After Roba, Simon had no scent glands. There was an ugly, horrifying scar on his neck where they had *once* been.
Sometimes, he still woke up thinking that he smelled traces of his old scent- rain over fresh grass. But he knows better.
Now he passes as a beta; no scent, no trace of the omega he once was, besides the heats that he barely struggles with, because the gland that makes him smell sickly sweet was stolen from him.
He had never had an issue with it. Until you. Sweet, thoughtful you. You had a healthy scent gland; and he was…not disproving of you rubbing your neck against his.
But you saw the way he looked at your nest. The way he had such a pitiful one; because why bother, when his scent was not there?
The procedure is risky as hell; both of you know that.
But Simon…well, he wants to smell like an omega. He only trusts you to come with him to the appointments; the endless testing to ensure the gland is compatible. The risks are high. But the reward is even more so.
Simon goes to sleep on the operating table with no scent glands, and no trace of the omega he *really* was unless you scanned his lower abdomen.
He comes out of the operation smelling.,,like fresh rain over pine trees. As close to his original scent as he could get.
He cries as soon as he wakes up bc while the scent isn’t really his old scent…it’s what his *mother* used to smell like.
good girls go to heaven, bad girls get what they deserve
a nasty little ghost x reader blurb
alluded to dom/sub relationship, public.. uh.. something but whatever it is it’s definitely public (spanking), exhibitionism, second-half embarrassment, probably (sorry!)
everybody say thank you, bri! we wouldn't have this blurb without her and her beautiful mind. my muse 😘
18+, sexually explicit something
“I have to listen to him, though,” you explain, gesturing wildly with your drink. “Or else I get into trouble.”
The rest of the 141 sit in front of you, expressions varying. Your captain, Price, looks amused, cheeks rosy above his beard. Soap’s eyes are half-lidded, a half-wowed, half-incredulous smile on his face, while Gaz gives you a slightly concerned grimace, eyebrows knit in the middle of his forehead. He’s really regretting asking you about your relationship with Ghost.
The bar’s full but not shoulder-to-shoulder full, bodies swaying to the music, others clamoring for another drink at the bar, taking down shots. A group out front shares a lighter as they create a cloud of smoke at the entrance, their laughter trickling into the room.
“Wha’ kind o’ trouble, lass?” Soap says, indulging you as he takes another swig of his ale. Price just shakes his head, puffing on his cigar, Gaz shooting his teammate a look from the side of his eye.
You giggle, chewing on your straw at the corner of your mouth, a cheshire cat smile on your lips.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Johnny.”
“Didnae ask for no reason,” he replies, and Price chuckles.
“Kinda depends on what I’m not listening to him about. If it’s little, like forgetting to take my meds, he’ll basically forcefeed them to me. Cause and effect, y’know?”
Price hasn’t stopped chuckling under his breath. Gaz is nodding, eyes wide like he’s watching a car crash in real time, unable to stop the inevitable.
“But if it’s bigger, like not being careful enough on a mission, or something, he gets to do whatever he wants to me.”
“Whatever he wants..?” Soap echoes, and you nod, huffing out a laugh.
“Yeah,” you start, “like—,”
It’s then that you register the sound of your last teammate sucking his teeth behind you, slightly muffled from his mask. Like a dog that’s clicker trained, your mouth snaps shut.
Two thoughts slide into place at once, ringing through your head like a typewriter resetting to the start of the next line.
Simon’d been gone so long in the bathroom, on a smoke break, at the bar, whatever, that you’d forgotten he was here.
You’re way drunker than you thought you were, spilling your guts to coworkers like this.
“Got anything else to say?” Ghost grits out from behind you, his voice so low, so raw and clearly furious that goosebumps immediately erupt over your entire body.
Everything in you is telling you to get to your feet as fast as possible and run.
“N-no,” you reply, mouth dry, heart thumping hard in your ears like a nervous rabbit. Right now he is a predator, you his prey, your mind full of his teeth glinting in the dark as his maw snaps shut around your leg, fangs sinking into your flesh. You think of him, combat ready, gear strapped to his body and larger than life.
You’ve been flying entirely too close to the sun, wings melting as you fall into the open arms of the sea, Simon’s thick hands grasping yours as he puts your drink down on the table and moves to sit at the edge of the bench seat.
You’re really, really starting to regret that you wore a skirt tonight.
“Riley,” Price warns, taking the cigar from his mouth. A thrill runs through your body at the slight worry pressed into the features of his face.
“I know wha’ I’m doin’, Captain.” He replies, words cutting like a glacier through the black sea. Daring his superior to push him further than he’s already gone.
But this is nothing for you and Ghost.
You’ve been in active battle zones, with your left hand zip tied to his belt because you ‘wouldn’t stop disappearing on him.’ He’s made you complete missions with your underwear in his pocket, the fabric of your fatigues chafing the delicate skin around your pussy. You’ll never forget the cooing sounds he’d made when he saw the rubbed raw, red skin around your crotch. Or the way he then teased you, kissing and licking everywhere except where you wanted him to, a sadistic smile baring his teeth. The countless times he’s blindfolded you, put in your gun range earplugs in his bed, just to work on the fact that you weren’t trusting him implicitly out in the field.
So no, him bending you over his knee in a dive bar is not the craziest thing the two of you have ever done.
Just this time you’re slightly more drunk. However, the petulance behind your actions is the same as always.
Your knees meet sticky floor, lacy panties peeking out as your skirt lifts. No one except your team is aware of what’s about to happen, but you’re sure plenty will be soon. From your new position, you can hear Soap suck in a breath, rolling your eyes. Never seen asscheeks before, Johnny?
SImon’s big hand rubs down your back, stopping at your hipbones. You easily and readily recognize this as your chance to end the scene, to say no.
None of that happens, and after a beat, Simon lifts his hand again, positioning it over your ass.
“Count them,” he growls, and at your poised nod, his palm swings down, cracking against your bare skin.
“One,” you retort, unaffected. You’re no rookie, here.
Simon, in spite of himself you’re sure, huffs out a breath from his nose. You know he loves the attitude, no matter how much time he spends trying to fuck it out of you.
And again, his hand connects, skin on skin, and it’s nothing you haven’t felt before.
“Two.”
“Ghost,” Gaz mutters, clearly flustered. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack, Garrick, thank you.” Your lover replies, words like a cell door sliding into place. Final, brooking no further arguments.
His next hit is harder, without warning or fanfare, and you’re not ready. It hurts.
“T-Three,” you gasp, voice strangled. People are starting to glance over, but the semi-darkness is enough in the way of privacy that they can’t quite make out what’s happening.
Simon hums, leaning in and blocking out the rest of the team, speaking only for your ears. “If you can’t figure out how to keep your mouth shut, I’ll make use of that next time and fuck your throat until you can’t talk for the next three days.”
When you don’t reply, his fist wraps into your hair, pulling your head back until he’s looking at you. “Understood?”
“Yes.”
Simon sighs, deeply and oh-so-disappointed. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Aye,” Johnny blurts from behind him. “I can’t take this.”
“Go get me another beer, then,” his Captain calls, clearly only half-joking.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Simon spanks you again.
“Four,” you say, breathing heavily as Johnny walks away, obviously adjusting himself as he heads over to the bar.
Simon’s cock twitches against your side, almost a threat, a promise of what’s to come.
He’s killing you and he knows it, not giving in to the arch in your back, the press of your tits to his leg. His palm connects for the final time, and you’re so wet your own arousal could start dripping down your thigh soon.
“Five,” you whimper, eyes fluttering closed as Simon pulls you to your feet. He kisses your forehead and you swear you hear Gaz muffle a gasp.
You reach for your drink, face hot, the whole situation feeling slightly surreal, but Simon stops you.
“Wh-I’m not done!” You protest, eyebrows furrowed.
Ghost tuts, and you swear he’s got a pouty lip going on underneath the mask as he mocks you. “That’s too bad, love. Shoulda thought o’ that before you told the team about our little arrangement.”
His eerie calm is sending you a rather clear message: you fucked up, and you’ll be paying for it later.
Once you’re out of the bar, Simon unceremoniously ducks down, hoisting you over his shoulder. You’re too used to it and too tipsy to care, ass covered by one of Simon’s hands as he lumbers down the street.
I just know that when Ghost finds a girl that matches his freak in bed he makes it known to absolutely everyone how crazy good his sex life is. Like walking around the gym with her teeth imprints all up and down his biceps, the lipstick marks not even scrubbed off his chest, bruises and hickeys all along his shoulders, showing off how crazy good the sex was the night prior to the point where it starts making everyone kind of uncomfortable.
He sheds his shirt in the locker room to show off a back full of deep, welting scratches and Gaz takes one look at them before quietly sending Johnny a text from across the room that just reads: "I feel violated."
I always see fics where Simon hates his scars, but I’d like to present trans (ftm) Simon who loves his scars
Now, years after his surgery and transition, Simon loves his scars because they look badass, no they don’t have good stories behind them but it shows what Simon has been through. He loves the way people stare, he knows he scares the shit out of him, and in a weird, maybe a little fucked up way he likes it, when he was younger he was always the one afraid, and it makes Simon feel proud of himself knowing he’s not that scared little boy anymore.
But it took Simon a while to fall in love with his scars. He got top surgery before he even joined the military, and it felt weird when people saw and asked what they were from, expecting some big heroic military moment when in reality it was a medical procedure. But over the years, with all the missions Simon went on, his body quickly got covered in scars. Now people can't even see surgery scars, hell sometimes Simon can't even see them. He loves his scars because they push the past away, Simon will never forget, but now others won't ask and that's enough for him.
Noo don’t apologise. Please tell me more. I was thinking about IF he had a gf would he let her decorate? Because idk there’s something about leaving it as it is and just bringing a few of her stuff there but not changing anything, not putting on fairylights and burning candles all of a sudden. Maybe just a mug or two. Clothes. Her laptop. A blanket. A parfume. Toothbrush. Even if they she move in with him it’s not turning into a girlish flat just adds her everyday stuff you know? Does it make sense? Sorry i just think about it a lot today
you want more? you've got more.
i think he would want his partner to add touches. not to redecorate entirely, but if he's choosing to share his life and space with someone? he wants it to feel like theirs as well.
like maybe it starts with a couple of drawers emptied and left open in the bedroom for them to see - no conversation or big moment, just a place for them to put a few changes of clothes and toiletries and anything else they might want to keep there. then maybe a shelf, because you start buying him shit like trinkets and books that make you think of him and he wants to put them out.
but if they moved in moved in? i think he's basically giving them free reign (with limits) to make the space feel like theirs as well. after all he likes them, why wouldn't he like their stuff being around him? a few art prints they like, some soft shit like blankets and cushions for his shitty couch? yeah, he could probably get used to that. and okay maybe he isn't a massive fan of the matching pink toaster and kettle set they brought with them, but it makes them happy, so it stays.
Just thinking about: Simon Riley who’s just so dumb
(cw: smut, puppy play, dom-sub dynamics). MDNI.
What’s the point of a guy so gigantic, so muscular, so big in the dick; but all he can do is follow around mob boss reader like a big stupid puppy? She put him to some use at least being her guard dog.
Who only does whatever she tells him to. If she tells him to jump, he’ll jump, then remember he’s supposed to ask how high and get confused mid-air and trip over his big clumsy feet. His obedience is unquestioning. Her word is law, so if it means breaking others, so be it.
Who is loyal to only her, has eyes only for her. A rival tried to lure Simon to his gang with suitcases of money. The next morning, she showed up to her office with his and his henchmen’s corpses waiting inside. Simon smiled, all pleased, like a dog who’d fetched a ball and was now wagging his tail for its owner’s approval. She made him scrub the stains by hand as she yelled at him for two hours. “You fucking bloodied my office, Simon! What if the police had caught this and put me in jail?!” Dumb puppy was hard the whole time.
He’s so pathetic he begged for her to sit on his face to relieve her tension after a really stressful time. But he came in his pants twice just from eating her out, so she punished him by making him hump her leg like the mutt he was. When he whined at the overstimulation, she muzzled him with her panties.
Dumb puppy doesn’t know how big he is. He’s constantly bumping into things or knocking them over. Once, cheeks red, he muttered a “M sorry” to a corpse he’d just tripped over. Upon realizing 1. the corpse was dead, 2. the corpse was an enemy who’d dared to steal your territory, and 3, you were glaring holes through him, he turned even darker crimson.
His lack of awareness is worse when he’s slamming into you with that huge cock. You’d looked so god damn gorgeous with your ass up for him. He’d barely located your hole and begun thrusting stupidly like he was in rut. He’s unaware that you’re barely holding onto your sanity. You just feel so good, and he can’t help but get all messy. He covers you with droolly, hot open-mouthed kisses from how fucked-dumb he is. Then, when he’s done filling you up, he’ll lap it out of your pussy like a dog.
People are surprised he doesn’t just… rebel. He’s twice her size and width. He could pick her up with just one arm with ease. He’s all scar and muscle— not someone who needs to prove himself. And yet, he wears a collar with her name engraved on it.
Honestly, the idea of Ghost having insecurities is so silly to me because when Soap asks him if he's ugly, Ghost literally replies "Quite the opposite" so how the fuck is he insecure? 😭
I get that he could be joking, being actually insecure, but c'mon.. even his tone expressed confidence. He's an arrogant little English prick.
