this is lowkey inspired just by @rawme-price's hybrid ideas and i fear this came to me when i woke up from my nap :D
hybrid!simon riley who is specifically a panther chameleon. sure, he's good at camouflage, it comes with the genes but what pisses him off the most are.. the scales that come with it.
he's so fucking colorful. colors of crimson, viridian, and golden scales bounce across his tatted arms and some of them even litter the sides of his face. it.. kind of pissed him off. not that he absolutely hated it.
hence why he never really peels off his balaclava. easier to hide, easy to wear long sleeves to hide the bright scales. he.. also tried to stifle his diet, just using the powder that he normally mixed with his mealworms.
so when hybrid!reader comes along and just to happens to be a panther chameleon as well, one who’s a bit more open to showing their scales and eating crickets in front of everyone, simon is almost stunned.
he almost goes to shame reader for being so open with themselves before he realizes..
simon had turned into the person who made him ashamed of his hybrid traits in the first place.
simon had become his dad in where he harbors the same sense of shame and pushes it into others.
girl idk i wrote this in five mins but i had to get the idea out of my noggin
simon riley faking his death for a special op because it’s all he’s wanted since starting his military career, even if it means breaking your heart.
not that it wasn’t a difficult decision, but he knew he had to do it. it was all set up. he would die in combat from a fatal gunshot wound. simple enough. he wasn’t prepared, though, for the sound of johnny’s screams through the comms.
but simon can handle the fallout. he’s trained for this, it’s all worth it for the accolade. isn’t it. there’s even a fake funeral, closed casket because the wounds were just too gnarly. some disposable, no-name corpse lie inside in his place for the sake of realism.
he thought about attending, he knew he could go undetected, but decided in the end it’d be too risky. he only got as far as the church parking lot.
he sees you, coming down the steps tucked beneath johnny’s arm, sobbing into a white handkerchief. it’s almost too awful.
he sees a faint glimmer of tears welling in johnny’s eyes, but simon can tell he’s trying to be strong for you. he expects johnny will cling to you for the coming months, maybe a year, then you’ll be alright again and he’ll have to piss off elsewhere. you need somebody there while you recover.
simon ducks back into his car, new, unregistered, when johnny glances his way.
“johnny, you alright?”
his focus is back on you, still sobbing. “fine, dove, just thought i saw something.” and johnny shakes it off, chalks it up to sheer grief and exhaustion.
what simon doesn’t expect after three years since his untimely death is, a wedding. your wedding, actually.
he returns to the city to check in on you, a quick peek in your apartment while you’re away, easy business. he spots the lace detailed save the date stuck on your fridge. it’s a black and white picture of you and that bastard johnny, noses touching as you hold out your ring to the camera.
simon can’t help but sneak into the ceremony months later. it’s what you’d always described to him. selfishly and stupidly, he just assumed you’d never marry, or even date after him.
he can’t help but grimace in the corner when you say “i do,” and johnny kisses you with a hint of a smug grin on his face. then when he pulls away, johnny looks at simon dead in the eyes. only for a brief moment, then he’s back on you, smothering you in affection.
during the reception, you’re absolutely alight with adoration for your new husband, mingling, chatting, and drinking away. you barely even notice johnny slipping away with the excuse of needing the toilets.
simon knew johnny was coming for him eventually.
“didn’t think i’d see you here.”
“johnny, i had to.” simon sighs.
“i don’t care to hear whatever excuses you’re about to make.”
johnny wanted to tell him how sore a state he’d left you in, barely ate or spoke for months. if johnny hadn’t have been there for you…
“how dare you marry her?”
“what are you gonna do about it, mate? come back from the dead?”
simon’s whole body tensed, fists curled like he intended to do something about it.
“me wife’s waiting for me out there. and i hear she bought a lovely new pair of knickers for the occasion.”
and with that, johnny’s off, back to celebrate the best day of his life with his new bonnie.
A/n: why is this daunting lol. um heres part 7, i have not edited nor proofread it cause i feel i need to just shit or get off the pot with this series. part 8 should be out later tonight. I will get to asks and messages soon <3
~*~
When you wake up, you're not sure where you are.
When you really wake up, once the smoke of your heat has dissipated and you can form a coherent thought, the first one that appears is
Where am I?
A quick assessment of the room gives you your answer, and unease wrings your stomach out like a wet rag.
You're back on base.
The memories of your heat are foggy, thank god, but the memory of Captain Price rutting into your aching hole isn’t one that will leave you anytime soon.
Price.
That must be how you got back here.
You sit up with a wince.
Your body aches. From your head to your toes, something hurts. Maybe everything does.
Your heart, for sure.
That only gets amplified when you swing your legs over the side of the bed and rise to your feet, freezing for one moment and listening.
You expect to hear…. Something. Anything. Boots walking by, voices outside, the heavy breaths of someone standing guard. But there’s nothing.
No guard at the door. No medic to check on you. Not even a big brooding Alpha ready to grovel and beg for forgiveness.
Certainly not that.
Mustering what little strength you have, you stumble your way to the bathroom and flick the light on.
You’re taken aback by the person you see in the mirror.
Heavy bags weigh your eyes down, lids low. Your skin is ashen and tired-looking, your lips - chapped and split in some places.
There’s a bruise on your right cheekbone that looks several days old.
Funny, you don’t remember hitting your head.
Your hair looks dull, matted in some places, and you dread having to attempt to detangle it.
The worst part, though? Something in the bathroom reeks. The smell is so bad it makes your nose burn.
It feels like you’ve snorted a line of chlorine.
Because there, on the counter, is the source of the smell. The foul stench that breaks your heart and sends bursts of warmth through the spot on your neck.
There, folded neatly, sitting softly in your personal space, is one of Simon’s black t-shirts. RILEY is spelled out in white on the back.
It’s surreal, watching your own trembling hands lift the shirt in front of the mirror. Almost like watching someone else do it—like you’re not in your own body, or not in control of it.
A shudder ripples down your spine at the exact moment your nose wrinkles in disgust.
This is the last scent you want invading your space right now.
His scent lingers in your nose for a moment, just long enough to remind you of him sitting in the mouth of the cave watching his Captain help you through your heat.
Swallowing hard, you gather all the strength you can muster, then rush out of your room before you can even think about hesitating.
Your feet lead the way while your brain runs a mile a minute in the opposite direction.
The last thing you want to do is have a conversation with Price after everything that happened. Much less this conversation.
But alas, it’s either him or Simon.
There’s no deciding between Alphas. Not now.
With every step you take toward his office, your determination grows.
You have questions, you want answers. More than that, though. You want out.
Your determination - and your steps - falters the moment you catch a whiff of the other two Alphas inside of Price’s office.
You come to a halt a few paces away, heart pounding against your ribs as hard as the boots of the recruits against the wet pavement outside.
Facing Captain Price after what happened is one thing—facing Laswell and Simon as well? That’s a whole different game that you’re not ready to be playing.
But you’re too far gone now. There’s no way to escape without being detected.
So instead you stand there, a few breaths from the door, and you wait.
Silent.
Just long enough to hear your name.
“I still firmly believe that having her here will do more good than harm,” Laswell says, her tone measured. “But if her biology is hindering this team—”
“That won’t be an issue,” Price cuts in. “She’s stable now. Doctors have her on low-level suppressants. Said it should help keep her level and allow the bond time to heal, as long as it doesn’t deteriorate further.”
The tips of your ears go cold. The air leaves your lungs.
Suppressants?
You haven’t been on suppressants since—
“Suppressants?” Simon’s voice echoes the question you couldn’t form.
“They’ll keep her system from spiralling,” Laswell explains. “But it won’t hold forever. If you can’t repair the bond, it will either need to be removed or she’ll have to remain on high-level suppressants for the rest of her life.”
A pause.
“If that’s the case, it defeats the entire purpose of having her here. We may as well send her back to Theta-6.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Price sighs. It’s firm, tired. “She stays. With us. With the team. We’ll fix this.”
It isn’t until your skin brushes cool wood that you realize you’ve moved.
But none of them know.
All the enhanced senses in the world can’t cut through military-grade suppressants.
You’re practically invisible.
Your scent is gone.
And with it—your Omega instincts.
Once the realization settles, the conversation starts to make sense.
Suppressants defeat the purpose.
She wants to send you back.
“Will Theta-6 even take her back?” Simon asks, his voice low.
Laswell sighs. “If she can't serve a purpose, they'll take her back. What they do with her from there...”
She trails off. “That’s out of our hands.”
A beat.
“Still can’t believe places like that are government-funded,” Price mutters.
Laswell only hums. Not amused. Not angry. Just... factual. It’s almost unnerving.
“I can. Look at what they produce.”
She doesn’t say your name, but it hangs heavy in the silence.
“These Omegas are raised for one function. Their entire development is shaped to support a single behavioural outcome: submit, stabilize, soothe.”
Another pause. Then:
“It works well—for Medics. For Scouts and Engineers.” A glance toward Simon. “But you start tampering with biology, placing a docile Omega with unstable Alphas...”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.
“That girl out there has no idea what real life looks like. No framework for choice. No defence against rejection.”
Laswell sighs and looks over at Price. “What would you do if one of your men couldn’t rise to the challenge?”
Price doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quieter.
“Failure isn’t an option on my team.”
Laswell nods once. “It isn’t for Theta-6 either.”
Her words echo in your ears long after you’ve taken a few steps away from the door.
A familiar scent is suddenly surrounding you, drowning you.
Chamomile and something sterile - maybe bleach. Pure and clean, like all the Omegas they brought up.
A firm cot holds your weight, and you sit with your legs tucked beneath you and your hands resting neatly in your lap, exactly like you were taught. Your handler, an Omega named Maria, sat across from you wearing that same soft smile she always wore. The closest thing you’ve ever had to a Mother.
Her gentle hands smoothed your hair down in long, even strokes. Not catching on a single strand.
She was like that with you, soft and gentle. A contrast to some of the other treatments you received during your time with Theta-6.
“You’ve done so well,” she murmured, pleased. “You stay quiet and on your feet during scent drills. No panic or fits during heat containment. The results of your last conditioning cycle came back - full marks.”
You swallowed hard and nodded, unsure what to say. The last thing you wanted to do was preen and whine like a needy pup.
Her nimble fingers tucked your hair behind your ears, and then she cupped your face and smiled at you as tears wet her eyes.
“You’ve been selected.”
She may as well have punched you in the gut with how hard the breath left your lungs.
“You’ll find out the details when you get there, but… from what I’ve heard, the Alphas are… difficult. But you’ll do fine, just look at your scores. They chose you for a reason. Just follow their lead. Be useful, be kind. Follow orders and you’ll be fine.”
The warmth in your chest exploded into something that wasn’t quite pain but would turn out to be something far worse.
Hope.
“Will I have my own room?” Your question was whispered with hope, and your eyes were full of it, too.
Maria smiled gently at you once again. “If they give you one, yes.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she leaned in, kissing the top of your head quickly.
“You’re ready now.”
And you’d believed her.
You stumble down the hall like a drunk, shaking the memory from your head.
Theta-6.
You haven’t heard that name out loud in months. Maybe longer. Definitely longer.
Hearing it out loud is like someone lifting the rose coloured glass from your eyes, forcing the harsh reality upon you.
You’re not entirely sure how you end up back in your room. The walk -or run, perhaps- is a blur. Now you sit on the floor, legs folded neatly just like they taught you. Spine straight, hands in your lap. Clean. Quiet. Obedient.
“You’re ready now.” Maria had said.
Ready for what?
This? Certainly not. You’re not sure all the training in the world could’ve prepared you for this.
You thought you were being given a future. A purpose.
Maybe even a home.
But all you were ever meant to do, all you were ever bred for, was to make others comfortable. To please.
While the other Omegas in the other branches of Theta-6 were carefully sculpted into weapons or geniuses or spies, you were turned into a tool.
And if a tool doesn’t work, you get rid of it.
You stare at your trembling hands in heavy silence.
“If she can’t serve a purpose, they’ll take her back.”
And if they don’t?
What are you then?
What were you ever?
Your bottom lip quivers as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to breathe through the lump growing in your throat.
~*~
You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the floor for.
The light in your room has gone dim — afternoon bleeding into evening.
You still haven’t moved from your spot on the floor. You’re almost afraid to. Like if you make a sound, if you take up space that will be the straw that broke the camel's back and you’ll be shipped off on the first bus back to Theta-6.
The knock on your door registers in your brain a moment after the door creaks open.
“Hope I didn’t startle you,” he begins gently. “I saw you leaving Price’s office earlier. Thought maybe…”
He trails off, warm honey-brown eyes focused on you, and then he shuts the door behind himself without asking if he can come in.
His heart breaks at the sight of you. Curled in on yourself, eyes puffy, cheeks covered in tears.
He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t need to. He just sits down silently.
Not beside you or behind you, but across from you. Just enough distance to give you room, but close enough for you to feel held in his warmth.
Slowly, you bring your eyes to his and almost stare through him. But he meets your gaze, unwavering and unflinching.
“I think I was made wrong,” you finally confess, the sound choked and small. “Like something about me came out… crooked.”
The soldier’s brows knit together, but he doesn’t interrupt. He lets you slowly develop your thought and pieces together what he can.
“I thought I was useful. I thought… I thought that was enough, that was all I was supposed to be.They said I would help him… help all of you. But now… now I can’t even regulate my own hormones. What’s the point of me?”
Your voice cracks at the end, pained and almost desperate, and you wish you could yank your larynx from your body and bury it with your birth parents.
Gaz takes a moment.
And then another.
He breathes slowly, carefully, while mulling over your words.
“You ever see what happens when someone breaks interrogation?” He eventually asks. “When their mind finally folds in on itself? They stop asking questions. Stop fighting. They go limp. Hollow.”
He leans forward, elbows perched on his knees.
“But when someone starts asking ‘why’, starts shaking loose the story they’ve been fed… that’s not breaking. That’s the first sign they’re waking up.”
You stare at him through dewy eyes as his words slowly start to sink in.
“You’re not breaking,” he continues, “you’re waking up. Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”
You nod. A single, shuddering nod.
He doesn’t say anything else.
Doesn’t offer to fix you.
Doesn’t offer any comfort beyond what he’s already said. He just sits with you while your whole life rearranges itself around a truth you never asked for.
And for once, you’re not alone beneath the weight of it.
You scrub your nose with the back of your hand and shake your head, sniffling.
The silence stretches again — comfortable, not pressing. But it only makes the ache in your chest louder.
A few moments (minutes or hours, you’re not really sure) tick by before you let out a weak, humourless laugh that startles even you.
Gaz glances up at you, one brow raised.
“What?”
You sigh out a breath and chuckle again, shaking your head once more.
“I feel so weak,” a sniffle punctuates your words. “So… small.”
He stays quiet, watching you with those eyes that have been trained to dissect every part of a person like you.
“I used to think it was safe to be small. It was always beneficial back then. Theta-6 was all I had. I don’t remember anything before it.”
His posture shifts almost imperceptibly. A quiet tension at the edge of his composed stillness.
You continue.
“They told us it was protection. That they were taking care of us, training us for something important. They said our bodies… our biology had a purpose, and fulfilling it would make us feel whole.”
The lumps in your throat grows, no matter how hard you try to swallow it down now.
“I believed them,” you whisper. “For years, I believed them. Thought I was special, lucky even.” You let out another laugh as tears trickle down your cheeks.
“I didn’t know there wer other kinds of Omegas. Ones who got to be medics, engineers… soldiers. Ones who weren’t trained for heat cycles and submission and silent obedience. There were others who were trained to live, to fight. To actually be something of value. And I was taught to take a knot.”
Finally, you glane up at him.
You’re not sure what you expect to find in his eyes. Maybe judgement, disgust.
But all that’s there is quiet, steady listening. Not a hint of ill opinion anywhere in the warmth there.
“I never truly understood consent until I got here,” you whisper.
The confession sits heavily between the two of you.
Because it’s true. And he can feel that.
The Shelter, Theta-6, taught you that when an Alpha needs his baser needs met, an Omega’s purpose is to meet those needs. No ifs, ands, or buts.
“That… that wasn’t weakness,” He says. “That was survival. You adapted to the world they gave you. You made yourself small to stay safe. Most people would’ve broken under that. But you didn’t. You’re still here, asking questions. That’s not weakness.”
He leans back on his palms, face calm but unreadable.
“That’s strength most people wouldn’t recognize if it punched them in the face.”
You don’t respond right away. You don’t respond for a little while, actually.
And Gaz doesn’t push. He stays where he is, where you need him to be, and he lets you breathe.
He doesn’t try to touch, nor does he try to pry. He simply sits with you in the heavy stillness. Almost like he’s guarding the space around you so that you don’t have to.
“I don’t know how to be anything else,” you whisper after another moment of silence.
“That’s alright,” he whispers back. “Most people don’t until they’re forced to start over.”
You sniff again, softer this time.
The silence returns but it’s not quite as heavy this time. It feels less like a wall and more like a blanket draping over your shoulders.
“I don’t want to go back,” you murmur.
“You’re not going back.”
You lift your gaze and he meets it.
His eyes are determined, but not desperate. Like he knows what he’s talking about and is leaving no room for argument.
You look away from him, the intensity just a bit too much, and search the darkest corner of the room for all the answers you seek.
The answers you’re pretty sure you’re not ready for.
Gaz doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
He just waits.
And for once, the quiet feels like a silent sort of permission.
Like it’s okay for you to not be okay, without needing to explain why.
It's a rainy night and you're chilling with your boyfriend, Simon. As you're scrolling on your phone on social media you still find 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 posts despite the trend having died some time ago.
You hum, looking at Simon with a smile.
"Simon?" You call for him with a smile.
"Yes, ma'am?" He lets out a quiet grunt, looking up at you from his phone.
"Do you think we're soulmates in 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 universe?" You ask, innocent and smiling.
"Soulmates?" Simon echoes with a questioning look on his face and you nod.
"We're not even soulmates in this one, sweetheart." He replies with a scoff, looking back at his phone.
His hands are calloused and rough against your flesh, against the softer skin that’s feeling. He steps between your legs and tips your head back, lips dusting against your own as he breathes in. One beat, then another, and then there’s contact.
You feel the grasp of his lips against yours and the steady climb of his fingers as he pushes them up and under the silk. There’s the usual noise in the flat, like the hum of the fridge and the subtle clicking of the second hand on the clock. But there is also silence, and there’s the shudder of your breath as it hitches in your throat.
Simon leans in, and he draws his hands up the path of your thighs, almost to the curve of your hips. As his hands disappear beneath the silk of that slip you’re wearing, a gift from your husband in his favourite colour, you shudder again. It’s not been so long without seeing Simon, without him being here, that you’d forgotten what his touch feels like.
It’s that every time he touches you, you feel your whole body come alive with electricity. It’s the feeling of your husband being so close to you, being in your immediate proximity, that makes you quiver. He’s strong and broad, he’s a soldier through and through. He draws your attention and your desire without having to do much of anything.
“I missed you.” You whisper to his lips as he drags his hands down your thighs again, simply content to feel you sitting on the counter.
While he’s stepped between your legs, while he’s holding you firm against him, your hands rise to meet his shoulders. You press your hands against him, your fingers run along the worn yet soft cotton of his shirt. You missed your husband, and you’re glad he’s back, you’re happy to have his broad shoulders beneath your palms.
“Missed me bad, luv?” Simon’s voice echoes in your mind as his mouth slips down the side of your neck, further to your jaw and then down again. “Tired of an empty bed?”
“I missed your voice, your hands, your eyes. I missed all of…you.” You whisper in the kitchen as if there could or would be someone else listening in, even though you know it’s not just improbable, it’s impossible. There is no one here but you and Simon, no one but husband and wife, who are pressed together in the kitchen.
“Missed you too, Mrs. Riley.” His left hand slips around your waist to settle upon the small of your back, and he draws you closer to his chest. Your body presses against his own, your heartbeat races in time with his own steady beat, and you’re left whimpering at his touch.
“Si…” you mutter his nickname, angling your head to deepen the kiss, to get more from him. “Please….”
“I know wha’ ya want.” His hands grab your hips, and he lifts you from the counter, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He carts you away from the kitchen and heads toward the bedroom, a familiar path that sparks endless desire deep within you.
Your husband is home, your husband is taking you to bed. You’re going to spend hours pressed against him in the throes of passion and desire, of want and need.
The world feels right again, everything is as it should be. And your love for your strong and capable husband only grows with every step he takes. Nothing, no one, will be able to take you away from the desires of this moment.
It’s just you and him.
For tonight. For the rest of your lives, with your hopefulness that glimmers within your mind.
Just you and your husband.
**************************************
Your fingers wrap tightly around the wooden handle of an axe as you swing it up and over your shoulder. When it connects with the wood on a block but doesn’t split, you grow irritated and frown. Your frown only deepens when you tug on the axe to try to free it, and find that it only wiggles but doesn’t come free.
“Stupid piece of shi-“ You silence yourself when the door opens and shuts again, and without looking you know who it is. You don’t need to know whose heavy footsteps follow you, who trails after you with a steady noise.
He’s not silent because he wants you to hear him because he wants you to know that he’s here. He wants you to be aware of his presence, either so he doesn’t scare you or so you can gather the aggressive words burning on your tongue.
“Need some help?” Three words that come with a thick accent and a heady offer, an offer that you would have once taken.
Once upon a time when the two of you rented a cabin in the mountains during a trip stateside. The cabin that had one bedroom and a small bathroom, with a wood fireplace that required a healthy stipend of wood. Simon had spent hours that first date chopping pieces when you joined him, and wanted to learn.
You were horrible at it, hesitant enough to use the axe that it inhibited the power you were willing to use. He had stood behind you, helping you get the motion of swinging an axe down. All before he corrected how much strength you’d need, and then he watched you. He aided you with both his words and his physical touch, and you’d succeeded in chopping a few blocks before he dragged you back inside.
“Not from you,” you spat the words like the venom they felt like and turned your head, spiteful glare burning into him, “I’m done with you.”
Simon remains silent as he takes down the steps of this place you’re in, some safe house that’s deeply nestled in a rough terrain that few would enter. That was the whole point of being in a place with thick and stocky trees that blocked out the light and isolated the lot of you.
The world was apparently on the verge of ending as they knew it, and the soldiers had done what they did best. They protected the ones that mattered most, and they made good work of their survival skills. Unfortunately for you, there was little you could do to get out of here—Simon made that abundantly clear.
“Fuck off.” You finally free the axe and rip it from the gauge, the blade split in the wood, almost stumbling back from the force you had used. “I’m so beyond pissed off at you.”
“Y/N.” He speaks your name, he calls your name and steps toward you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. You turn your head again and look back at him, at those deep brown eyes that you once loved to look into.
“Don’t even start with that, Simon. Don’t give me that look and don’t try to make excuses for yourself.” You freed the axe and with your irritation, you slam the blade back into the wood, feeling more than a little satisfaction when it creates a bigger crack.
He’s standing feet from you with that same posture of a seasoned solider, standing between you and the entrance to this safe house. Or whatever in the hell they call this refuge that they had dragged you to, you and the rest of the 141’s partners.
Inside is Captain Price and his wife. The Mrs. Price that has been unwaveringly loyal to her older husband and has a steady head on her shoulders.
Gaz and his fiancée, the woman whose smile could light up a dead and abandoned mine. The kind of woman that deserves someone like Gaz, someone who is funny and strong-willed yet isn’t cold.
Hell, even Johnny dragged his partner—could be married, could be committed without vows—here like this is the only safe place left in the world. And she doesn’t care, she doesn’t seem to think about the gravity of what they have done, or what other potential options there might have been.
But you? Oh, what hell you could have unleashed if it was at all possible. You were not willing to cave even for a moment when you woke up here, when you were dragged from your place in the city. And you were given mere hours to understand the gravity of what he’d done, of what they’d all done, before the gravity of the situation was set before you.
This whole place was locked down by measures that you weren’t aware of. There was no escape because this was the safest place for all of you to avoid the unleashing hell in the urban cities. This place, the soldiers themselves, had everything you would need for survival.
There were safety measures put into place for the four of you, the partners/wives/lovers, of these soldiers. Measures and countermeasures that would keep wandering looters or threats from wandering onto this property.
It was all laid out before you, all of you, with the expectation that you would be grateful for this. That their quick thinking and their planning should have been appreciated because it meant you were safe.
Maybe if your marriage hadn’t been destroyed by Simon’s lustful greed, you could have been grateful. Perhaps if this had happened before you discovered his infidelity, that happened more than once. If this had all taken place when he was still your Simon, when he was still the man you vowed your whole life to, before he fucked it all up, then potentially you’d appreciate the efforts.
Now, however, it made you tempted to throw the axe deep into his chest. You wanted to curse him out and draw him up, quarter him like some medieval torturer for what he had done to you, for what he had brought into your marriage.
“We’re still married.” That is back again, the statement that makes your hands clench painfully by your side. The statement that makes you grit your teeth, and sends your stomach twisting.
“Like that means anything now? You were married when you fucked other women. We were married when you had left for deployment and slept around with women while I was at home.” You dig your heels into the ground and feel the stiffness of the earth beneath you.
It’ll get colder, the weather will turn, and frost will make the ground solid before too long. This whole place will soon be covered in thick snow that will coat the ground and make navigating the area even harder than it is now. But, in their eyes it’s safe and that is enough for them.
While the world around you, from a great distance, is falling to absolute shit, at least here you’re safe. Safe, as if that word carries anymore meaning to it than the vows you exchanged with Simon.
Simon doesn’t say anything in response to your damming statement, not that there is any viable argument he could make anyway. What could he say that would make any of this better? There was nothing he could say that would make you any less likely to stab him. Or run an axe through him.
“Who did it?” Instead, you deflect and reach a hand up toward your neck, fingers trailing along your neck for the needle point along your skin. “Who helped you?”
His brown eyes bore into your own, and at your deflection he keeps his face neutral. Though he won’t give you any verbal confirmation, nor will he give you any idea through his expression, you can take your best guess.
Captain Price is their leader, and he would be, largely, running the show so to speak. Gaz is a protégé of the captain, even more so than Johnny and Simon. Gaz would have likely helped prepare and stock this safe house, thinking of every small detail that would be necessitative. While you were sure the two of them could have helped Simon with his task of administering sedatives for your travel to this prison, as you would call it, you know.
“I hope he enjoyed having balls.” You don’t wait for Simon to say anything, you don’t need to. You know, and you should have known without even asking, that it’s Johnny.
“Mrs. Riley’s quite violent, aren’t you?” Simon waits until you are near enough to him that he can grab your wrist in his large hand.
Callouses that seem permanently fixed to his skin brush against your skin, and there’s warmth that radiates up your arm. You’re stopped where you stand and your head whips around, your steely and aggravated glare burns into him. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t bat an eye at your anger or your contempt for him.
Simon is a soldier, he’s a special service soldier. He would not crater or crack under the pressure of your aggressive eyes, not even one of your physical blows could break the man. He’s got a height advantage and weight advantage on you, and even if he hadn’t, he had been through far worse than you could give him.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” You yank on your wrist, and it gives, only slightly. “If you expect me to be happy about this, to forgive you for destroying our marriage….”
“I know you won’t forgive me.” His voice is husky and deep, and those brown eyes sweep across your face anyway, as he not only studies you but analyzes how deep your anger goes. “Don’t expect ya to, but you’re still my wife.”
“That piece of paper means nothing.” You tug your wrist free, successfully. “Fuck the law and fuck the legal system, I don’t give a damn what they say. I’m done with you, regardless of what the courts say. Everything is falling apart, none of it matters anymore.”
“Matters to me.” His fingers graze the inside of your wrist as he watches you stalk up the stairs leading to the door. “You’re still mine.”
“Fuck you.” You open the door with an aggressive yank, hard enough that the frame seems like it could rattle, and then you step inside.
While the others are here, it’s quiet. Mrs. Price is somewhere with John, likely spending time together as a happily married couple. Gaz and his fiancée are just as likely spending time together, or he’s helping her with one of the many tasks that are required.
But Johnny…
“I’m going to cut your balls off and feed them to you.” You sparsely get your boots off before the Scot’s head whips up from his attentive focus on the empty, barrelled gun in his hands.
On his lap was his partner, but at the sight of things to come, she’s swift to get to off his lap. He pleads with her, silently if not through his expression, and she merely holds her hands up in neutrality. This is his mess, this is his stupid idea to get involved in another couple’s relationship, and she knows that he deserved it.
“C’mon, ken…ye cannae-“
“I told you.” His partner hisses to him and makes a quick departure, mouthing her apologies to you, the kind that just seem weak and useless. “Idiot.”
Johnny watches her walk away while he moves the weapon he’s cleaning out of your reach along with the boxes of ammunition. They slide across the coffee table in front of him, a purposeful action that renders itself as fear that you might actually shoot him.
“…he wouldnae gonna leave ya behind.” Johnny raises his hands in self-defence as you approach, as if that could be a good enough explanation for what he had done. “You’re like family, Y/N.” We’re all family-“
You’re only a few feet away, and in your path you’d picked up a heavy flashlight with thick and dense batteries. You pass the flashlight from one hand to another as you prepare to use it as a weapon, rightfully so, and are more than prepared to throw it right at his head.
“I don’t give a damn if he—” You stop short and your knuckles are burning from how tightly you’re holding on to that flashlight, gripping it with as much strength as you can—to the point that you’re sure you’re going to give yourself bruises. “—you sedated me. You sedated me and helped that bastard take me from London, what the actual fuck-“
“London’s gone.” Simon’s voice has only just reinvigorated the rage that’s burning throughout your body. You’re so angry, so pissed off, you think you might actually blow a gasket and cross a line you would rather not cross. The door slams with a heavy thud and the bastard you’re still tied to enters the safe house, kicking his boots off like you had.
“Wouldn’t leave my wife behind.”
“Fuck you, Johnny.” You don’t acknowledge Simon or wha he says. You grip the flashlight and channel your anger into the energy it takes to throw it at is head. “Fuck you and fuck John and fuck Gaz.”
He doesn’t deflect, he knows he deserves it. He lets it hit him, he lets the metal collide with his jaw and reacts with thick and heavy accented cursing. But Johnny doesn’t deflect because he knows he deserves more.
And you want to do more. You would like to carve his nuts off and force-feed them to him. You wish to beat him and Simon to a bloody pulp because that is all you can think of. In your anger, in your rage and your hurt, you have no outlet.
“M’sorry, Y/N. M’really-“
“Take the apology and kindly shove it up your ass.” You raise your hand and flip him the bird, the same aggressively fuelled glare you’d given Simon is now fixated upon Johnny. “You’re as dead to me as Simon is.”
You hate them both. You revile that you’d ever considered Johnny a friend, hell, maybe even a brother. And you revile yourself for thinking Simon was ever the attentive and caring husband that he was—because you were proven wrong.
He got caught with his dick out, multiple times, and now that the world was ending he wanted to make things right?
You didn’t need his pity, and you sure as hell weren’t going to give him the relief of caring for you.
Cw: smut, emotionally unavailable Simon, rough sex, age gap relationship (Simon is depicted in his late 30’s and the reader is around 21), older man!Ghost, young & naive!reader, unprotected sex, creampie
Ghost was a complex man.
You had never actually seen his face before, except for his lips and nose when he would lift up his mask to kiss you a couple times.
You had explicit instructions to only call him Ghost, never even bothering to tell you what his actual name was.
Ghost was a complete mystery to you, and it didn’t help that you were a young and curious girl.
You assumed he was in late 30’s, your best guess being that he was 37.
He had you on your back. Fucking into you so deep, his balls were slapping against you. Your legs were spread wide to accommodate him between them.
He didn’t talk much, only letting out the occasional groan when he hit that spot deep inside you.
“Ghost- feels so good…” You moaned and he didn’t acknowledge it, just kept pounding into your greedy pussy.
Ghost had his eyes closed, his face a few inches away from your own. You pulled him in for a kiss that left you breathless.
He let his head drop down to rest beside your neck when he pulled away, and your first instinct was to wrap your hands around him.
For a moment you let yourself believe that you were two lovers sharing an intimate moment with each other and you relished in the feeling it brought you.
Until that feeling subsided when he spoke in a cold tone. “You close?” He asked, no real emotion behind his voice.
“Yes.” You gasped when one of his hands wrapped around your leg, ultimately forcing you to loop both of them around him.
You were growing needier the closer you got to your release. “I wanna— fuck! Wanna see you.” You whimpered and moved one of your hands to grab at his mask in an attempt to pull it up.
He quickly stopped you, lifting his head up and roughly slapping your hand away, pinning both of your hands up in the process.
“Don’t ever fucking try that again. Understand?” Ghost scolded you, causing tears to finally fall from your eyes. All you could do was nod and look away, completely missing the way his eyes scanned your face for a few seconds.
Ghost grabbed your face and forced you to look at him. “Use your words.” He demanded.
“I understand.” You winced at his roughness. It’s like he had an inability to feel anything except for anger. You would sometimes feel so stupid for allowing him to be like this, allowing him to take that anger out on you.
He muttered out a quick “Good.” Before resuming his movements, tears still falling from your eyes even when he pressed his forehead against yours.
You came a couple of minutes after and Ghost followed shortly after you, emptying his load inside you and thrusting into you a few more times to make sure he doesn’t waste a drop.
Ghost lays still, his cock softening up inside your cunt.
“It’s Simon.” He says suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What?” His words prompting you to stop crying.
He finally lifts his head up off of yours and slides out from inside you, getting out of his bed and going into the bathroom, completely disregarding what he just said.
You stayed in the bed for a few minutes, until he poked his head out to see if you were still there, letting out what you assumed was an annoyed sigh when he found you still in his room.
Ghost locked eyes with you for what felt like an eternity before you finally got the hint that he probably didn’t want you around by the time he got out.
You quickly got up and started getting dressed, taking a look at yourself in the mirror, and wiping away the tears from your eyes.
You felt so disgusting, for continuing to see him even when he had proved on multiple occasions that he wasn’t a good man, for letting him use you however he pleased.
He startled you when the bathroom door swung open. Ghost coming out in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.
You looked at each other, internally grimacing at the deafening silence that had grown between you.
“I was just leaving, I’m sorry.” You weakly spoke, and he gave no response as he shuffled around his room to grab clean clothes.
He was still wearing his mask, almost like he was expecting to find you when he came out.
“Thank you for… for tonight.” You didn’t know why you said that but you just wanted to say anything in an attempt to get him to acknowledge you as a human being with feelings.
Ghost looked at you as he was sliding into his pants. He didn’t expect you to walk up to him and give him a hug.
You didn’t have the slightest clue as to why you were doing any of this and you couldn’t help the tears that escaped you.
He pulled you away, having not hugged you back. Your hands holding both of his arms. He looked down at you.
“It’s getting late.” Ghost spoke plainly. “Yeah…” You absolutely hated the silence that followed your words.
“Simon?” You said his real name for the very first time, your eyes lighting up slightly when he hummed.
“I’m sorry for doing that earlier. I don’t know what got into me.” You apologized. Simon stayed silent for a few moments, looking closely into your eyes.
“Okay.” He shrugged you off, barely acknowledging your words as he walked away. You took that as your sign to leave his house.
You finally walked out the door and you silently prayed the ground would swallow you up. You looked back once at the closed door before walking away with a heavy feeling in your heart.
Just On the outskirt. (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem! reader ft Soap)
Summary: little did you know...
Warning: FIRST SIMON RILEY FIC HERE. I wrote this from my heart (I've never dated anyone in my 20 years of life anyway) BUT I'VE BEEN LISTENING MALAY SONG COUNTLESS OF TIMES AND I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO WROTE IT WITH THIS SONG MEANING. high angst, obviously, cheating not exactly but it sure feels like one, one sided love, reader and Simon in a relationship, strain love, lost feeling, sad, change of heart. Second choice. Hurts no comfort.. something like that, trying to fix the relationship.
As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
'at the bar with Johny. Might come back late'
The message popped up. If you scroll back to the old message, it's always the same sentence. It's like a template for him whenever he comes back late.
His reason. You know. The moment Simon's words are typing popping out, you know his reason for coming back late
He's been doing this the moment you two are dating. At first it was just an excuse to spend time with his friend after a deployment that took months.
You're like. That's okay, he deserves a break, he deserves to celebrate their return together at the bar. And then he goes to the bar, to dinner and to Johny's house. Things are, Gaz and Price are rarely mentioned by Simon.
You know his team through him. They sometimes come to the house to hang out or you invite them to dinner together.
But the message he always sends only mentions Johny. You know he and Johny have known each other for a long time. In fact, they fought a war together. Bleed together, hell on the same team.
It's not odd that they both hang out together. I mean, men. They always do some random shits together. Game night and all.
When you ask him about what he's doing, he always mentions something he did with Johny like
'yeah, me and the team got deployed somewhere. Johny take care of this...'
No matter what he does he doesn't hesitate to mention Johny's name as if Price and Gaz didn't deploy together. It's like the mission is just for him and Johny.
Heck, whenever you ask something about like something wrong with him, he always brush it off like it's nothing to worry about or nothing at all.
There was a moment where you asked him if he got anyone behind your back, he looked at you offended that lead to an argument between you two which ended up him sleeping on the couch and not talking for 5 to 6 days until one of you decided to apologize. Which is always you.
Thing is, the relationship between you two is getting strained. He always comes back late, always disappears before you wake up. His sweet treatment seems increasingly distant. Like he is getting more and more discouraged.
Like the old love is getting lost. The chemistry is getting less and less. Sour. Like poison that slowly poisons the system in the body. It hurts. The kind of hurts that you notice but can't quite identify.
He's been fine. Treats you like you normally would. Sleep next to you but his presence, the air around him seems different. Like a dark cloud. Cloudy.
And then there's Johny. The sun. You notice whenever he and Johny are together, he seems relaxed. Like his old self.
In comparison, if he's with you, you feel like he's there but at one point he's not. But looking at him with Johny, you notice like the air around him doesn't seem like cloudy or empty like when he's with you. Something like he's there.
That just hurts.
Not the loud kind. Not the kind that explodes into shouting or slammed doors.
It's quieter than that.
It settles in your chest like something heavy and cold, something that doesn't leave even when he's right next to you.
You don't remember when you started noticing the pattern so clearly. Maybe it was always there and you just… chose not to see it.
Or maybe it got worse.
Because now it's not just the message.
It's everything.
So worse that even when the two of you have a conversation it's getting a little dry. Thin. Like you two only talk when necessary.
Like you are not lovers but co-workers.
Thumb hovered on the screen. You fought with yourself whether to respond to it or not instead you just replied with -
'okay'
sent
Delivered
Two blue ticks indicating he read but didn't reply.
Only seen.
And then there's Johnny.
Always Johnny.
You try not to make it something ugly in your head. You really do.
They've been through war together. That kind of bond - people don't just understand it. You've told yourself that a hundred times.
But still…
You've seen Simon laugh. Not the small, quiet huff he gives you sometimes. A real one. Head tilted back slightly, shoulders loose, eyes not guarded. You saw it once when Johnny was over. And it hit you harder than any argument ever did.
Because it wasn't something he gave you anymore. It becomes rare.
To hear him laugh or say something not because he has to but because he needs to. He needs to say something to prove to you that he is right. This relationship is correct. Not because you are his second choice. Though he never said you were his second choice but damn sure it felt like it.
Like you weren't enough. All the love, the touches and the expressions weren't enough for him. That's why he looked for all that in Johny. Or so you thought. No. Not what you thought.
It's clear. Very clear. The clock ticks louder than usual.
You don't turn on the lights. The house feels too big tonight. Too empty for two people who are supposed to live in it. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. And the thought comes back again. The one you keep pushing away.
Maybe it's not Johnny.
Your fingers curl into the bedsheet.
Maybe it's me.
Simon isn't cruel. He doesn't yell. He doesn't cheat... at least, not in any way you can prove. He still comes home. Still sleeps beside you. Still says your name the same way. But something is missing.
And the worst part?
You don't know when he stopped choosing you first.
In the blink of an eye. It's gone. Missing.
Did you fail?
Or worse. Did you lose?
In what? Loving him. Did Johny win? Did he win his heart? Did he get what Simon wanted? Did he enough?
The front door didn't open that night. No Simon sleeping next to you. He didn't come back yet. Perhaps something important going on. His bedside was cold that night.
You were cold that night even though you were wrapped in a blanket. No arms around you to share the warmth. No sweet nothing in your ears. No kisses from someone you love.
It was the next day you woke up from your sleep that you heard the door open. He didn't come back last night.
You sat up and stayed in bed for a while. Listening to him around the house. Not once did you call him like you usually do.
Asking him about his days or his work. Nothing. Because you knew he stayed at Johnny's place last night.
Soon, the shared bedroom was opened by Simon. He was still in the same outfit the last time you saw him come out last night. Only slightly wrinkled. He looked at you for a moment but didn't say anything. Neither did you. He walked inside slowly and moved to the bathroom.
You. Still didn't say anything. Listened to the water from the bathroom. It was at this moment that you realized that the spark you always felt between Simon and yourself was fading. Drastically. You didn't blame him. You didn't blame Johnny. In fact you didn't blame anything about the situation.
It was a feeling you had for yourself about Simon. You had suspected it for a long time. Perhaps you might call it overthinking for wrongly feeling that Simon had lost the feeling on you that he finds comfort in his friend. Perhaps it was just your feeling. You didn't know what you were doing wrong to him.
You almost laughed at yourself for blaming yourself for blaming yourself such as that actually. It was always this. The game that always ended up being your fault. Simon always reminds you of that. Not everything is your fault. Perhaps, you both had suspected that the relationship between you two was getting looser.
After what feels like an hour or so, that's all you feel, Simon finally comes out of the bathroom with damp hair and a clean shirt. His blonde wet hair sticking to his forehead before being rubbed with a towel to dry. He hooks the damp towel behind the bathroom door. You're still in the same place. Silent and not saying anything. Simon feels the tension. He steps forward to you and slowly leans back down next to you. The bed dips after he sits down. Not far and not close to you. Neither of you say anything. Only silent and not looking at each other.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched. Not comfortable. Not angry. Just tired. Simon glanced at you.
"you're alright?" he spoke. You didn't look at him.
"fine" you lied or rather masked the pain with the words just to let Simon know.
Simon didn't say anything. He knew what the words meant. You weren't okay. And he know why. Seems like you're not the only one feeling this much tension. It's been months. Months of avoidance but not really avoiding. He's there but not truly there.
"we need to talk" you said, not looking at him.
"yes" he replied.
You were silent for a moment before sighing. "i think you know what I'm talking about"
Simon was silent. "yes" he muttered now looking at you side face.
You sighed slowly and looked at him tiredly. "I'm not mad at you"
Simon didn't say anything.
you continued. "I'm just hurt that you didn't tell me that you felt differently. On us." you looked at your hand in your lap.
Simon still didn't say anything.
"I've been noticing things and I don't blame you for finding comfort in another person besides me..." you blinked. "and I don't blame you if you feel like I'm not enough for you" tears started to fall from your eyes.
Simon's hand finding you. He held your hand tightly with thumb rubbing the back of your hand.
You let him.
"I never said you weren't enough" he replied.
"you didn't have too" you replied.
Simon held your hand tightly. That made him look away. Because it was true.
People didn't always need words to leave. Sometimes they left little pieces of themselves behind every day until there was almost nothing left.
"you stopped looking at me" you said, voice cracked. Another tear slid down your cheek.
"every time I need you. You're not there" you added.
Simon opened his mouth. Closed it again. Because he knew. He knew exactly what you meant.
The messages.
The late nights.
The distance.
The way he would come home exhausted and immediately retreat into himself.
The way conversations became shorter.
The way he would stare at his phone instead of you.
The way he seemed somewhere else entirely.
And the worst part? You had spent months trying to convince yourself it wasn't happening.
"I thought..." You swallowed hard. "I thought maybe you just needed space."
"I did" Simon squeezed your hand tighter.
You nodded slowly. "I know."
"But that's not the whole truth."
Your chest is tight.
Simon lowered his head.
For the first time in months, he looked genuinely tired. Not physically. Emotionally.
"I didn't know how to talk to you."
This however makes you frown.
"what does it mean?"
"It means I was drowning" he replied. His jaw clenched. "and every time I looked at you, I felt guilty for it" he confessed. "think I found comfort somewhere else? I wasn't running to Johnny because I wanted someone else. Was running because talking to him was easy"
Your heart hurts at that. Not because it was cruel. Because it was honest.
"With him, I didn't have to explain why I was angry all the time. Or exhausted. Or scared." His voice dropped lower. "With you, I wanted to be better."
A tear slipped from Simon's eye before he could stop it.
"and i wasn't"
You stared at him. Simon 'Ghost' Riley. A soldier who people were afraid of how cold and quiet he is now looking so vulnerable and heartbroken and human. Something only you can see because it's about you and him. Something private that only two parties can solve.
He shook his head. "I've been noticing too. How distant we've been lately. Was trying to talk to you about it but.. I don't know how so i waited. Only for it to become months" he laughed bitterly.
"and you never did"
"-no"
The answer came immediately.
There was no defense.
There was no excuse.
Only the truth was released.
You stared at him for a moment. Before letting out a heavy sigh and surrendering. It was like something heavy to release from your chest. But it was very hard to let go.
"Do you still love me?"
Simon's entire face crumpled. Not dramatically. Not loudly but just enough for you to see how much that question hurt him. Broke him. Destroy him.
"is there any more of us for you?" you added.
Simon looked away. "i never stopped" He looked at you again. "I just stopped knowing how to show it. How to see anymore of us."
The room fell silent again. But for the first time in months, it wasn't the silence of avoidance. It was the silence of two people finally looking at the wound instead of pretending it wasn't there.
"I failed to be better for you. I failed you and us because I was afraid to lose you that I looked for Johnny instead of talking to you about this. I failed in being the person who can comfort you when you need it." he sighed heavily. "and i failed to know if there is anymore of us to fix it"
You nodded in resignation. Having expected the answer. "well then.. there's nothing more to say"
Simon flinched. You put his hand to wipe him again before getting up making Simon look up at you. You stared at him with your puffy and red eyes.
"is he making you happy?" you ask
Simon was silent. But then he muttered. "yes"
"is he making you feel safe?"
"yes"
You nodded. "Okay" you walked towards the bathroom door.
"Wait" Simon stood up.
You stopped and turned towards him.
Simon looked like he wanted to say something that would save everything.
warning: this is jus' a short drabble, Simon being soft, but only for you
RAHHHHHH m' a sucker for those tropes where a character with a title uses their real name for their lover who's dying. Like imagine that with Simon.
You're shaking. There's blood on your hand from where you touched your abdomen. But this isn't right, you thought. You were fine just a moment ago. You blinked, and now you're in your lieutenants arms. He's barking orders at you to stay awake. Keep your eyes on him, and steady your breath.
Everything from your waist down hurts and you scream when Simon applies pressure to your wound. You've had close calls before, but never once had you actually been shot. This is your first time, and it's starting to feel like the last.
You don't even know when you've started crying, but you're scared. You didn't want to die. You were too young. You wanted to get to see more of the world that isn't just blood on the battlefield. You didn't want to die.
But that wasn't your choice to make.
Maybe it was your time. Maybe you knew. Because you're looking up at Simon with all the love you've yet to show him and for a second it makes him stop screaming for evac. His eyes are on you and he hated that almost peaceful look in your eyes. He's seen it alot on former colleagues. Acceptance.
"....Lieutenant..?.."
No
"..It's Simon, love. It's your Simon...."
a/n: Sorry that this is trashy 😕 Classes are fucking me up and this might be the only thing I can post for today. But I do have quite a lot of ideas in my drafts which I might finish on the weekends. I'll make it up to you guys I swear 🥲. I hope you're having a wonderful day/night, my darlings!
