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sim0nril3y · 1 year ago

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First Meeting

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader

Scenario: Being dragged out for the night with friends Simon find himself desperately trying to be alone when a girl with a broken shoe stumble across him.

Note: Set in 2014

Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), briefs mentions of abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, suggestive conversation, mentions of age gap, derogatory comments. Note: I made this an OC rather than a Reader because she has her own backstory and family and dreams that may not align with the whole Reader aspect of writing. If you guys do want something like that let me know and I'll see if I can work something out.

30-08-2020 Edit: I’ve updated this fanfic to be a reader rather than OC.

Returning from deployment never really changed for Simon. It wasn’t something he ever enjoyed. There was something about the regiment of the forces that grounded him, something about the strict timelines and regulations. None of that mattered back home. It wasn’t like he could speak to his "friends" about the trauma of being away in war-torn countries. It wasn’t like they even asked; they knew better.

Occasionally on nights out Simon would get asked the rude question of his death tally. He’d simply brush off the question. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he had a reasonable answer to it anymore. No, instead he would pretend like he didn’t hear as other friends chastised for even asking that sick question. Why was it sick? Did they not think of him as a killer? Maybe that tainted their idyllic persona of the perfect solider. Simon knew that war was disgusting and bloody and each time he took another life a little bit of his own chipped away too.

Stand outside he brought a cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly and just enjoying the cold winter air. “Bollocks…” A voice slipped from beside him, glancing over his shoulder to see the slight frame of a woman bent down trying to repair the band of her high-heel. As always, he stayed quiet, used to just observing and not interrupting the flow. “Need some help, sweetheart~” A drunk came stumbling in her direction.

In an instant she shot to her feet, stumbling in her broken heel as you turned to face the offending man. “Oh-” “Gonna catch y’death out here, sweetheart. Specially in that little dress…” He commented and Simon gave himself a moment to take in your outfit, it was particularly short from a night-out in January, not that any of the other birds were dressed any different. “Why don’t we get a taxi back to my flat.” He offered and Simon saw the way your shoulders seemed to tense at the suggestion. “Oi…” His voice began before his brain registered that this was a poor idea. “Fuck off and leave her alone.”

“The fuck you think you are?” Came a drunken drawl back in his direction. “Think I’m gonna be your problem if you don’t leave her alone.” He rose then, towering over the two of them you, double both your weight, double both your size. “Pshh… fuckin’ have the slag…” Drunkenly he turned and stumbled back into the club. “Thanks…” Your voice was small as you tilted your had up to make eye-contact. “S’nothing…” Then turning he moved back to where he was sitting.

“Mind if I join you?” Your voice was quiet, flasing a packet of cigarettes in his direction. “Not gonna stop you.” Simon answered with a short shrug. “Fuckin’ shoe…” You grumbled under your breath before joining him delicately, sitting close enough that it looked friendly but far enough away to give him plenty of space. It a light voice your informed him your name. It was pretty. It suited you. The way your voice cut through the cold air, warm personality shining even on this night.

Simon didn’t reply, simply continued to smoke his cigarette in the quiet whilst you lit up your own beside him. “Y’even old enough to be in there?” Suddenly you looked at him before snickering. “Turned 21 months ago.” You announced proudly. “Even got my ID to prove it.” Fuck, you was young. 9 years younger than him, in fact. Whilst he was being beaten and abused by his sick father you was just coming into this world. Fuck, don’t think about any of that. “So, do I get to know your name? Gonna have to tell the story of how a dashing smoker saved me from a weirdo.”

Dashing? Were you flirting with him? You… were way out of his league. Jesus, why was you even paying him any mind when you could go home with practically any lad in there. Why did that sentiment bother him so much? “Simon.” He ground out finally, putting a firm stop to his inner monologue. “Nice name.” “No, it’s not. Just a name.” He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Don’t be stupid.” He watched the way your pretty face contorted into a smile and then fell into a fit of giggles. It was fucking bliss. The way that you laughed. It was almost fucking musical, or at least it was to Simon’s ears. “Nice fuckin’ name…” He repeated shaking his head. “Kid, you’ve got to work on technique a bit.” Then shaking his head as he took another long drag of his cigarette.

“Well, maybe you could help with that…” Your voice was suggestive and inquisitive, putting the question out there loosely enough that he could see it as a joke or an invitation. “M’sure there are plenty boys your age that could help with that.” There was finality to his tone that even you could sense. Jesus, you were 21 by your own confession. You was so fresh and new to the dating scene. He, on the other hand, was just beginning his 30s, though his years of service made him feel a lot older. There was no way he could just fuck around with a girl like you. It wouldn’t fair.

Sensing his apprehension you simply shrugged your shoulders, as carefree as ever and then muttered. “Maybe~” Nabbing a nearby empty cigarette packet and jotting down your details onto the card before sliding it in his direction. “Guess if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

A flurry of girls stumbled from the club, surrounding her in a moment in a loud chatter of excitement. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” “C’mon, next club~” “Who is that?” “What happened to your shoe?” The questions buzzed around his mind and you kept his gaze until whisked away by her friends. “Fuckin’ hell…” Cursing under his breath as he inspected the packet between his fingers, taking the final drag of his cigarette and then flicking it aside.

Masterlist | Ask | 28-08-2023

#simon ghost x reader #ghost x oc #simon riley x oc #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x oc #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost mw2

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sunonyoreface · 2 years ago

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 14

An: Well, it only took 36,000 words to get here, but here we are! It's a long one and I had so much fun writing this part, so I hope you like it!

*Edit: I will be putting this series on a short pause for a few weeks so I have time to catch up on school. Thanks for understanding :)

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 6100

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, nsfw, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Image credit: @ave661 (they're amazing!!)

I’ve never shot a gun before, but as I hold Ghost’s in my hand, I try to imagine what it will feel like.

The weapon is like solid lead in my hands. I weigh my options as I click the safety on and off. I feel like a broken scale and I’m indecisive at heart. Tonight is no different.

I twist the weapon around to get a better look at the black coating. It’s well taken care of. Everything Ghost does is so meticulous and thought out. So, to see him leave the cabin in such a haste is cause for concern on its own. Did my words really affect him that much? Or was that all his own doing?

Part of me wonders if he’s watching through the window. Does he think I’d risk attempting to shoot him? I could turn the gun around in my hand. He wouldn’t expect that. None of them would. But then neither of us would get what we want. I’d never see my family again. There’s no satisfaction in the thought.

I also know I couldn’t kill anyone else either. No matter the harm they’ve done. There’s already so much pain in the world. Who am I to add to it? Who am I to decide who gets to live or die? I’m no God.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the world would be better off without men like him.

So, I set the gun back down on the table. And then I pick it up again. I slide the magazine out and take each bullet. I slip them into my pillowcase. This is as much power as I take back tonight. Whatever Ghost does if or when he returns is all on him. I am staying as far from this game as possible. I never wanted any part. There are enough men dead because of me.

I sleep with the sound of bullets quietly rubbing and clinking against each other beneath my skull. When I feel his hand cold against my skin, I swear I see Death himself.

The ragged gasp for air feels like my first breath. My heart is racing. I feel the hot, meaty muscle as it climbs its way up my throat and suffocates me as it beats against my windpipe. Thump, thump, thump. My eyes immediately lock on the ominous shadow.

Ghost slowly retracts his hand. He smells like sweat and the outdoors. The cold scent lingers on his clothes and mixes with the smell of burning wood present in the cabin.

Moonlight filters in through the window and mixes with the warm glow of the fire. Between the two, I can just make out the watchful eyes behind the balaclava. He sits on the edge of the bed with both hands now resting on his thighs. I didn’t even feel the dip.

I sit up and pull my knees to my chest and away from him.

“How long were you there?” I don’t expect much of a response. I don’t know if I want one. Once I open this door, there are only so many places it can lead.

“A while,” Ghost’s voice is quiet and strained. He says he’s been here a while, yet his hands are still cold. Or maybe I just imagined they were cold. None of this feels real anymore, only my drumming heart demanding resolve. “Where are the bullets for my handgun?” his question catches me off guard. I didn’t think he’d notice so soon. Maybe he has been here a while? Maybe he already knows. I glance at the table to see the shadows of the weapons in the same spot as before, visibly untouched.

“I hid them,” I say without making eye contact. If I do, he’ll know for certain where they are. There’s something about him that’s almost angelic in the way he reads people. It’s utterly terrifying.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure anymore,”

“Y/n, you know I’m not going to shoot you,” It almost comes out like a question. I know, in theory at least. He can’t shoot me because he needs me, but does that mean he won’t?

Part of me knows he won’t because there are better ways to kill a person. Cleaner ways. More personal ways. They could make it look like an accident. 141 could erase me from existence - make it look like I was never born - if they haven’t already.

“Why are we doing this?” my voice is barely audible. His actions over the last day have left me feeling more confused than ever. First, he says it was all a part of his plan and now he’s saying it wasn’t. Deciphering the truth has become more frustrating than ever.

“Could you recognize the men who did this to you?” I hear the strain in his voice again, like he’s holding back.

“I was blindfolded,”

“Their voices?”

I shake my head. “They all blend together,” A pent-up breath escapes my chest. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does,” he lowly urges. “Y/n, I need you to know what happened to you was unacceptable. That was never the plan. You were to be kept on a low dose of drugs for a limited amount of time, just enough to disorient you. What they did – those marks on your skin – should have never happened. Never,” He insists. I wrap my arms around my knees as he shifts closer. An anxious feeling creeps up the back of my neck. “I can’t punish them if I don’t know who they are.”

“I don’t want more people getting hurt because of me,” I finally look at him. He leans toward me with one hand resting on the bed. There’s a nervousness in the air.

“Not because of you. Actions have consequences,” he says. “Their behaviour will be corrected.”

“Please don’t,” I quietly beg as I shift onto my knees. I take a risk and gingerly grab onto his forearm. “It’s not worth it,” I’m livid it happened in the first place, but their punishment is just spreading the pain around in my name. I don’t want that. I want it to end.

“If I don’t, it’ll happen again,” Ghost says as he looks down at my hand. His words are resolute. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. His strong arm is tense under the henley, but I don’t pull away.

“What about the man behind this one?” I reach to pull my shirt over my shoulder. His soulful eyes latch onto the bruised skin. Ghost’s chest heaves with a deep sigh. He knew this was coming.

“He needs more than just correction,” Ghost’s eyes are glued to the marks.

“Like what?” I risk the question. It’d be so easy for him to shut me out. To turn around and leave. But I need to know. What kind of a person is he? How does he perceive his own cruelty? I silently pray he stays.

“Only Hell can help him,” Simon finally looks up. His eyes are filled to the brim with so many emotions, they’re hard to discern. But what stands out the most is how much pain is evident behind that mask.

“I don’t believe that,” I grip his arm tighter. Part of me is afraid of his answer. I don’t know the truth behind his words. I only have a small idea of the violence he’s capable of. I’ve only glanced through a crack in the window of pain he’s caused and even that was significant.

“You don’t know half the things I’ve done, y/n,” his hands tighten into fists.

“I’ve cut, burned, fucking butchered people without a second thought. I kill men. It brings me so much pleasure to watch those animals die, y/n. I’m not someone who can live without violence,” Ghost starts to tremor. ”There are only so many places for a man like me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t…I don-”

“Believe it,” Ghost cuts me off. “Look at what I did to you,” he moves closer as his other hand reaches up to my exposed arm. Ghost’s fingers lightly trace the bruises. His hands are hot, different from how I remembered them moments ago. There’s a warmth to him, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. Part of me wants to make excuses for him: that it was the heat of the moment, or because I knowingly withheld information that put us all at risk. That doesn’t make it okay. None of this is okay. My moral lines have become so blurred within the last several weeks, it’s hard to know when they’ve been crossed.

I don’t know what to say to him. I focus on the feeling of his gentle fingers on my arm.

“It was the only thing that fixed my father,” His voice deepens. I’m not prepared for where this conversation is about to go. I feel my heart racing in my chest, ready to break free. “I used to hate him for the things he did, how he’d hurt my brother and mum. Fuck, would he hurt her. He hated her and took every ounce of hate out on that woman. He left her beaten and bruised for years,” Ghost wraps his hand around my arm, under the dark bruise. “And look at me now. Look what I’ve done to you. You don’t deserve this.”

My throat tightens and I feel tears prick at my eyes. I tilt my head back and force them down. I feel his careful gaze follow down my neck, across my collarbones, then land on the damning marks above his fingers.

“You’re better than he is, Simon,” it’s barely a whisper.

“You don’t know me,” Ghost’s voice cracks.

“Maybe not. But you’re here right now. And that tells me all I need to know,” our eyes lock together. I see the distress behind his mask. How he so badly wants to believe me. “Simon, I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t. You don’t know how this ends, y/n,” he murmurs. I shift closer to him again so that our legs rest against each other. His breathing deepens at our proximity. His hand leaves my arm to wrap around a strand of hair. He examines it quietly, his thumb slowly tracing the length.

I feel the heat and tension radiating from his body, yet find myself strangely at ease in his presence. He cares. He won’t dare say it, but I can feel it in his gentle touches, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. He had my back when his men were making crude jokes in the van. I think of his concern for me when we were at the last safehouse and I didn’t have shoes. How he lingered to make sure I was okay. How he gave me an extra blanket and touched my shoulders when everyone else was sleeping. I remember when he immediately noticed something was off after the prisoner confronted me. The first thing he did was make sure I was okay. He’s always cared.

My heart still races, but not because I’m scared. My fear has morphed into a more dangerous emotion. One I can’t say out loud. One that would put both of our lives in danger.

When I look into his dark eyes, I see them mirroring my own. Shadowy pools of desire lap at his irises.

“Y/n,” he warns as I look up at him. His eyes flicker down to my bottom lip brawn between my teeth.

“Can I lift your mask?” his head starts to shake even before I’ve finished speaking. “Just a little,” my voice is barely audible. The warm glow of the fire bounces off the walls. Ghost is tinted red. He tilts his head down, searching my eyes. Part of him is still reluctant to trust me. There have been so many people in his life who’ve betrayed him, who’s to say I won’t do the same?

“Ok,” he whispers, dropping the strand of hair.

My hands meet the hem of the balaclava, resting just above his sternum. I slowly roll the fabric up, leaving time for him to stop me. This is the first time he’s ever allowed another person to do this. I feel his vulnerability with each shaky breath. The backs of my fingers trace along his neck as I move the fabric. The scruff that lines his neck and jaw brush against my hands. His adam’s apple bobs as he forces down a nervous swallow. “Just a little more.”

I move the mask just above his jaw. Like the rest of him, it’s sharp and strong. Dark hairs fill in the space after missing his daily shave. Ghost’s hands move to my outer thighs and his thumbs rub along my skin with a reassuring pressure. I bring the mask over his lips and rest the excess material over his nose. Ghost presses his full, slightly chapped lips together as he watches my eyes roam his face.

Part of me wonders why hasn’t he stopped me. Does he yearn for the same type of connection? Does he think about me in the dead of night with wandering hands? Is this something we’ll use against each other in the future? Will there be a future? All of this is a bad idea. But I can’t help the longing. The yearning. How badly I want to feel his hands on my bare skin. Tangled in my hair. Reaching the darkest parts of me.

When I look up, his eyes are so incredibly intense, it’s impossible to look away. A large hand cups my cheek and wraps around the back of my head. Neither of us dares to move any further. We stay frozen in a state of almost vulnerability. It’s not too late to turn back.

It’s hard to see where his irises end and pupils begin, they’re so dark. His eyes hold every word he’s too afraid to say. Words are dangerous. They confirm every want and desire. I’m no braver than he is, not by a mile. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret.

Ghost leans down and rests his masked forehead against mine. The soft fabric presses into my face. His nose tenderly brushes against my own.

“Y/n,” he murmurs as his thumb tenderly traces along my skin. “You have no idea the things you do to me,” I feel goosebumps run down my back at his low, sultry voice. Simon’s cool breath fans against the nape of my neck.

The air between us is charged with tension. I feel a heat start to burn low in my stomach.

Ghost doesn’t move any closer. He has aired his desires. Now it’s my turn. How far do I want this to go? How far am I willing to take it? Nothing happens unless I initiate.

I run my hand along his strong jaw as I lean forward. I hesitantly brush against his lips, providing one last opportunity for us to turn back. Simon ghosts his lips above my own. My muscles tense in anticipation and my breathing is fast and shallow. I loop a finger through his belt loop and pull him closer.

Ghost takes this as permission and gently presses his lips onto mine. The kiss is soft and fearful and longing. After a breath, I pull away ever so slightly to read his eyes. They open slowly and linger on my lips for a moment longer. Ghost swallows thickly before looking up. There’s an insatiable hunger swimming in those dark pools of desire.

I long for those hot August days spent on the poolside almost as much as I long for him to drag me under the surface. I feel Ghost’s calloused hands moving up the side of my body like waves. Shivers run along my spine. My senses feel heightened. My lungs burn as icy water floods every cavity. I want him to hold me under until every breath of air is stolen from my lips.

Ghost shifts onto his knees and slowly stalks above me. His moves are calculated and predatory. There is only one thing he is on the hunt for. Only one thing that can fully satisfy his appetite.

I lean back as he moves closer until I’m fully pressed against the bed. Ghost leans down on his elbows as his knee urges my legs apart. A dull pulse throbs in my lower stomach. A large hand brushes the hair out of my face as he leans closer.

The kiss is harder this time, needier. Simon’s breath is hot against my mouth. My lungs smoulder with each breath, threatening to burst into flames. I run my hand under the back of his mask into his hair. I want more of him.

“Sweetheart,” my heart skips at the name. “How far can I take this?” his hands cup the side of my face. There’s a different type of seriousness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.

“All the way,” I watch as he licks his lips in anticipation. “I want all of you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I have to be gentle with you,” but I don’t want him to be gentle. I want every pent-up emotion branded into my skin with an iron rod. He’s held back so much from me. I want everything out in the open.

“All of you,” I repeat, brushing my thumb against his jaw.

“Y/n,” he warns as his lips brush against my ear. There’s an exciting sharpness to his tone.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he holds his head up to search my face. There’s genuine fear behind his eyes, but as they flicker down at my lips again there’s an even stronger desire. Once he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. Every part of his life is so disciplined, that once he relinquishes control, all self-restraint is gone.

“I trust you,” I trace my thumb above his full lips, pausing in the center. His brows furrow, waiting for me to take my words back, change my mind, tell him I don’t mean it. But I do. “I trust you, Simon.”

He uses the last of his restraint to search my eyes one last time. There’s no uncertainty, no fear or hesitancy. I want all of him. Need all of him. Desire burns within my core and he is the only one who can satisfy it.

His lips are hot and fervorous. Ghost’s eager fingertips drag across my pliable flesh as his hands skim under the hem of my shirt. I want to feel his touch everywhere, my lips, my neck, arms, and chest. I need him everywhere. I want to be consumed by him.

His sweet tongue slips between my lips. It’s a natural motion I welcome with my own. He’s gentle at first, cautious even. But then the hunger grabs a hold of him. His teeth latch onto my bottom lip and pull. Dark eyes test the waters as he gauges my reaction. How far can he really go? A small gasp escapes my chest and I almost miss the corner of his mouth twitching into a devious grin.

“When I tell you to do something, say yes sir,” his husky voice whispers into my ear as a large hand lightly wraps around my throat.

“Okay,” I respond. He’s not the only one testing the waters. I feel the strong hand tighten ever so slightly. I can’t help a sly smile at his reaction. “Yes sir,” the words noticeably arouse him. Ghost draws in a deep breath as he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. I think of all the times I offhandedly called him that the last several weeks. I wish I knew what a hold it had on him. “Is that better, sir?” I tease.

“You’re trouble,” his tone is suggestive. I love the feeling of his hot breath hitting my neck. I want to feel it drift even lower.

Ghost’s hands are back at the hem of my shirt. He gently tugs at the fabric and I take the signal to sit up and slide it off. I toss it to the side as his eyes take in my figure. I notice how they falter on some of the larger bruises, but in another instant, they’re back on me.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs.

His rough hands travel up my torso - taking care to avoid the bruised areas - as his lips find my neck. He starts off slow, deeply kissing me behind the ear, before moving towards the nape as he begins to suck on my tender skin. One hand begins to tenderly massage my breasts. I feel my eyes flutter shut with pleasure, but then a small part of me remembers I don’t want marks left above the hem of my shirt, especially these kinds of marks.

“Your turn,” I tug on the bottom of his henley.

“That’s not how you ask,” he mumbles as his teeth rake against my skin.

“Please, sir?” he thoughtfully hums against my neck.

Ghost sits up as he straddles me to pull his shirt off with one hand. My breathing hitches. He is stunning. Years of relentless work have shaped him into the machine he is today. Ghost is built like a predator. Strong, sturdy, and sharp. Scars from past challengers and victims litter his chest like medals. His tattoo wraps around the entire length of his arm, around his shoulder, and spanning across half his chest. I’m left speechless as he leans down to meet me again.

My hands unapologetically travel across his vast chest. His muscles flex under the pads of my fingers and I’m reminded of just how strong he is. But I don’t get far, Ghost grabs both wrists with one hand and pins them above my head. He enjoys looking down at me, completely under his power. There’s something about our size difference that is thrilling. He is in complete control. He can do whatever he wants.

Ghost’s lips return where they left off, slowly moving down my delicate body. Past my neck, down my sternum, and right to the spot he is looking forward to the most. His other hand wraps around my back, finding the clasp to my bra. His eyes peer up through his mask, looking to me for permission to keep going. I give him a small nod and immediately I feel the release of the band. He slides the bra up my arms, letting go of my wrists only to free us of it once and for all before grabbing them again. Ghost’s other hand returns to my back, urging me to arch my chest to his lips.

Sharp teeth nip at my soft breasts between deep kisses that are certain to leave more bruises. Ghost adds more pressure to my back as he pushes me closer. He takes his tantalizing time teasing me with his tongue as it swirls around my nipple before the abrupt feeling of his teeth pulling on my skin takes over. I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. I press my lips together to hide my heavy breathing, but it doesn’t get past him.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” he tastes the tender skin. “No one around for miles.”

Both his hands wrap around my waist as he pulls me flush against his chest. I take the opportunity to run a hand along the waistband of his pants, slipping a finger just under the edge of the fabric. Ghost pauses as his chest heaves from the movement. I grab his jaw and guide his lips to mine again, mimicking his previous movements by tugging on his lower lip with my teeth. I can’t help the growing smile on my face.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart,” his hand trails down my stomach, slipping between my pants and underwear. Two thick fingers circle around me above the thin piece of fabric with growing pressure. My head sinks back into the pillow as my breathing becomes more jagged. Sparks fill my vision from the intense pressure.

“Oh fuck,” I whimper from his touch. His eyes are intent on my face as they watch the pleasure wash over me.

“That’s a good girl,” he says eagerly. “Wet for me already?”

My thoughts are too twisted to come up with a smart response. I press harder against him for more traction. If only he knew how much I’ve thought about his hands and all the things his fingers can do.

While slipping a hand under the fabric, he leans down letting his lips press against my neck. Our bare chests brush against each other and his other hand winds through my hair. Ghost fists the strands against the back of my head and slowly pulls back, further exposing my neck for better access. I feel the edge of his teeth take my tender flesh between them. I imagine the marks that will litter down my neck leading across my chest.

A thick finger slips into me while his thumb focuses on my clit. The feeling is so intense I can’t help the moans escaping from deep within my throat. Ghost pulls harder on my hair. A deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. He’s enjoying this.

I wrap a hand around his belt, pushing the leather through the loop, ready to pull it off, but then a large hand clasps over mine.

“So soon?” Ghost teases. The intense pressure of his other hand leaves between my legs as he slides his belt off. The buckle jingles as he twists the leather into itself. When I look down, I realize what he’s created.

There are two spaces for a set of hands to slide through while the belt acts as a pair of handcuffs.

“Simon,” his name is breathy on my tongue.

“Arms up,” he orders.

I raise my hands above my head and feel the leather restraints slip over my fists. “Not tight,” I tell him. His eyes glance down at me and he seems to understand. He pulls the leather band, leaving just enough space that I could escape if I really needed to, before looping the leather back through the buckle.

“Okay?” he whispers and I nod my head in response. “Atta girl,” the side of his mouth quirks up.

I watch Simon trail his thoughtful lips down my torso. He pauses at each bruise, pressing a tender kiss lightly on top of each one. Butterflies swarm inside my stomach. I never thought I’d see such a man be so gentle.

Simon’s thumbs rub in circles over the corner of my hips as he makes his way even lower. There’s a growing anticipation between my legs as I wrap one around his back, pulling him closer.

The black mask lowers between my legs. Swollen lips kiss the inside of my thighs. The edge of his teeth grazes the tender flesh. I draw in a sharp gasp as he bites down. Hard. A full pain throbs along my inner thighs. His previous gentleness slips away. This will leave a bruise lasting for days.

“These are the only marks I want to see on your skin,” his passionate eyes look up from between my legs. The black balaclava covers the rest of his face aside from his lips. How I’d love to run my hands through his hair.

Simon’s arms wrap around my legs to hold me down by my hips. I grasp the belt with whitened knuckles as he moves up, leaving another mark, but not before pressing an apologetic kiss to the area. Small whimpers escape my tight throat as he switches legs and leaves a growing trail of marks closer and closer to the hem of my underwear. I want him to make me feel good again.

“Please Simon,” I feel his lips humorously twitch against my skin.

He pulls away and all of his delicious warmth leaves with him. Simon rests on his knees, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight before him. All I can think about is the heat of his hands as they travel over my skin. Fuck, I need him. I need him everywhere. In the darkest parts of my body and soul.

A rough thumb traces over my lips. “You still want this?” there’s doubt in his voice, like he’s expecting me to change my mind.

“So, fucking bad,” my lips move against his thumb. I take him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the thick digit, lightly starting to suck on him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he mutters under his breath. His other hand slides beneath his jeans as I press my mouth further down on his thumb. But I don’t let him relish in the feeling.

“I need you, Simon,” I murmur. “Please, sir,” my voice is breathy and desperate.

I can feel the need pooling between my thighs. I ache for his touch.

His hands light my skin on fire as he slips my underwear off, pulling them down my legs. Simon wastes no time stepping out of his jeans, his large erection straining against his boxers.

“Of all thing things I’ve wanted to do to you,” he cups himself over the fabric. I wait for him to expand on his thoughts, but he doesn’t, simply leaving them to hang in the thick air.

Simon grasps himself over his boxes, slowly stroking as he watches me. My eyes never leave his. I feel the growing heat of the fire burning within me. With every stroke, he stokes the flames.

He leans down, lips hovering above mine. One hand gently holds my cheek while the other wraps around his tip. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes into my mouth before tenderly meeting my lips. A small vein of nervousness is present at the back of my mind, but I channel all of my attention into my growing desire.

Simon adjusts his position as the boxers slide down. The anticipation is too much. He bites his bottom lip as the head of his cock traces my entrance. My heart is pounding. My hands grasp at the belt.

“Relax,” he glances up at me. “You’re tense.”

A gentle hand massages my inner thighs along the bite marks he left. The length of his shaft glides across my clit, sending tingles up my spine.

“Simon-”

“Look at me y/n. I want to see your face when I stretch you out,” my breathing falters at his words. I dare to look him in the eyes just as he pushes in for the first time. Fucking hell. The feeling is completely unmatched. My breathing is heavy. Simon’s thumbs rub reassuring circles along my inner thighs to ease the sensation between my legs.

“Oh God,” I whimper, tensing around his thick tip. His eyes hungrily watch my expression, burning it to memory. The amount of pleasure he gets from watching is almost equal to that of participating. Simon’s fingers circle my clit with a heavy pressure. I feel the throbbing intensify as he begins to push deeper. I hold back a whimper as he pushes deeper, stretching my tight walls around him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he growls. “You’re doing so good.”

Simon gently moves back before thrusting further in. My walls pulse around his thick cock as he picks up pace. My legs are wrapped around his broad back. One of his hands roughly kneads a breast as he bows his head into the nape of my neck. The metal dog tags hanging around his throat swing in the space between us, bouncing against my skin.

Simon’s breath is hot as it travels down my neck and across my chest. With every clench around him, I’m rewarded with soft needy moans into my ear as he nips at my lobes.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” his breathy voice rumbles against my neck. I feel the tightness in my stomach begin to build as he thrusts harder and his hands press into my clit. The world around me blurs. I’ve never been fucked this hard before. He feels so damn good; it’s like he was made just for me.

His hand drags across my breast, up to my neck as he wraps his strong fingers around the vulnerable area. I should’ve known he wants complete control. For so long he had none, now it rules every aspect of his life.

“You take me so well, y/n,” my name drips sweetly off his tongue like honey. I want to hear him say it over and over again. y/n. y/n. y/n. Fuck, does that sound good.

Every muscle in my body begins to tighten. My breathing quickens. My heart is racing. Every sense feels incredibly heightened. A lucid feeling begins to take over as Ghost’s grip around my throat tightens.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” his hand moves to my jaw.

“I’m close,” I gasp as the blood rushes back to my face. My cheeks feel hot under his intense gaze. “Simon I-” his name rolls off my tongue, but I lose track of my thoughts. With every thrust, I feel him deeper in my soul. All of the pain. All of the tortures of our diverged pasts are melding together. Right now, I have all of him.

Simon keeps his pace but thrusts his throbbing cock even harder. The sound of skin hitting skin overtakes the crackling fire. The heat is almost too much. Like a flame under a tank of propane. Pressure builds under the heat, ready to combust.

“I, I-” fuck, I can’t think. It’s too much. His hands are tightly woven into my skin. My fingers are white against the leather. My heartbeat is so damn loud. My face twists towards the covers as my body writhes under his touch.

“Don’t look away now sweetheart,” his voice is so incredibly thick with need. “I’ll stop if you look away,”

His dark eyes are a whirlpool pulling me in. Suddenly I forget how to swim. Simon drags me under as his thick fingers wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasp as my lungs breathe in water. His lips are heavy against my own. My vision darkens and no other pleasure in the world can match the burning sensations coursing through my veins. My orgasm is the sun’s light from the bottom of the ocean.

I break the surface as Simon’s hot lips hastily press against my forehead. His movements quicken and his grunts deepen. His hands roughly grab onto my waist as he thrusts into me with uneven, jarring movements.

“Fuck, Simon,” the whimper is soft against his skin and the cause of his undoing. His hard cock throbs against my walls once more as he collapses against me from pleasure and exhaustion. Simon’s heavy body lays limp on top of mine. The weight is comforting and safe. No one else in the world can touch me. Only him.

Simon reaches up to undo the belt and free my hands which find their way to his broad back. I trace invisible pictures across the vast space, skimming across old scars and the edge of his tattoo. His hand gently runs down the length of my hair, petting the top of my head. I feel my eyes begin to droop as sleep creeps up from behind me. I want him to hold me forever.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, arms caging me in as his dark eyes peer down at me. The emotions behind Simon’s eyes are too conflicted to decipher. A cautious thumb brushes along the side of my face. For a moment, he simply stares at me, trying to memorize everything that’s just happened and the gravity of it.

“Y/n, I need you to listen very closely,” he murmurs, pulling the balaclava back over his jaw. I feel my brows furrow as a different type of tension takes over.

“Okay,” my voice is barely audible.

“No one can ever know about this,” Ghost’s tone is soft, but I don’t miss the significance that is present. I pause to think about his words. Really think about them. What are the consequences of what we’ve just done? Our actions have just irreversibly complicated 141’s entire mission. Possibly even damaged it.

“What happens if they find out?”

Simon doesn’t respond. I feel a growing, hollow, cavity within me as I consider what happens to the people who interfere with their missions.

This was a mistake. A consequential mistake.

Pt 15:

#cod ghost imagine #cod imagine #cod ghost #cod #mw2 fanfic #mw2 imagine #call of duty mwii #mw2 #ghost mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley angst #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #he knows

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

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𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽!

i’m currently not active atm but feel free to pursue my previous works <3

here's a short lil explanation as to where i am lol

click me for asks + requests :)

requests: closed atm!

pairings status: closed atm!

rules for requests - i love when you send things 💌

note - message me or comment on any one of my works if you want to be added to a tag list :)

I usually post on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays

izzie's fic recommendations - updated daily!

some things about me :)

the basics: 22, she/her, from the us :)

i'm a third year pharmacy student! also minoring in justice, law, and society

along with writing, i also intern at a retail pharmacy during the summer and a psychiatric hospital during the school year

so naturally my pharmacist series is my absolute favorite to write and research!

𝓶𝔀𝓲�� 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 - the full masterlist

don't know where to start? here's a few readers' favorites :) ❤️ - izzie’s favorites

💌 if you want to peek at all of my writings

S E R I E S

"your prescription is ready for pick-up" - 141 x pharmacist!reader

all of my works and our pharmacist reader

a panacea❤️ - 141 meets the cure to all their ailments

sick day visit - you prided yourself on never getting sick but the day has finally come. as you’re resting in your quarters, a certain group pays you a visit :)

fake hypochondriac ghost x reader (sequel to “a panacea”) - ghost goes to extreme lengths to see his favorite pharmacist

pain-killer fueled thoughts price x reader (sequel to “a panacea”) - price landed himself in the medic tent and his pain killers are making him tell the pharmacist his feelings.

keep your weapons hot and bodies hotter (18+) - stripper!141 x fem!reader (codename: Phoenix)❤️

hunk-o-mania 141 edition - feast your eyes on Delilah's Den's newest male dancers

playboy bunny phoenix edition - an unforeseen guest complicates the mission, now you have to get ready to act as the distraction on stage

the joys of civilian life - 141 x civilian!fem!reader

opposite occupations - while on leave, the boys each meet a civilian that makes their time deployed and defending their country worth it

family moments - 141 x fem!reader

little moments and little voices - precious moments you spend in your home with your husband and children :)

oh, darling, don’t you ever grow up - your husband leaves this world too early and now you have to pick up the pieces with your children

secrets and pointed fingers (requested!)❤️ - simon "ghost" riley

behind locked doors - when the 141 thinks you're the mole, they make sure to extract the information in whatever way possible

empty apologies and avoiding glances - when you return back to base, everything is far from normal

half empty glasses and unchanging perspectives - you try to run away from the trauma at the pub but with a glass in hand, simon finds you

O N E - S H O T S

odd hobbies - 141 x reader everyone has their own hobbies, yours are just unique to 141’s perspective

butterfly effect - 141 x fem!reader they say "a butterfly flaps its wings in the amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of europe." what once was a silly quote now has implications as one action leads to your death.

opposite of a meet cute❤️ - 141 x civilian!reader most people have a cute story as to how they met their significant other but yours is a little more eccentric

V I S U A L S + R A N D O M

random things in pockets and bags❤️ SERIES - what does the 141 carry on them when they’re on leave?

pt i- kyle “gaz” garrick

pt ii - simon "ghost" riley

pt iii - johnny "soap" mactavish

pt iv - john price

E X P L A I N S my series of explaining the various timeline's of the games and characters

simon "ghost" riley's backstory

which modern warfare game should i play first?

some writings from the inbox

medication mixup - the medic unknowingly prescribing you a penicillin has disastrous results due to your allergy

141’s dossier - see what the dossiers laswell gets at the end of mw 2019 looks like! + template

ghost’s doppelgänger - how does the 141 and los vaqueros react to you joining the team? their reactions are even better when you share an uncanny resemblance with ghost

running mascara - 141 x fem!reader harsh words are said and you try your best to run away from the cause. however, everyone needs to face the issue eventually and now the 141 is left to pick up the pieces. initially part of my 1k celebration but i added a sequel as it was highly requested! PART I and PART II

mw2 x reader - my ongoing series of pairing y'all up and writing a short lil blurb about how you met and your relationship

izzie’s 1K celebration! - closed now :) but feel free to look and see some of the prompts + how i answered them

𝓪𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓬 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓼

#tag list #masterlist

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newtonsheffield · 5 months ago

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If the show makes Kanthony have a daughter first (as a lot of people are speculating as it kind of wraps up Anthony’s whole ‘wed bed bred’ mantra he had in season 2) will you incorporate this into some stories?

I know we love sweet little Neddy over here, but it would be refreshing to see Lottie make an appearance

Maybe. I highly doubt it’ll be a girl though because it would invite an awkward narrative, not from Kate and Anthony, but from other characters that they couldn’t produce an heir. It’s a much neater bow that they already have an heir and their line is secure

Of course, we could have seen this but no. No idea if baby’s even been born yet. With how free and easy they play it with timelines Kate and Anthony will likely return from India with no baby and her still 23 months pregnant 😂

At least Simone has said Kate Sharma’s here to stay

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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lightlysaltedtaters · 1 year ago

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Okay, this might just be some incoherent rambling but Fiona’s apparent knowledge that her world was supposed to be magic put this idea in my head and its been driving me nuts so here we go.

Going under the assumption that Fiona World and regular Ooo have the same timelines, Fiona, like Finn, was about 17-18 at the time that Ice King turned back into Simon, removing the magic from Fiona world. So essentially, this girl spent her entire childhood and teen years in a magical world, filled with wonder and fantasy, and as soon as she became an adult, the world around her *literally* lost all of its magic and became a boring, monotonous place. Her childhood was all fun and adventure and magical creatures, and adult life came with such a drastic tone change that she was ultimately unable to cope with it and was constantly searching for a way to return her life to that magic she knew as a kid. And not to be that guy, but that is one HELL of an allegory for growing up!

#like seriously make me a kid again plz #i cant handle adult life i need magic #growing up= scary #i want to be a kid again #fiona and cake #adventure time #fionna the human #fiona campbell #cake the cat #finn the human #finn mertens #jake the dog #simon petrikov #ice king #growing up #analogies

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mushroomnoodles · 5 months ago

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I didn't get...what Simon's babies are supposed to be. Golbetty puts some low level kind of gods inside Simon's belly? like here ya go Asmosdeus Chrysanthemus the VIII you are going to be reborn as my malewife's baby??????

hrmm.. how do i describe this.. i hope this answers ur question since i'm not entirely sure what you're asking atm!

nobody's reborn. they're entirely new lives! morrigan (and selaphiel, non-canonly,) is a fragment of golbetty's power given life. the others are simply the byproduct of simon and golbetty's cosmic energies mixing.

they're deities, lesser deities!

#a #i have a mproblem #simon returns timeline #implied mpreg #chaos goddess fiancee

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callofdudes · 1 year ago

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I need to see this happen !!

Could you do a platonic Gary roach Anderson headcanon please, but with a twist. MWII 22 timeline please

My little bug boy! I'm currently laying out a timeline for him, so guys, seriously, ask me about Roach. I'm building an empire of lore for this man in MWll 22. Thank you for blessing us @itsscromp

Gary 'Roach' Sanderson headcanons

The timeline that I'm working out for my favorite bug boy is that he was forced to go KIA after a mission gone too far south a couple months after Simons return from his capture with Roba. 22 timeline, somewhere within the time Simon was still in rehab.

Friendly reminder in the og, Simon was shot and killed, Gary had to watch as both were burned alive.

So I headcanon that he shares some burn scars with Simon. And has some of his own.

When he is introduced back to our sergeant, Egg, as we now call you. It's on a whim excursion. I think I'm sticking to the idea that Simon happens to recognize him when out in public with you and that's how it started.

You start to get along well with him, even if he does stick by Simon most of the time. The two attached at the hip. He's quiet, and you often see him using sign language when alone with Simon.

Gary could talk, but was often much more comfortable with sign language. Actually talking and trying to find words a lot of times put some mental stress on him.

A lot of times, having to speak and not having the right words can frustrated him to tears.

"Roach, where are those papers you were supposed to get to the main office."

Gary opened his mouth, faced with a commanding officer than wasn't Price. Gary is strong, but when in a situation like this he can't focus. He couldn't find words. It's like he was stuttering together something in his head but he couldn't verbally get it out.

His hands moved anxiously, knowing he couldn't sign his way out. Stuck in place. He tried to speak, but nothing would come out. The officer only questioning him again, telling him to just spit it out.

Noticing Gary's growing anxiety, you came over and lightly tapped his arm. "It's ok Gary." You whispered.

Gary attempted some frazzled sign language, his own lack of communication making him frustrated, tears reaching his eyes.

You squeezed his arm. "Gary did send them in but there have been slow processing times down at the office recently. You should get it soon."

The officer seemed to accept this explanation, and you were left with Gary.

He whined in frustration and you rubbed his arm. "Hey, it's ok. It's ok, we got there in the end."

And you decided hey, if he liked to talk in sign language, what's the harm in trying to learn? So you started to spend some of your free time every day trying to learn BSL.

And eventually you had learned enough for some basic conversations, signing Hi! From your seat in the cantine, grabbing his attention. Gary gently patting Simon's arm and tugging him over to sit with you, signing back.

You smile nervously at him, attempting the sign from across the room, hopefully he'd see it.

You could see how his eyes lit up when you signed to him. He immediately grabbed Simon's sleeve, grabbing his lunch plate and tugged him over to you.

He sat down across from you and signed back. Again getting excited when you signed back. Simon sat next to you, also joining in.

You didn't know a lot, and Gary tried to keep his sign simple, experimenting sometimes of what you knew.

He was touched that you were learning sign for him so you could be a part of his choice to go nonverbal.

That's how the real conversation started. You started to ask him questions, things about himself and how things were before he left. Before all the shitty stuff happened and you arrived. And Gary is happy to talk.

I think that Gary is very selectively mute with his people. He will speak but there has to be a trust there. Whether it's the trust Simon shares with you, you learning BSL or just doing little things to help him around back on base he feels secure with you.

A life of learning to not trust people did that to him, and his family life was probably a little rocky. But he trusts you, eventually getting deep into conversation with you.

Also, you're going to have to clarify to him if you like bugs or not right off the bat before he shows you his... friends.

And while he's all about bugs, he's also a flower guy. Nature in general is his favorite topic but I think he knows a lot about flower language. Another way he conveys how he feels.

Silly, but I think he has a bunch of those fake flowers and a vase in his room, so whichever flower is in the vase the guys at least somewhat know how he's feeling without him having to use the words to express it.

Hes very athletic and flexible. He can fit into anything. It's not uncommon to see the little guy lounging on top of the fridge before Price has to swat him off. Or hearing him crawling through some of the vents by the gym or something.

One time placed a speaker in the air vent by your room and started playing creepy noises. You only called him out when you heard that little giggle.

Quiet, but I think he has the most distinct giggle. Like, you know it's Gary. It's not quite a cackle, but it is in a way. It's very distinct to him.

Once let a recruit get away with having a tarantula on base because he thought it was cute. Simon screamed at him when the thing got out.

Gary is as silly as he is tactical. Let's not forget just how amazing he is at his job. Gary is the guy who can get in and out without being noticed. Under the cover of a snowstorm you would never see him.

He's Ghost's main team up, of course he's skilled.

When you get surrounded by enemy soldiers with nowhere left to run you think you're going to die. Until the enemies start getting shot down from bloody hell know where! Precise bullet after bullet until their down. Only then does Gary pop up.

"Surprise! Miss me??"

Has bug themed pajamas.

Did a spicy pepper challenge and was crying on your lap for over an hour while quivering and blowing his nose into the thoughts of used tissues. It was not good.

Once got a lip piercing once as a 'dare'. Was sad when Price eventually found out about it and made him take it out ��️

Took you to the zoo once, wanted to spend all his time by the bats and the snakes. They even had a tank of spiders that he desperately attempted to get you near because 'look how cool and pretty they are!'

Gary is also an incredible comforter. He's small, but he attempts to lay across you. If you're bigger than him, he'll starfish out across your chest, snuggling his head into your chest to try and keep you cozy.

If you've had a nightmare he'll wrap a blanket around you and stay with you.

He snuggled up to you, wrapping his arm around you. He tilts his head a little, pulling down his mask to offer you a crooked little smile of reassurance.

"It's ok." He whispers, trying to calm your shaking. He takes your hand, bringing it close to his chest, making sure you're ok.

"It was just a nightmare, I promise." He whispers again.

You lean against him, and he embraces it, taking the weight for you. "I got you, I won't let anything hurt you ok?"

"Thank you Gary..."

You once saw him slap Simon hard across the face (a little spat) and you thought that little man was going to die. Apparently Gary has the powers of the sun because Simon just nodded and shut up. Like what!?

You love him but you're also scared of him...

He's as cute as he is deadly, and just... Be careful with him. 😅😅

(sorry if I mentioned Simon too much, realistically I think they are brothers who would not go anywhere without the other)

#call of duty #call of duty roach #call of duty modern warfare #gary roach sanderson headcanons #gary roach sanderson #gary sanderson #roach x reader #cod headcanons #platonic #platonic x reader #gary roach sanderson x reader #simon ghost riley #modern warefare ii

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shotmrmiller · 9 months ago

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Ok 22 Simon forgets about 09 wife when she returns to her timeline but does SHE forget? Does she wake up confused, patting the empty space on the bed next to her, blindly searching for the warmth of Simon's body while still half asleep? Does she think it was all a dream? Or does she realize she Has to grieve the loss of her Simon again? This time, it might even be more painful - she knows he's alive somewhere, but she can't possibly reach him through space and time, wondering if she'll ever see him again, or if this was some kind of a sick, twisted way of the universe trying to give her closure; bonus time she wished she could have spent with him before losing him forever

i'd say she thought it a dream. taking your last sentence, that she believes it's the universe's way of giving her a little more time with him before his death finally sinks in, and she knows he's gone for good.

and she wouldn't think something was missing. she wakes and feels lighthearted. it's bittersweet, sure, but she saw her husband full of life again, even if it was all in her head.

and for 22 simon? he finds the missing piece of the puzzle in a tiny bookstore, holding one too many books in her hands.

her features are too familiar, and the first words that spill out of his mouth are, "I've dreamt of you for so long."

She thinks it the greatest pick-up line in existence, but he meant every word.

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juvenillia · 1 year ago

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~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 14: weak

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

a/n: did we needed another filler chapter to build up some emotions, yes we did. Just read and enjoy, the next chapter will be different and we finally start building the main plot hehe [I know that keegan is another timeline but I wanted him to be there]

CW/TW: mentions of insecurity, guilt, shame, fluff, angst, violence, the usual stuff

wordcount: 2.3k

prev | masterlist | next

"Sir, with all my respect, you can't be serious?!", you looked shocked and with disbelief at Price. "That's nothing to discuss. You aren't in a state of heading out " Price's usual soft voice turned completely stoic. Looking with a stern face and you knew you couldn't convince him otherwise. "Rog’.", you answered defeated and went off for the common room. It was a few days after you returned to the base, and everything felt kind of normal. Well, at least the most. What wasn't normal was the amount of awareness people - your teammates - showed you.

You literally felt like you were a little weak child because everything they suggested let you feel like you were made from glass. Ghost wouldn't let you go to the gym, especially not alone. So, he made sure you didn't strain yourself and the still fresh wounds. Johnny wouldn't let you eat alone. Making sure you ate enough, and rations with enough nutrition. Kyle would make sure, that you didn't have to do any paperwork at all, using this time rather for proper rest. And now Price didn’t even allow you on the next mission was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

You sat on the couch, an annoyed expression on your face, while Johnny looked concerned at you. "Bonnie what's wrong?" - "Does something hurt? Need us to get something for you?", Kyle joined leaning a bit forward. "Could you just stop treating me like a baby. God damn.", you cried out while immediately standing up again. Your Lieutenant just walked through the door and looked as concerned as Johnny at your figure. By now you were quite able to read his expression from his eyes. It wasn't that hard, because to be honest, his eyes were actually highly expressive. "And you, don't you even start Lieutenant. I'm capable of taking care of my own. So fucking stop it.", you point your finger at him before stomping out back to your barracks. Maybe it was unfair to react that way, they only wanted to help, to take care of you, but at this point it only annoyed you. You were a soldier, just like them. As Ghost caught the bullet nobody even cared about him going the gym the next morning or even heading out to the next mission. But you? You were treated like a rookie who was new to all that and it made you sick. You accepted Price's decision, but not the way you were treated by the boys. It was too much. They always saw you as equal, why not now?

That way you actually relaxed as they head out to the mission you were excluded from. Sure, you told them to take care and come back save, but you finally had some peace. Well, this relaxed feeling didn't stay long. The first day was calm. You could finally go to the gym without the scolding voice of Ghost lecturing you about the workout you wanted to do. You met with one of the Sergeants, the one that already recommended some training sessions to you before. He didn't know about your injuries and therefore you could finally push your limits again. Not to overdo it of course, you knew your body and your limits. And you still had the harsh voice of Ghost in the back of your head. Afterwards you went to take care of some of the new gathered intel. Trying to draw patterns and fulfilling some tasks Price left you. The first night was restful. It was no miracle though, after you could finally exhaust your body again. The second day felt already off. You went to your morning run and neither Ghost or Soap did approach you and adjusted their pace to yours. You simply ran in silent. That was the first time you started to miss them. Until Keegan met your glance and you kind of challenged each other in running. You didn't last long though, the wound in your left abdomen still sending pulsating pain down your legs. But you'd be able to push you further day by day. But the pain in your chest also raised to each day. You weren't greeted by a blissful Gaz as you passed the common room. No new tea was spilled as you head to the canteen in now found silence. There was no Ghost at the table, already finished with his meal but still waiting for the two of you to approach.

Everything felt utterly weird without them around. It was almost confusing how you already grew so attached to the little things those men around you provided. At least you knew that the mission shouldn't take too long. Price assured you it would be about three days, and then they would be back and discuss everything further. But going after your routine at the base without them made you feel somehow lonely.

Sometimes it made you feel guilty, guilty that you moved on so easily. Shoving your previous team out of your mind. But you didn't. Nearly every day you thought about them. Especially Droplet and Kabuki, now, after the talk with König, of course as well about König and Meg. They were your family, and they would always stay that. But you couldn't deny that you already grew highly attached to the 141 as well. At this point you questioned your whole emotional base. Did you changed so much, that you could easily find someone new? A new family? Or were these four men so damn special? You couldn't tell. A question you couldn't answer, but you didn't care. You knew your world turned upside down since you joined them.

You sat here on your usual spot in the common area at the third day and still heard nothing from the team. That's when you started to become unsettled. The day passed by, and it grew long, and the night even longer. By the fifths day you couldn’t sleep at all. What would be if something happened? Something that you could have prevented. All those thoughts out dribbling themselves. You smoked more than usual, were restless pacing through your room. The most time of the day you spent in the office going after clues and patterns. Your mind wasn't able to settle. Nothing could grant you some peace of mind. Keegan spend more time with you, when you shuffled through the halls, trying to ease your mood a bit. It worked only the slightest. You weren't close, still you appreciated his company. But after all you felt nothing than truly weak by now.

You were at the seventh day without proper sleep. Your body was exhausted, you fell into small naps, but they gave you nothing than more headaches. Meanwhile the boys did finally enter the helicopter that brought them home. Exhausted heads, drained limbs, and tired eyes, but satisfied of what they've achieved. Kyle and Price were in the front and Johnny next to Ghost. Soap let his head fall back against the cold metal and smiled satisfied. That smile growing smug as his eyes caught Ghost starring at his phone. He had your contact open, searching for a message but there was none. You didn't reach out to them because you knew it was nonsense. Ghost knew as well, but still he hoped to get a sign that you were okay and waiting for him, wait no, for them. "Already missing her, eh, Lt?", Johnny poked his elbow in his side and Ghost immediately shoved the phone away and stared in the distant in front of him. "Och, c'mon.", Johnny's voice became a bit more teasingly. "To be honest, it was weird without her.", Gaz stated from the front. "Aye. Definitive. Cannae wait to see that brawl face again.", the Scot smiled full of mischief. Ghost only growled low. "You like her a bit too much, Soap.", Kyle exhaled, and Price only laughed. He laughed because he knew what Johnny tried to do but he didn't intervene. He had his own fun watching from afar and letting things come naturally. Waiting for the right moment when he really needed to intervene.

When the boys arrived at the base it was already dark outside. The sun had set some time ago and they were all off to their rooms, stuffing their belongings back where they were before, taking a highly anticipated shower and meeting in the common room. Everyone was quick with their tasks to find some rest in their usual spots in the meant room. Only Price was missing.

You found him as you walked to get yourself another coffee and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. "Cap!", you exhaled and ran over to him. He smiled softly at you. "You're back! Is everyone... "- "Everything is fine. We were met with some troubling circumstances, but we sorted it out.", he stated with his usual soft but firm smile. "I'm glad.", you exhaled, finally feeling your mind settling. "How are you, Skadi?" - "As fit as a fiddle." - "Good. I need to talk to you about something. Let's head to my office. Shall we?" You looked a bit confused at him, it was already late, they just came back, and he already needed something to discuss but you shouldn't be the person to judge. That's what your life in the military was always like. So, you followed him to the office and that way you could explain what you've found out during their absence.

After some talking you and Price joined the other in the common room and every ounce of stress that was still in your body left as you saw the relaxed figures of your team. "Welcome back, lads.", you said firmly, but happy while taking your by now usual spot at the bigger couch next to Ghost. Closer than usual, close enough that if you moved an inch more to your right, you could simply sit in his lap. Not that you wanted that, no, that would totally be inappropriate. "Are yer alright? Look exhausted.", Johnny looks at you with his tired but still joyful eyes. "I am fine.", you reassure them before they fell in their usual talks and chats. Of course, you're a bit nervous of what Price have told you but that could wait till tomorrow. Now you only wanted to ease the stress of the last days. To enjoy the company, you missed so much.

Simon felt the same. Some time ago his balaclava and a fag would do the comforting after a long and draining mission. Then later it was listening to Soap and Gaz brag about everything that happened during the operation and now. Now your presence, your smile took such a huge part in comforting him. It scared him as much as he embraced it. He was caught off guard when he suddenly felt a weight against him. Johnny abruptly stopped his talking and only looked in awe over. Price did chuckle the slightest while not averting his gaze and Kyle just kept talking, like nothing happened.

You knew that feeling to well. The comfort of the people you held dear around you. The safety for you to finally accept your weakness and just drift away. A feeling you were way too familiar with. Something the four of your former team could easily provide you with. The echoing of their laughter and talks, the warmth of the man next to you. It gave you something the silence of your own room never could. It gave you peace. Peace, you thought you lost back then. But somehow you found it again. You found it in the dramatical way Johnny told a story. In the way Kyle would mock him all the time, while Price laughter echoed through the room. And the way Simon sat next to you, a familiar warmth provided by his sheer presence. It made you feel safe and sound.

As Simon looked to his left, he could see your figure, once again deep asleep, but this time leaning against him. Your head comfortable resting against his statue. Sunken too low to lay on his shoulder, still comforting nuzzled against him. He could feel the warmth radiating from your body. Your chest slowly heaven. He was glad that he chose a hoodie for today. He couldn't bear the feeling of your soft cheeks against his skin. It would drive him mad. He cut out all his surroundings, his complete focus only laying onto your sleeping figure. He was also more than glad to wear his mask. The smug face of Johnny during the flight was already enough for him. Simon didn't want to give Soap the satisfaction of seeing the blush that creeped over his face. He wasn't used to this, so he didn't dare to move even a millimeter. Too scared he could wake you up, too scared you could move away from him. He liked the feeling of the warmth you provided. A feeling that went under his skin. He hated himself for interrupting all of that while carrying you to your quarters once more. He hated the feeling inside his stomach as he saw your adorable features, and the little gasps that left your lips when he tugged you under the covers of your bed. But he mostly hated his inner urge to just lay down next to you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him. He couldn't let himself show such a weakness. Because that's what you made him feel, weak.

taglist open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub @illuminwtesz @killergoddess97 @kaelaiscool @spiritndrain @anothersimpsblog

#simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #task force 141 #cod mw ghost #death of peace of mind #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost angst #ghost hurt/comfort

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sunonyoreface · 2 years ago

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 11

An: Change of pace, enjoy some fluff!

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 1700

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Ghost’s deep breaths and the crackling fire are the only audible sounds in the entire cabin. Over the last while, I became accustomed to all the different sounds of the task members at night. Snoring mostly, but there was always at least some noise. At home, I lived in a place across from a bar and was used to the sounds of sirens and cars and drunk people wandering the streets at night as they shouted at each other. Here it’s the complete opposite. There’s nothing to drown out my thoughts and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Ghost was in contact with Price who said they survived the raid, but lost several men. He wouldn’t tell me how many. Soap’s team and one other returning from a mission caught the tail end of the Ultranationalists as they were retreating with their recaptured members. 141 cut off the last Ultranationalists, but almost every prisoner escaped. Overall it was a loss, but they’re lucky nearly all of them survived. My mind drifts off to the man who was shot in the hanger. I wonder if he made it.

Part of me wanted to sleep on the floor instead of sharing a bed, but the floor’s cold and I already struggle with that enough as is. Ghost didn’t bring up the topic of who sleeps where, so neither did I. After our fight, he’s barely spoken.

Unfolded, the futon is the size of a double bed. It’s hard despite an old mattress topper being placed under the sheets and far from big enough for Ghost. He sleeps on his side and has to bend his knees just to stop his legs from hanging off the end. Several pillows and musty blankets were stashed away in one of the cabinets and currently wrap around me. Ghost said he didn’t want any, so I took his because you can never have too many blankets.

A soft orange glow escapes a small window in the wood stove. It’s just bright enough to see the outlines of everything in the cabin. I’ve always liked warm light like this. Maybe it’s an innate thing passed down from my ancestors all those years ago who slept beside fires every night. Maybe its because the light confirms that the most dangerous thing in the room lies next to me in bed and not creeping in the shadows.

I’ve had to pee for at least an hour but don’t want to go outside to the outhouse. There’s no indoor plumbing, but there is a double-seater with a moon carved into the door. I glance at the sleeping man beside me. The feeling’s only going to get worse. I’ll be quiet. He won’t notice.

I slip my legs out of the blankets and onto the hardwood floor. My back hurts from the mattress already. Just as I’m about to stand up, something latches on to my wrist with an unnatural strength.

“Where’re you going?” Ghost’s voice is deeper than normal. He props himself up with his other arm. And I thought I was a light sleeper. But maybe he was awake this whole time.

“Washroom,” I whisper trying to stay quiet even though there’s no one to wake up.

“You have to tell me,” he grumbles. I roll my eyes at his remark. I don’t know if he thinks I’m stupid enough to run away or that maybe I have other intentions.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he catches the irritation in my tone.

“You don’t know what’s out there,”

“I doubt anyone’s followed us here,” I say, but I don’t really know. Neither does he.

“Don’t be a fool,” his hand remains on my arm. “Besides there’s wildlife out there. Wolves. Coyotes.”

“How about you watch from the window,” I say. “I don’t think you need to hear me use the toilet,” I tack on at the end to discourage him.

“Fine,” He mumbles. I bite my lip to hide my smile. It worked. “Take my jacket,” he releases his grasp to reach the jacket hanging on the arm of the futon. When I shrug it over my shoulders, it swallows me whole. The inside is lined with a soft, welcoming fleece. A scent of gunpowder and something decidedly more earthy engulfs me as I pull the zipper up to my nose.

“Thanks,”

I never imagined myself peeing outside before, but here we are. The toilet seat is so cold against my legs the need almost completely disappears. Not to mention how dark it is in here with no electricity. I want to leave the door open to get some moonlight in here, but then I risk Ghost seeing in. I can suck it up for two minutes.

Outside, the night sky is otherworldly. There’s no light pollution or clouds blocking the stars and I can’t stop staring. There’s just a thin layer of compact snow on the ground, so I take the opportunity to lie down and look up at the sky. It’s cold, but nothing worse than the winters at home. There’s no harsh wind blowing against my skin, so it’s finally tolerable.

“What’re you doing?” heavy footsteps crunch against the snow. I smile to myself because this is the one place he can’t be quiet.

“Stargazing,” I whisper, “Shh, you’ll wake the wolves,” From the corner of my eye, I see Ghost look up at the stars and pause for a moment. I wonder if he cares about mundane things like this? Is he capable of seeing beauty after all the horrors he’s witnessed? In another breath, he disappears back into the cabin. Guess not.

After our fight, it felt like a storm passed over us. The tension eased just a bit as the wind died down. The waters returned to normal and then almost into glass. There’s no fighting against whitecaps as we try to make it to land. I wouldn’t go as far as saying it’s smooth sailing. But things aren’t nearly as rocky as they were before. For now, we have an understanding.

The crunching sound of footsteps approaches again and then Ghost does something out of character. He hands me his helmet with the night vision googles attached. I hesitate before grabbing it, what’s the catch? I look into his eyes for an answer, there’s a glint, but they hold no malice. The helmet is heavy in my hands. I can’t believe he wears this all day. His neck must constantly ache.

“Flip the lenses down and look at the stars with them,” he says. I sit up to put the helmet on. It’s an unnatural feeling: like there’s a brick of cement sitting on my head. Ghost crouches down and reaches for the strap to tighten it. “Stay still,” his hands brush against the sensitive skin on the underside of my chin as he fixes the strap so the helmet won’t slide off my head. He switched out the bloody skull mask for a plain, black balaclava before bed. It humanizes him, seeing him wear something else. He’s less hidden with this one. Although his face is still covered with black paint, it’s easier to read his expressions. The balaclava highlights the outline of his strong cheek bones and jaw. His eyes almost look kind under the moonlight.

My heart skips a beat when Ghost flips down the night vision lens. It’s like looking at a whole new world. I look around at the trees first and notice how far I can see. Everything looks like it has a green filter.

“Look up,” his voice is eager. So, I do. And what I see is almost indescribable. I feel like I can see every star in the universe. It’s breathtaking. Hypnotizing. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s…” I can’t find the words I’m looking for and for a moment I don’t know if they exist. The men who created our language weren’t alive to witness a sight such as this. And so, the dictionaries remain empty. “Incredible,” will have to do.

“The goggles are the best part about night missions,” he says as he lays down beside me on the cold ground. Ghost crosses his arms across his chest to keep his hands warm. His shoulder brushes against my arm and I notice he isn’t watching the stars.

In the silence of the woods, I feel the safest I’ve felt in weeks. The world feels like it’s asleep. We’re the only people around for miles. There are no other task members are walking around with oversized guns, or angry prisoners, or the looming threat of an Ultranationalist raid. There’s just Ghost. And right now, he doesn’t feel like much of a threat.

“Can you see the stars at home?” I ask.

“No.”

“Me either.”

I let the silence hang in the air for a while longer. The frosty night air caresses my face. Our breath is visible in tiny puffs of clouds.

“Do you want them back?” I turn my head to look at him. His black balaclava takes on a whitish glow under the lens.

“Keep ‘em for now,” his voice is quiet but awake. Any drowsiness from before has disappeared. I have a feeling most of his nights are spent awake.

I don’t know how long we’re out there, maybe an hour or so. Ghost points out the different constellations in the sky. I thought it might be a personal interest, but then he says they’re used for navigation when they don’t have access to GPS or maps. If you know important reference points or certain constellations, you’ll never be lost. He speaks quietly to preserve the stillness around us and guides my vision with his hands as he points out each constellation. The man beside me is a completely different one than a few hours ago. This one, I like. I could listen to his soothing voice talk about the stars all night. In the back of my mind, I think about how often our arms brush each time he points out a new star, how I shifted closer to feel his shoulder press harder against mine.

It’s only when the cold starts to seep into my bones that I suggest we head back in. This whole time Ghost was out here in just his Henley and jeans. Yet he didn’t complain once. I wonder if he ever complains. Or if he just pushes every emotion to the back of his mind until it’s ready to burst.

“They’re beautiful,” I say once again as I hand Ghost back his helmet.

He searches my eyes for quite some time before agreeing.

“They are.”

PT 12:

#COD MW2 #cod ghost #cod ghost imagine #cod imagine #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #simon riley fluff #GHOST FLUFF #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mwii

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childotkw · 17 days ago

Note

Hi jordan! Hope you're doing well! It's flourdove (to clarify because username change aha) - I've been doing my seasonal ybtm reread and my annual surf through the ybtm tag on your tumblr (just full of gems. Dopamine hit goes crazy). Lots of stray thoughts...

This time around I've been reading especially slowly to soak in all the details (it's a trend. I go slower for each reread) and I can't believe I actually missed the elder wand detail in the beach/shade scene and THEN missed the implications in the first (I believe) Grindelwald scene when he mentions the wand disappearing and then coming back with grains of white sand on it. Want to smack myself on the head for that because even though it's not necessarily... a huge detail (I think) it's still something that's kinda embarrassing to miss aha I've been thinking about if Nathan actually lived through his accident and Harry never came to take his place, and how exactly all that would go, especially in regards to characterization because amnesia can be wild considering how it varies from case to case. That AU would be interesting imo and it is Tempting to try and take it on - though if I did, I might be biting off more than I can chew (I am not the plot genius of genius master that you are). one day (one day...)

Also have been chewing on Harry-Turns-Into-Simon AU, I love big brother potter and it Hurts. I think the image of Tom nagging Simon!Harry would be very funny and also disconcerting because I have a hot white hatred for that child (as much as I'd like to pick at his brain) regardless... hope you're having a good day! I am waiting very patiently for ybtm21. Have a polite lioness

(2/2) I forgot to add this before hitting send on my last ask but for nathan lives it'd also be. Real Amnesia. If the tangent on how amnesia varies didn't make it clear sorry!!!

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

Hello love! Thanks for the update - and congrats on your new username! And thank you for the lion 🥰

Ahhhh yes, the elder wand! I did sneak that one in there hahah Grindelwald is very much befuddled by what's going on with it, but the pieces are kinda coming together for him 😂

If Nathan never got taken over, and Harry never came to be in this time, I think that would be a very dark timeline indeed. Nathan would either go one of two ways - he would continue to drown under the weight of the horrific treatment he was being subjected to, or he would, with a truly stunning amount of courage, find a way to overcome things.

Because I want my boy to be happy, let's say it's option two.

Maybe Nathan wakes up, disorientated and confused, but accepting of what the doctors tell him. He was injured, he hit his head, he has amnesia. It's not quite a 'factory reset' but it does lead to some changes in his personality and reactions to things.

He's convinced by his parents to take his time with his recovery, and then, most likely, to remain home-schooled rather than return to Hogwarts. Nathan has no drive to go back to the castle anyway, since he can't remember anything about it, and Simon's horrible whispered words have told him that whatever bullying had occurred, it had occurred there.

So, our boy is home-schooled, and what do you know? When taken out of a crushing and toxic environment where everyone is out to get him, Nathan flourishes. His tutor is a kind but strict woman who pushes him at just the right speed to get him to excel.

He takes his OWLs and his NEWTs months and years in advance with her hand guiding him and his ambitions, and he passes both with flying colours because he's had a dedicated teacher that's only focus is on him, not hundreds of other students.

Nathan doesn't know exactly what he wants to go into - he doesn't think he has the right temperament to be an auror, despite some boyhood dreams of his - so he instead turns his focus to the Unspeakables.

Normally, being hired as an Unspeakable doesn't happen straight out of school, and especially not to someone graduating years before they usually should. It requires decades of study to even be considered. But Nathan's tutor, who is more well connected than even he knew, gets him an interview. He gets himself the job.

It's boring work initially, being a gopher for his older colleagues, but as he proves his competence and knowledge, they start getting him onto more and more interesting, and dangerous, projects because the Unspeakables play fast and loose with rules and what do they care if he's not hit his majority? He wears the robes and the mask. He's one of them

Nathan loses years down in the dark bowels of the Ministry, but they are some of the best years of his life. He distantly hears about Grindelwald's defeat, and the frantic running of his Acolytes all across the globe, but pays it no mind because the device in his hands is far more fascinating.

Around that time, he gets a letter from his old tutor, asking to meet.

He goes, of course he does, because he hasn't seen his parents in months and has been ignoring their letters even longer, but Leopolda was always offered him just that bit more than Benedict and Cynthia could with their love forever tainted with guilt.

More encouragement. More praise. More advice. More magic.

That's why he does nothing when she introduces him to her brother, Klaus. That's why he says nothing when she admits to who and what they are.

That's why he takes her hand when she asks for help.

Nathan's an Unspeakable, and he specialises in wards - making them, destroying them, twisting them.

He can guess why they've come.

#samwichshiro #HP #ybtm(ibty)#nathan ciro #whoo boy this one went off the rails

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fanficapologist · 9 months ago

Text

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

“Shortly after what happened with Lucerys, I was sent to patrol other territories. I think my mother could not stand the sight of me after what had happened,” Aemond began, his tone tinged with bitterness. He poured himself a goblet of Dornish wine, the crimson liquid swirling within the golden vessel as he spoke. Maera, her green eyes narrowed in disdain, rolled them at his self-deprecating remark, her empathy for him all but extinguished.

“Once the Reach was deemed less of a threat, Daeron took over, and my focus shifted solely to preventing rebellions north of Kings Landing,” Aemond continued, his gaze fixated on the wine in his goblet, as if seeking solace in its depths. “The council decided that Harrenhal should be our first target. We believed they would align with Rhaenyra's cause, given the unofficial relation of her bastards to House Strong, and that the castle could serve as a rallying point for other Houses in the Riverlands.”

Maera's anger simmered beneath the surface as she listened to Aemond's explanation. Though she yearned for the truth, hearing it spoken aloud only served to fuel the flames of her resentment. She kept her dinner knife raised, its sharp edge pointed accusingly in Aemond's direction, her gaze piercing through him.

“I arrived at Harrenhal, and as expected, Lord Simon Strong proved to be stubborn,” Aemond continued, his voice tinged with frustration. “He refused to acknowledge Aegon as the rightful King, citing my father's proclamation in favor of Rhaenyra. We executed every treasonous Lord within the castle walls. And then... I met her.”

Maera's grip on the knife tightened harshly at his words, her knuckles turning white with the force of her rage. “Lust at first sight, was it?” she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Aemond scowled in response, his expression darkening with resentment at her jab.

“Her head was on the block, ready to be taken…But then she said your name,” Aemond revealed, his voice tinged with a mix of astonishment and uncertainty.

The revelation sent a chill down Maera's spine, her mind struggling to process the implications of what he had just disclosed. The witch, Alys, knew of her, spoke her name, and it was enough to convince Aemond to halt her execution. It was a notion both unsettling and inexplicable, leaving Maera grappling with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

“My name?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to acknowledge the significance of the witch's knowledge.

Aemond nodded solemnly. “And that you would be returning to King's Landing. At first, I dismissed it as a desperate attempt to prolong her life,” he explained, his tone tinged with a hint of skepticism. “But then she began divulging details about us—things that only someone privy to our lives could know.”

As Aemond set aside his goblet, rose from his seat and approached the hearth, Maera observed him closely, his profile illuminated by the flickering flames. “Once she started telling me details of battle strategies we were going to implement, decisions we had only made a few days before in King's Landing, I knew she had a gift.”

Maera couldn't suppress a scoff at the notion, her skepticism evident in her demeanor. Twirling the knife in her hand, she met Aemond's gaze with a mixture of incredulity and resignation. “You once warned me not to be charmed by pretty words,” she reminded him, her tone tinged with bitterness. “It seems that advice doesn't apply to you.”

Aemond turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “She told me to return home, promising that if her predictions proved false, I could take her head as planned,” he revealed, his voice tinged with remorse. “But I returned, and there you were, in the gardens. Where she said you would be.”

A pang of sadness washed over Maera as memories of that fateful encounter flooded her mind. She recalled the tumult of emotions she had felt upon seeing him again, the bitterness of their past grievances mingling with the flicker of hope reignited by his presence. She placed her dinner knife back into the table, her gaze filled with uncertainty as she rose from her seat and began to pace the room, her footsteps echoing softly against the chamber's stone walls.

“You believe her? That Alys has foresight?” Maera's voice quivered with a mixture of disbelief and frustration, her eyes fixated on the open window as she struggled to comprehend the implications of Aemond's revelation.

The Prince’s gaze bore into her, his violet eye piercing through her defenses with unnerving intensity. “We believe Helaena to be a dreamer. Why should this be any different?”

Maera flinched slightly at his response, her fingers picking nervously at the skin of her palms as she struggled to process his words.

“Thus far she has never been wrong,” Aemond continued, his voice tinged with conviction. “Some successes in this war are owed to her sight. Advances on territories, army placements, lords that would turn cloak.”

Maera's jaw clenched with renewed tension, her frustration boiling over as she lashed out at her husband. “So you bedded her?!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of accusation and betrayal.

Aemond's response was immediate, his own frustration evident as he walked slowly toward her. “She knew I wanted you!” he growled, his words echoing in the tense silence of the chamber. “She knew you were what I craved most. Even more than a dragon when I was younger.”

Maera's breath caught in her throat at his admission, her heart pounding erratically as she met his gaze with a mixture of disbelief and vulnerability.

Aemond’s expression mirrored her own turmoil, his apprehension palpable as he stood before her. His eye, usually so steely and resolute, now held a hint of vulnerability as it met hers. When he reached for her hand, Maera hesitated for a moment before allowing him to take it, feeling the reassuring weight of the ring he had given her, made from the remnants of her mother’s necklace. His thumb rubbed gently across her knuckles, eliciting a flicker of vulnerability in his expression as he gazed into her eyes.

For a moment, they stood locked in a silent tableau, the tension palpable between them. Then, with a soft exhale, Aemond cleared his throat, his voice interrupting the peace in the room.

“She said that as well as seeing things, she could also sway things. To my advantage if I wished it. But it would come at a price,” he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Maera furrowed her brow, her confusion deepening at her husband's revelation. “And you were willing to pay it?”

“I would have set this world ablaze if it meant I could have you,” Aemond declared, his resolve unwavering as he met Maera's gaze with unwavering determination, causing a faint smile to tug at the corners of her lips.

“She knew that Penrose twat lied, about your maidenhood,” he continued, the memory of past injustices stirring a twinge of anger within Maera.

“To find the evidence to clear your name, she asked for some of my blood, to mix into some tea before consuming it,” Aemond revealed, his tone solemn as he recounted the events that had unfolded. A soft laugh escaped Maera's lips, incredulous at the thought. Aemond's grip tightened on her hand, his touch offering a sense of reassurance amidst the tumult of emotions swirling between them.

The Prince tore his gaze away from Maera, his eyes focusing intently on their joined hands. “Larys confirmed Alys’s predictions. And your name was cleared. It backfired for me though. To even picture you with someone else… it was as if I was having a sword driven through my stomach every time the thought crossed my mind.”

As Maera stood before Aemond, emotions fought within her. Anger still burned hot within her, fueled by the betrayal she felt at his involvement with the witch. Yet beneath the rage, there was a flicker of something else—a begrudging acknowledgment of his unwavering devotion to her. She knew, just by looking upon his contoured face that he was speaking the truth.

In that moment of tension, Maera couldn’t help but reflect on the tumultuous journey their relationship had taken. Despite the trials and tribulations they had faced, it was plain to see the depth of their connection, a bond forged through shared experiences and unspoken understanding. They cared for each other deeply, almost desperately so.

“Alys knew that the daughter of a minor Lord would not be enough for a Prince, that you needed something the crown could use in order for an alliance to be forged,” Aemond revealed, his voice laced with a hint of remorse.

Maera subconsciously agreed that she had thought the same when her marriage arrangement was made with Aemond. After all, she was not the daughter of a powerful overlord like a Baratheon. Nor was the blood she shared with her mother Targaryen enough to strike up the match. The only thing that was truly used as a bartering tool to secure it was the inheritance she unexpectedly came upon.

“…the Straits. The fleet of Morne,” Maera muttered with a confused furrow of her brows. Did Alys foresee the tragedy would befall her distant family in order to secure the marriage?

Aemond’s gaze bore into hers, his expression fraught with guilt as he continued, “In return for a more powerful spell, to ensure it would be yours, she asked me for something else, something of greater value.”

Maera’s breath caught in her throat as she braced herself for his next words, her mind reeling with apprehension. The revelation that followed struck her with a profound sense of disbelief and betrayal.

“My seed. Through lying with her. Just once. And the spell was done,” Aemond admitted, his shame evident in the tension that gripped his features as he tightened his grip on her hand.

Maera attempted to construct the puzzle of revelations in her mind. Whilst her heart sank at Aemond admitting to not revealing the truth to her, she acknowledged that he said it was just the once. And since it was before she inherited Morne, it was before she and him were even betrothed. Before they had even shared their first kiss in Aemond’s chambers. A thought of hope began to bloom in her mind at the realisation that he had not betrayed her in that way. Yet as she looked upon his face once more, shame and apprehension was still painted across it, leaving her confused.

“It was the only way,” he murmured.

Maera blinked at his words before a thought occurred, causing the colour to drain from her face. Alys did not her predict Maera’s inheritance. She had caused it. The spell. The sudden outbreak of Consumption that had killed her mother’s twin, her aunt Viserra, her uncle Lord Byron, and all of their children and grandchildren. Gone, within an instant, due to a mysterious outbreak that came from seemingly nowhere. Maera’s inheritance was not a coincidence, nor was her marriage to Aemond. It had been caused by a spell of dark magic.

A shiver of dread coursed through Maera as she grappled with the weight of this revelation. The foundation of her marriage, the child in her womb, had been built upon deception and manipulation. And now, standing on the precipice of truth, she couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach.

Maera recoiled as if his touch were searing her skin, her hand instinctively pulling away from his as if burned. The revelation left her stunned and disbelieving, her mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of his actions. How could he have made a deal with a witch, consorting with her in a way that would lead to the deaths of her kin?

Feeling overwhelmed by the weight of betrayal and disbelief, Maera retreated to a nearby open window, seeking solace in the cool embrace of the night air. Leaning against the windowsill, she closed her eyes, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. In the distance, Maera could hear the distinctive sound of Ẽbrion on the beach, his thunderous roaring akin to the chaos swirling within her mind.

“Gods be damned, I do not believe this,” she managed to choke out, her voice trembling with disbelief and anguish.

As Maera turned to face him, she found Aemond rooted in place, his gaze unwavering. Fury surged through her veins, igniting like an uncontrolled wildfire as she unleashed her pent-up rage. “My Aunt and Uncle, my cousins, died in agony. All because of you!” Her accusation cut through the air like a blade, slicing through the tense silence between them.

Aemond’s voice matched hers in intensity, his anger burning as brightly as hers. “You had that trout hanging off of your arm!” His words dripped with contempt, a reminder of the past that only fueled Maera’s fury further. She shook her head at Aemond’s disdain for Lord Warren, the man who had once courted her, whose proposal she might have accepted if not for Alys’s intervention.

“Alys knew our union needed to happen. The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon,” Aemond asserted, his tone unyielding as he defended his actions. The familiarity of his words made her blood run cold. They were the same words Helaena had told her, after she found out Aemond had interfered with Maera’s proposal from Lord Warren.

“That Tully cunt was just as power-hungry as the rest of them, even with his charming words,” Aemond spat, his disdain evident. “After I saw him courting you, I offered him information that would ensure his succession to Riverrun. A prediction Alys had made about a weakness in Ser Elmo’s encampment. But I only would divulge it if he agreed to stop pursuing you. Of course, he accepted the terms.”

The revelation struck Maera like a blow to the chest, leaving her reeling with disbelief and betrayal. Everything had been orchestrated by Aemond, with the help of his witch of a whore. Frustration boiled within her, and with a cry of anguish, Maera’s fist collided with the stone wall beside her, the pain of the impact providing a momentary distraction from the turmoil raging within her.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, her voice raw with emotion as she struggled to process the enormity of the deception that had been woven around her. Confusion gnawed at her insides, mingling with a seething anger that threatened to consume her. She felt adrift, lost in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, unsure of which way to turn. At his hand, and with the aid of his witch, everything had been orchestrated by Aemond, shattering her trust and leaving her torn between the desire to embrace him and the urge to push him away.

The open window allowed the sounds from outside to fill the room. As well as Ěbrion’s screeches of anguish, now the deep bellow of Vhagar’s vocalisations also filled the air, each dragon’s roaring harmonising with each other, both growing louder and louder, as if they were both desperately vying to be heard by the other.

Stalking towards her once again, Aemond snapped at her, “You can stand there and tell me that you didn’t want this, but I know you did. And that you still do.” When he reached her side, he seized her by the tops of her arms and spun her around to face him, his sudden movement leaving her breathless and off balance.

His gaze bore into hers with an intensity that made her heart race, yet there was a softness in his single violet eye that belied the turmoil within him. “It’s us, Maera. It was always meant to be us, and our bloodlines. United.”

“You are fucking delusional,” Maera hissed, her voice dripping with contempt as she met his gaze head-on.

“And whose fault do you think that is, hmm?” Aemond's voice was laced with frustration, his fingers digging into her arms with a mixture of anger and desperation. “You think I wanted this? It sickens me, how you unravel my control, how you make me abandon reason and succumb to the fire you stoke within me.”

Maera looked on helplessly as he continued his rant, his words cutting through the tension in the air. “You are my blood and my bane, a tempest that both weakens and empowers me. You are the storm that drowns me, and the breath that sustains my existence. You challenge me, provoke me, and test me in every way imaginable.”

His grip on her arms faltered, and a rare vulnerability flashed in his eye. “You have changed me, issa daria, twisted me into something unfamiliar, and I am torn between resentment and begrudging admiration.”

Maera’s breath caught in her throat as tears welled in her eyes, her lip trembling with the weight of her emotions. She gazed up at him, her heart swelling with a mixture of longing and apprehension. A hand travelled to Maera’s face, cupping her cheek with tenderness. “Every day, you continue to torment me, as you have done since the day we met as children of nine years old, and I am torn between loathing you and longing for you.”

Aemond’s thumb traced gentle circles against the soft skin on her face. His piercing violet gaze held her captive, locking her in place as his head leaned down slowly to meet hers, bringing their faces mere inches apart.

“You are my curse and my salvation, my greatest weakness and my only desire.” His voice lowered, the words barely audible in the silence of the room. His sharp nose brushed against hers, sending a shiver down her spine as anticipation hung heavy in the air as he whispered against her lips, “And I hate myself for it.”

When Aemond’s lips finally met hers, it was as if a dam had burst, unleashing a flood of longing and desire that had been building between them for far too long. Their kiss was passionate and consuming, each movement of their lips synchronized in a dance of unspoken emotions. Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, their bodies pressed together in a fervent embrace. Maera melted into his touch, her hands finding their way to his long silver hair, fingers curling into the locks as if trying to anchor herself to him.

Maera’s mind wandered as she felt the Prince’s hands press into her desperately. He loved her, of that she had no doubt, yet the word itself had never passed his lips. She wasn’t even sure if Aemond truly understood the concept of love, but the intensity of his feelings for her was undeniable. He had been willing to forsake reason and logic, delving into dark magic to bind her to him, and every word he spoke now resonated with sincerity. And yet, he had still lied to her, betraying her trust in the most profound way possible, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal that lingered in the back of her mind.

As they broke apart, breathless and flushed with desire, Maera's gaze met Aemond's once more, her eyes reflecting the confusing maelstrom of emotions raging within her. There were no longer agonising sounds of dragons filling the air, just the gentle rustle of the wind and the distant crash of waves against the shore.

Aemond's hand, which had lingered on Maera's waist, ventured lower, finding its way to the subtle curve of her abdomen beneath the fabric of her black and gold dress. With the back of his hand, he stroked her growing stomach, his touch gentle, reverent almost, as if he were seeking solace in the presence of the tiny life growing within her. Yet, for Maera, the sensation was anything but comforting. Despite the warmth of his hand against her skin, she felt a cold knot of uncertainty coiling in the pit of her stomach.

Stepping back from his touch, Maera let out a weary sigh, her gaze fixed on the floor as she struggled to make sense of all she had been told. Aemond's violet eye pleaded with her, silently begging for understanding and forgiveness.

“Maera, I-“

“This… is a lot to process. I need some time to think,” Maera interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of her own arms. She looked up at her husband, who had not torn his gaze away from her. Despite the love she still held for him, in this moment, she was not sure if she could stand to be around him. “Alone.”

Aemond’s expression flickered with a brief flash of hurt before settling into a sad determination. With a respectful nod, he gathered his belongings from the shelf, the weight of his footsteps echoing in the now empty room as he departed without a word. Alone, Maera stood in a heavy silence, her emotions drained to the point of numbness. No tears came to her eyes now, only a hollow ache in her chest as she contemplated what to do next. The silence was broken only by the mournful roaring of Ēbrion echoing from the beach once again, a solitary cry in the night.

As the evening wore on, Thena tended to Maera, preparing her for rest. The room, once a sanctuary shared between husband and wife, now felt cold and unfamiliar. Maera sat on the edge of the bed in her white nightdress, her hair cascading in loose curls. Behind her, Thena stood, her gentle hands weaving through her mistress’s locks as she combed out the tangled strands, offering a small semblance of solace in the midst of turmoil. Maera’s mind continued to race with questions, doubts, and fears, and she found herself seeking refuge in Thena's gentle presence.

“He said he did not betray me,” Maera confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to give voice to her doubts.

Thena continued her task with a gentle touch, her fingers moving through Maera’s hair with practiced ease. “Do you believe him, Princess?” she asked, her tone gentle yet probing.

“I do not know… I want to,” Maera confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Her hand instinctively drifted to her abdomen, where the faint sign of new life served as a reminder of the tangled web of Aemond’s interfering. “In my heart, I know he would never do anything to hurt me like this on purpose.”

Thena paused, setting the comb aside as she finished her task. Maera turned to look at her trusted maid as Thena sighed. “I know Ser Arryk is not fond of him. And I have my own reservations about his character,” Thena said, her kind brown eyes meeting Maera’s. “But the Prince loves you,” she proclaimed, before letting out a lighthearted chuckle. “And I hardly believed he was capable of such a thing.”

Maera managed a small, grateful smile, touched by Thena’s unwavering support. It was a comfort to have someone to confide in, someone who offered a listening ear and a compassionate heart in her time of need. Yet, even as she found solace in Thena's words, she knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges and uncertainties.

Her pondering was interrupted by a deafening roar that echoed through the open window. Startled, Maera knelt up from her seated position on her bed to get a better view of the world outside. Her green eyes widened as she watched a fiery projectile being launched across the darkened shoreline, the flames casting an eerie glow against the night sky. A gasp escaped her lips as she witnessed the spectacle unfolding before her.

Thena groaned with annoyance at the disturbance, swiftly moving to shut the window, cutting off the flow of cool air from the shoreline. The room immediately felt stifling in comparison, the sound of the blue dragon’s distress muffled by the closed window. Maera watched her maid with a furrowed brow, concern etched into her features.

“Gods help us, that beast has been out of control today,” Thena exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration as she rubbed at her temples in stress. Returning to Maera’s side, she sighed deeply before preparing the bed for the night.

As Maera rose to allow Thena to ready her sheets, she cast a worried glance towards the window. “He certainly seems unsettled,” she remarked, her tone reflecting her concern for the agitated dragon.

Thena scoffed as she pulled back the sheets, revealing the freshly prepared bed. “That is certainly a word for it, Princess,” she replied sarcastically, her irritation evident in her voice. “I believe it’s eaten two of the dragon keepers today.”

Maera’s eyes widened in shock at the news, a pang of sympathy coursing through her for the unfortunate dragon keepers who had fallen victim to the dragon’s unpredictable temper. With a furrowed brow, Maera couldn’t help but wonder what could be causing Ēbrion such distress. It had been weeks since she had last seen the dragon, as she had been advised by others, including her protective husband, to keep her distance from the unpredictable creature as her pregnancy developed. Despite the warnings, Maera couldn’t shake the feeling of longing for the majestic beast, and now, seeing him in such turmoil, she yearned even more to be by his side.

After Thena tucked her into bed and left the room, Maera lay in bed, the only sound the faint rustle of the bedcovers as she shifted restlessly. Beside her on the bedside table, the bell sat, a silent promise of assistance if needed, though Maera doubted it would bring her the solace she sought.

She tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around her restless form as she struggled to find a comfortable position. Aemond's absence in their bed only served to exacerbate Maera's frustration and anger. She couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that lingered in her heart, nor could she ignore the emptiness that seemed to permeate the space where her husband should have been.

The anguished cries of Ēbrion outside only added to Maera’s inner turmoil, the dragon’s sorrowful wails mirroring her own unrest. With each roar, it felt as though a piece of her own anguish was reflected back to her, amplifying her sense of unease. In the darkness of her room, Maera could almost envision the dragon, his giant form haunting her thoughts as she struggled to find peace.

After hours and hours of no sleep, Maera finally sat up. The sky outside of her window, previously jet black, has lightened, striped with hues of lilac and clear blue, indicating dawn was approaching. With a groan of acceptance, she reached across to her bedside table and rang the small bell. Ser Arryk entered and at Maera’s command, left the room to retrieve Thena so the maid could dress her. Looking it the window, Maera heard the faint noise of Ēbrion’s howling. She knew what she needed to do.

Notes: And thus concludes my hyperfixation for this week 🤣 it’s been a rollercoaster and I’ve absolutely LOVED seeing how you’ve all reacted to the start of the drama ☕️ keep asking questions, sending me messages and leaving your feedback, it genuinely makes my day!

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena

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