 'washing his hands'. It had already been fifteen minutes.

Feeling more than a little bad for essentially forcing him into revealing his face to you, you rose from the edge of the bed, taking a few short steps to the en-suite door. You rapped your knuckles softly against the wooden frame. "Si?"

"I'll be out in a second."

"Simon... you don't have to do this?" A long, silent pause. "I've changed my mind."

You barely had time to take a step back before the door swung inward, leaving you face-to-chest with Simon's hulking frame. His arms were folded across his broad chest, biceps and forearms corded with thick muscle under the indecent skin-tight shirt he was wearing. Licking your lips, you looked up to realise that he was staring at you.

"What d'you mean?" he grumbled, voice muffled by his mask.

You breathed out a sigh. "I mean, obviously you aren't comfortable or ready for this. I'm sorry for putting you on the spot." Poking a finger at his rock-solid ribs, you added a joking, "Besides, I need to set up the sofa for the night."

There was a pause that somehow felt like both a second and an infinity, before Simon unfolded his arms. Then folded them again. Unfolded. "No."

"Huh?"

Simon leaned against the bathroom doorway, filling it with his sheer size. "I said no. I'm going to show you my face. Now." Before you could interject, he held up a single gloved finger. "Because I want to and need to, not because you asked. This is about to make my therapist a very happy man."

You cocked your head. "You have a therapist?"

"Mandated by Price. He's very pleased with himself," Simon grumbled begrudgingly. Under his breath, you could hear him mutter something along the lines of "just like a plaster-"

Without warning, Simon raised his hand and gripped the back of his balaclava, pulling it off and over his face in one fluid motion. Leaving you standing in front of a complete stranger.

He was beautiful. Truly, genuinely beautiful.

Hazel eyes peered down at you from under thick, straight eyebrows - one of which was disrupted by a thin line of scar tissue. The bridge of his nose was slightly crooked, but smattered with a generous helping of freckles. It looked like it had been broken and reset a few too many times, but only added to his rugged appeal in your opinion - giving his face character. And then there was his jaw, sharp and prominent, covered in a slight 5 o'clock shadow. His hair - scruffy from being tucked away under the balaclava - was short and the colour of wet sand on a beach.

His lips were pursed as he studied your reaction - or lack thereof - but they were full and plush. Almost feminine.

And the scars. Two harsh, thick lines of scar tissue curved up from the corners of his mouth, one on each side, each about an inch in length. They stood out; pearlescent against the rest of his freckled skin. There was another scar trailing across his left cheekbone, and another, smaller one bisecting his bottom lip on the opposite side.

Your eyes dropped a little lower to find once across his neck - as if someone had attempted to slit his throat and failed.

But - to you - he looked nothing short of handsome. In fact, he was very attractive.

"You look-" you faltered over the words, too entranced by his plush mouth.

Simon visibly deflated. "Hideous."

"Shut up." The words left you - harsh and fast - before you could stop them. Your eyes widened, shocked by yourself. "I- I mean, you're being too harsh on yourself. There's nothing wrong with your face, Simon - you look adorable."

Hesitantly, he repeated, "Adorable?"

You winced inwardly. "Sorry. Force of habit when you spend most of your days with a four-year-old." Taking a breath, you lifted a hand to gently stroke the skin of his cheek. "You look very handsome. Bet you could attract many a young lady if you wanted to."

His eyebrows drew together, and you savoured it. Savoured watching his expressions unhindered by the mask for the first time since you'd met. "Alright, slow down there. One second, I'm taking my mask off, then you're trying to marry me off to the nearest woman. I'm hardly some sort of Victorian maiden, love."

You both laughed at that. On an inhale, your chest brushed against Simon's, and it was only then that you realised how close to each other you were. There was literally only a hair's breadth between you both.

Simon dropped his hand to your hip and squeezed gently. "Thank you. Thank you for this."

"For what?"

"For being you. About this." A smile spread across those perfect lips of his. "I don't think I could have done this with anyone else."

You could feel heat rising to your face. Not knowing how else to react, you rocked up onto your tiptoes and leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek.

Instead of letting you back down to the floor, Simon caught you around the waist with his arm, holding you to him. He angled his face down, staring into your eyes with a fire that you hadn't seen from him before.

It was possessive and passionate - verging on animalistic with its raw intensity. Just like him.

He said your name, his voice soft yet firm, like a lover's caress. He said something else too, but you were too focused on him to hear it.

"Simon?"

"I asked if I could kiss you," he said quietly.

You nodded, breathless. "Yes. Please, Simon - yes."

Rough calloused fingertips dragged up the delicate skin of your ribcage as his hands dipped underneath your t-shirt. He dipped his head, closing his eyes and pressing his warm mouth to yours. Falling completely into the moment, you lifted your hands to tangle them in his hair, tugging slightly as he slipped his tongue between your parted lips.

The kiss was soft and sweet; gentle and full of promise.

You broke the kiss, only for a second, to growl at him. "Please put me on the bed."

Simon chuckled, the sound warm and pure. It melted your heart and lit a fire low between your hips. Then - stamping it out - he said, "No."

You blinked. "No?"

He shook your head slowly, the movement steady and sure - like the movement of his hands as they cupped your cheeks. His smile was earnest as he added, "You've been drinking. When we go there, I want you to be stone cold sober."

When. The certainty in that single word thrilled you.

It sounded remarkably like a promise.

Instead of arguing with him, you nodded slowly. "Okay. I can see the logic behind that." Then, just to quell any lingering vestiges of self-doubt that lingered in the corners of your mind, you asked, "Are you sure you actually want this at some point? I don't want to bully you into anything or make you feel like you have to do-"

"Sweetheart, I'm going to stop you there. Respectfully, if I ever turn you down, grab my gun and shoot me in the head. Because - at that point - I've clearly lost it."

He ended that sentence by pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to your forehead.

Amused by the frankness of his tone, you choked out a laugh. "Well, that's a strong way of saying yes."

Simon's smile widened, his head tilting as he took a half-step back. "We can cuddle tonight if you want though," he said cheerily, turning towards the bed. "I'll warn you: I'm the little spoon."

You wouldn't have rather had it any other way.

Simon ducked back into his bedroom, coming back a few minutes later in a pair of basketball shorts and a grey t-shirt. He tossed a spare one to you, encouraging you to shuck off your jeans and get comfy. You didn't argue.

As you curled into his back, both of you fighting to navigate the uncomfortable twin bed, you couldn't help but smile. Something told you that you'd just made a big leap with Simon. Hopefully, the first of many.

a/n: I'm baaaaack!... (most likely) and I've also come to the decision that this series will not be a slow burn merry christmas ;) - lapetitelapin <3

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next post is already in the making! spoiler: it's gonna be Unlikely Friendships :) - lapetitelapin <3

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Killer Queen | Part One

Killer Queen masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader Word Count: 1.3k Chapter warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, 141, retired (not for long) soldier reader, reader's callsign is Tiger, enemies to lovers (but currently just enemies), referenced/hinted past trauma, swearing, no spoilers but this series will be darker than my other works

The air buzzed with a nervous kind of energy as you made your way to the meeting room. They were right to be anxious - the whole lot of them. Kate had pulled you out of early retirement for this, so it was bound to be something big.

You pulled the coat tighter around yourself like armour. Like the excess of black fabric would swallow you whole and you could slip about the base like a shadow, unnoticed. All the sideways glances were starting to set you on edge. As you rounded the last corner to the meeting room you'd been told to go to, a tingle shot up your spine.

How many people here knew about you? Your callsign? Your extensive kill record? You'd never operated out of this base in your years of service, but still - someone was bound to recognise you sooner or later.

Taking a deep, centring breath, you pushed the thought as far back into your mind as it would go and turned the handle on the plain, plywood door.

It was the standard fare as far as base meeting rooms went. Popcorn ceiling; scuffed linoleum floor; plywood table marked with rings from many generations of coffee cups; plastic folding chairs scattered at intervals. You made a beeline for the chair against the wall opposite the door, feeling safer in the knowledge that you could survey the room's only entrance from your chosen perch. It was far from the window too, but you still closed the shutters on your way past just in case.

Old habits die hard.

It took a couple more minutes for Laswell to arrive, offering you a pleasant smile and cursory nod on her way in. "Tiger," she said warmly, lips uttering the callsign you'd been running from for the past six months. From the blood-soaked history it held. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I appreciate that this decision must not have come lightly for you."

Ever the diplomat, you thought, lips pursed.

"I've come to hear you out," you corrected, voice gentle yet firm. Kate was not a bad woman, and you couldn't fault her for reaching out. After all, she hadn't done anything to wrong you personally - which was more than could be said for others at her level of clearance. "Then I will decide if I want to stay or leave. You can at least ensure me that courtesy."

Kate nodded again.

Before long, three more bodies filed in. The eldest was introduced to you by Kate as Captain John Price - an old friend of hers. A man, who she greatly emphasised, could be trusted. A novel concept indeed.

He took great delight in introducing himself and then the two sergeants who accompanied him. The Scottish one - Johnny MacTavish - introduced himself by name first and foremost, tagging his callsign of Soap on at the end like an afterthought. It struck you then, looking into those baby blue eyes - so open and trusting, that he'd never had a reason to crave anonymity. Never been betrayed into knowing the preciousness of the information that he dished out so freely.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was the last to approach you. He seemed like a solid, dependable man - one of few words but an innate warmth. Kind, dark eyes scanned your face, searching your features like you're a puzzle to be cracked.

You stayed seated throughout the entire exchange, pointed avoiding the hugs and handshakes being entertained by the others. Physical contact was a complete no-go.

"Not to sound rude," you said after a few minutes, watching as people start to take up chairs around the table, "but is this everyone?"

Captain Price lets out a gruff sigh. "Not quite. Just waiting on one man, though he's not normally late."

You nodded, settling back into your chair. A loud, curious part of you itched to find out why you were there. During all of your correspondence with Laswell, she'd neglected to mention any of the specifics. No matter how hard you'd tried to drag it out of her, she just kept telling you to wait for the meeting. To wait for...

The door creaked open one last time, revealing a figure you were all too familiar with. Bitterly.

Fucking Ghost.

You stood so abruptly that your chair dragged, making a horrible screeching sound as the legs dug into the already-scarred lino tiles. He stands there - all six feet and however many inches of black-clad, antagonistic muscle - head cocked to the side like he was bemused by the very sight of you.

"Absolutely fucking not!" you snarled, rounding the table to shove a finger into the centre of his broad chest. The captain and his sergeants faded into the background as you focused on him with laser-like intensity. "I told you that I would never work with you again. Not then. Not now. Not ever." Your attention switched to the woman you'd trusted enough to even be there in the first place. "And you! Are you out of your fucking mind, Laswell?"

There was a heavy beat of silence that weighed over the room, coating all six of you like a thick layer of silt.

Ghost folded his arms across his chest, shrugging off your finger. It did nothing to soothe your raging temper.

A cursory glance around the room painted an almost comical picture: MacTavish was slack-jawed and astounded, more likely than not at your fierce display of aggression to the feared, mighty Ghost; Garrick was still and watchful, hands steepled on the tabletop; and the Captain wore an expression somewhere between terror and bewilderment.

Laswell, on the other hand, was calm and stoic as she said, "Tiger, you know me. I would not have asked you to come here - from your retirement, nonetheless - if I didn't see a very real, very dire need to have you here with us." She swallowed, the column of her throat working as her gaze darted between you and Ghost's towering frame. He looked almost smug; like he'd been hoping this would happen one of these days. "But if you think that any effort to work together will result in another... display like this, then-"

"All due respect, ma'am," Ghost huffs, his unwavering gaze still boring into your soul, "don't give her the easy out. Little coward will probably up and leave the second you give her the chance to. I would know."

Anger rises in your chest, vision listing a dangerous shade of red as your chest squeezed. Gritting your teeth, hands clenched into fists at your sides, you refused to give him the satisfaction of shying away. No, you continued to square off against him, unflinching.

"Hey, Ghost," MacTavish interjected from the table, one hand scrubbing the shaven side of his head. "With respect, LT, 'ah don't think tha's a fair thing to say." He gave you a sheepish glance. "If tha's the Tiger, then I've heard a fair few things..."

You winced.

"You don't know her like I do, Johnny," Ghost grumbled, not skipping a beat. A vindictive light shone in those hollow eyes as he tacked on, "Trust me when I tell you: don't turn your back on this one. She's a sneaky fucking-"

A loud thump sounded through the meeting room as Captain Price bought his large, meaty fist down onto the tabletop. "Right, enough, both of you! Either listen to Laswell or get the fuck out. But, let it be known, if you leave this room there will be consequences - retired, in active duty, or otherwise."

Reluctantly, you held your head up high and retook your seat against the wall. A sick feeling of satisfaction spread through you a second later when Ghost realised that he had to take the last remaining chair - the one opposite you. The one that would force him to sit with his back to the door.

Grinning smugly, you leaned back and folded your arms across your chest. "Fine. Will someone finally tell me what's going on here? Why did you want me to come back to the force?"

Kate's eyes darkened in a way that you'd never seen before, and you sobered up in an instant. "We've received some credible intel that an old enemy of ours has resurfaced. We also have reason to believe that he intends to rebuild some operations that a lot of our finest men gave their blood to put an end to."

You choked on an inhale. It felt like the room was shrinking; like your skin was too tight over your bones.

No, no, no, no, no...

"There's evidence to suggest that Makarov is back."

a/n: hey folks, long time no see. I can't promise that this is going to be the start of regular uploading again, but I am making an effort to try. - much love, lapetitelapin 🧡

Taglist: @420-hun

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Killer Queen | Masterpost

Navigation

Simon "Ghost" Riley x 141!reader (Tiger) 18+, Minors DNI

parts marked * = contain smut

Last updated: 17/1/25

Part One - Tiger meets the 141 Part Two - Ghost stories Part Three - Night terrors

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hey guys, new work coming soon ✌️ it's been a hot minute - lapetitelapin 🧡

[kiryoutann]

𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍’𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃, 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑˚ ༘ [SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER]

MINORS do NOT interact.

Warning(s): self-deprecating thoughts, reader is very unhinged, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, SELF-HARM, bad coping mechanism, MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS, mental breakdown, ANGST, SMUT, loss of virginity, bar fight, injuries, mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, situationship, jealousy, stalking, attempted baby trapping, OBSESSION, really bad daddy issues, unprotected sex, reader is a love and touch-starved naive virgin, reader is very unhinged, ghost is a bit of an asshole, use of (Y/N), CHILD-NEGLECT, family issues, mother-daughter issues, heavily inspired by the "Black Swan" (2010), BIASED OMNISCIENT NARRATOR, things about ballet that are (probably) inaccurate, hints of past physical abuse (not from Simon), attempts of physical abuse (also not from Simon), title inspired by A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini.

For each chapter of the work that I will post, I will not add any warnings except trigger warnings. So if you are not old enough, THIS IS A FINAL WARNING NOT TO CONTINUE READING MY STORIES.

Genre: romance, ANGST, slow-burn. ballerina! reader.

Blurb:

“No more tears f’me, ye ‘ear?” He meets your eyes before lowering it to the tantalizing view of your glistening body, causing another twitch of his impatient cock. “I ain’t worth it.” The tip of his cock brushes against your folds when he thrusts his hips once more. A small mewl escapes your moist lips, vertebrae drawn like a curve of a bow as his length slowly enters your hole. “No—no, don’t say that. You’re—mmh!” You stumble over your words, voice shaking both from emotion and physical overwhelm. “You’re always worth it, Simon.” Sweet thing, unaware of the effect her puffy eyes and tear-stained cheek have on a man as corrupt as him. Struggling to find words while he fills her up, trying to convince him that he's worth something.

"A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing," as your mother once said. And yet, you, a soulless ballerina, happen to cross paths with a mysterious man under the rainy sky of London. A meeting that binds you to a self-destructive dance in the hope that he loves you as much as you love him.

However, Simon Riley is still Simon Riley; and his rotten heart left no room for someone like you.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Epilogue

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