#simon riley origin story

[sayonara-sailor]

I was far too scared to hit him

But I would hit him in a heartbeat now

That’s the thing with anger

It begs to stick around

[deunmiu-dessie]

he misses you. he misses you like a flower misses the sun. like the desert misses the rain. like you are the entirety of his being. as if you hold the key to his fierce, thumping bloody heart within the palm of your hands, like he is nothing without you— and perhaps he isn't. he doesn't feel like himself, no, in fact, he feels empty. like a shell of the man he used to be before you. he feels as though the world has lost its color, its meaning, and it makes him feel bare— it makes him feel.

he misses you. he misses the warmth of your perfume, a sweet and spicy blended aroma of saffron and sugared lavender. he misses your smile, all wide and pretty— genuine and charming, and always all for him. he misses the sound of your laughter, raw and boisterous, but sometimes soft and breathy, intimate. he misses your kisses, shy and cloying— yet fierce and angry at times as well. he misses the small things, like the scatter of moles across the expanse of your body that he finds himself counting when he can't fall asleep. or the way you fuss over him, mumbling curses and your love for him all in the same sentence.

he is nothing without you, and he knows it all too well.

the soft jangle of your keys in the lock makes him look up from his journal, the door swinging open. and despite himself, he finds that he's softened underneath your warm, loving gaze. ah, he also misses the sound of your voice, euphonious and soft, a tone you use for him specifically.

❝why are you looking at me like that?❞

he can feel his heart dance within his chest, pounding fiercely as you slant your hip to the side, the very same hips he adores holding onto when swaying with you to music. your eyes, which always seem to sweep him under with their intensity with no fail, are glittering with mirth, it knocks the breath from his chest. ❝ i adore you,❞ he utters— he sounds like a fool in love, and he doesn't particularly mind it. your cheeks flush with color and you playfully roll your eyes. that's alright, you don't need to say it back, he knows.

❝help me with the groceries?❞

he? ⸺ SIMON, gojo satoru, DAMON SALVATORE, soap, older!TANJIRO, scott mccall, GAZ, clark kent, EMMETT CULLEN, leon kennedy, STEVE HARRINGTON, giyu tomioka, JOHN PRICE, loran, ULYSSES, rick grimes, KÖNIG, dick grayson, SPENCER REID.

honestly it can be anyone you envision.

[silkenwinger]

daimon

mdni. ancient greece AU. princess!reader x guard!ghost. heavily inspired by antigone (but it ends well :)). 7k. tw for suicide attempt, maybe slight dubcon (mention of wine drank before sex)

The room was cold as you finished fastening your black peplum. It had been a cold autumn, mountain winds bruising sore skin. It was the autumn your life ended.

Your brother. So brave. You remembered running with him among the olive trees and tripping on the roots as you trailed him. Your mother had yelled at you so much you remembered the sting of the tears on your cheek.

But you had grown. Your father, the king, dead by the plague by spring, followed by your frail mother. Your brother away east. When he’d returned along with his men, he found the city he was supposed to lead in the hands of the most powerful merchant, a man as crooked as rich. We thought he was dead, said the men of the city. Lost in the barren hell of the east, gone for too many years. And when he tried to enter the city, he was met with violence and bronze. As expected, your brother did not lie down, but fought to retake the throne. He now laid in the place he died still, eaten by vultures and dogs alike. His soul stuck between the living and the dead, forever restless.

Profane he was taking something that was not his, and profane he was not burying your brother. 

“I’ve decided, then. Take care.”

Your dearest maid, her loyalty unmatched, did not comprehend.

“Princess, you must stop this talk at once!” She cried, clutching at your vest. “You know The Shepherd is a cruel man, but you will marry his son. Going against the decree…”

You scoffed. Being kin with that monster would be worse than being dead.

“I no longer care about marrying. Honoring my brother is more important,” you brushed your hand against her thin shoulder, and moved away, but with pain. No time for lost love.

“I have been wearing the black for half a year. Did you know? The moment I heard my brother was alive, I cried real tears of joy. I would no longer be alone in the world.” You sat down on your wooden couch, looking down. “And two nights later he is dead. I never even got to see his face again.” If you strained your memories, you could make out a ghost of a smile, of a laugh, but you couldn’t be certain they were his.

“The King is unfair, that much is true,” mumbled your maid, “but you go against certain death. The law says it, anyone who buries your brother is to be stoned in the square!”

“I know,” you looked up to see her shocked face, “so I heard.”

She cried then, howling. Her grief for you moved the strings of your heart, but did not dissuade you. You died the other day: your last act would be making sure you could see your brother in Hell, along with your parents. Hooding yourself, you left your room, the only place in the palace you could still call yours, by the lesser known way, one that passed through a less surveilled zone of the palace.

He looked old. No, not old: older, his skin worn by the sun. Tall, and strong, and dead. You remembered well– he smiled like that, a lightning bolt in the fair weather. 

Hurried, you acted fast. You covered his body with a thin layer of dust. That is enough, for now, you thought, as you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

The path you took made sure you were hidden from the guards. You wondered how many of them saw your brother grow, train and live: and how could they bear to leave him there, alone and doomed. 

The darkness of the road calmed you. The sting of the broken law was nothing compared to the peace you felt inside. 

But the sting of the hand grabbing your arm was real. A tall shadow made it so you couldn't move.

“What are you doing here?” Asked the Ghost, one of the main palace guards. A real enigma, that one. He did not recognise you immediately, hidden as you were. But your voice would tell on you. Perhaps, at the start, you could have wanted to do what you did without being discovered, but you had changed your mind. You did not care for the Shepherd’s decision.

“I was just doing my daily offering at the temple,” you told him, and his eyes, the only visible part of his face, widened in recognition. He then started glaring at you, obvious suspicion brewing.

“At this time and alone? It is unsafe for you.” 

“Should I have left the house in the daylight so close to my brother’s death?”

He remained silent at your response. The Ghost never saw or knew your brother– you wouldn’t blame him if he had only distaste for his attack on the city. He was probably only an enemy to him, and not the boy who giggled at the comedies and puppet shows.

The Ghost had arrived in the city around four years before. Immediately, he’d attracted the attention of everyone, men and women, for the mask he wore on his face and his mysterious attitude. No one knew where he came from, or how he really was called, and would answer only to Ghost. His accent had been weird, and his behavior even more so. Whispers said he was a barbarian driven away from his country for having killed too many. His ruthlessness was legendary: he’d torn apart limbs and eyes of the few criminals that dared venturing into your palace. They even called him a demon that fed on his victims' souls. You had never spoken, but you’d seen him around, mostly guarding your father’s rooms, now occupied by the Shepherd. What was he doing outside, too, for that matter.

“Will you kindly let me go, now?” You tugged your arm away, but he did not relent.

“I ought to bring you back.” You just looked up at him then, at his unreadable eyes, and nodded, resigned.

The walk was silent, but not unpleasant. You kept thinking about what you’d done and oscillating between being proud and feeling an overwhelming distress inside of you. The Ghost kept at your back, his steps more silent than yours despite the difference in sizes.

“Good night then. Do not leave the house unaccompanied,” he made sure to reprimand as he left you at your door. You shrugged: leaving it accompanied meant worse for you.

Four nights after his death, your brother still laid in the dust. You could not be placated along with the pain in your chest. The guards, noticing the thin layer of earth on the corpse, had reported to the Shepherd that someone had attempted to bury your brother, thus breaking the law. 

It is clear, you thought. You will die either way, inside your room or stoned to death: you might as well bury your brother properly. That time, your maid didn’t even cry: she had resigned herself as well.

They grabbed you while your back was to them, crouching on the corpse. The Ghost stood tall behind the guards: you locked eyes with him and could not tell what he was thinking. Was he maybe regretting not arresting you the first time he found you outside?

Once you were brought to your feet, he made a soundless gesture, and the other guards offered you to him. He grabbed you then, alone, and started dragging you to the palace.

The Shepherd, your father’s successor, had no regard for you. Despite being betrothed to his son before your father even passed, he made no qualms about taking what was your brother’s by right, and would not hesitate sending you to your death. 

“Come, girl. It was you, I imagined.” He spoke, up in the throne where your father once sat. The sight filled you with a bright anger, which then turned into muted despair, to end in cold apathy. It was not coming back. It would never come back.

You stood silent in front of a dozen men.

“You know what the price is, do you? I made sure the heralds read the decree many times, right outside here, as well.”

You nodded. The Shepherd tilted his bald head to you, regarding your figure more like an insect than a noble woman. The men of the council, shiveling, cowardly men, murmured at your admission of guilt.

“You broke the law. What made you think you could do that?”

You inhaled then, and made yourself taller. 

“The laws of the gods came before yours. It is wicked not to bury the dead.” The murmuring ceased at your words, an oppressive miasm falling over the room.

“But he declared war on the city. I protected the inhabitants, and you as well.” The Shepherd replied, unbothered. He was well aware he was going against a non written law, but did not care.

“That does not matter to me. I would bury a murderer.”

“And murderer he was, bringing fire and weapons to this peaceful city.” He laughed at you. You felt ire overflowing your judgement.

“How dare you? My brother was the heir to the throne!” You yelled, and the Ghost shaked you hard. You glowered at him and all you got as a reply was a brown eyed glare.

“Your brother was a fool, who ignored your poor father’s requests to return several times! And this,” he clutched the scroll, “declares me as the heir to the King!” 

You shook your head. Your father had been less lucid the last years of his life, and even cussed out your brother for not returning from his childish dreams of conquering. But he'd never make the Shepherd his heir: he even confessed to you he couldn't stand the man. 

“I do not accept you as King of the city. That is the truth of it.” You tried to keep a steady voice, but you were trembling. The hold on your shoulders got tighter. Why was the Ghost clutching you so severely? He couldn’t possibly be afraid for you: maybe his loyalty to the Shepherd was such that he’d kill you yourself.

The men of the council, men who had seen you grow, looked pale in the dim light of the morning. How long had you been outside? You felt like you’d seen your brother for only a second.

“I see, then,” spoke the Shepherd, as he rose from the throne. 

“You’ve decided to declare yourself an enemy of this state, as your brother before you. The sentence for going against the edict is stoning.” First rose muttering, and then louder voices, and then shouts. The vile men protested, outraged, but the Shepherd shot them down with a steady hand.

“As the past princess of this city, and betrothed to my son, I ought to not expose you with such an execution. See how they cry for you still? Would they hold the same respect for you had you been a thief, a conman? Yet you are guilty to the same degree.”

“That is not true!” Cried a voice, close or far. “She committed a sacred act!”

“Who dares go against me!” Shouted the Shepherd, but no one showed their face. He made an hissing noise then, red in the face.

“All that break the laws must be punished. How else are we supposed to live civilly?” He then moved his gaze back to you.

“I condemn you to be walled alive, and your brother will stay unburied until his bones turn to dust. His body will feed the soil of this splendid city.” 

This is it, then. The rest of your days. The shame of disrobing did not fall on you, yet. This would be your salvation from starving. The damp cave amplified the sound of all of your actions. Biting the gentle cloth, you tore a strip of the fabric from your skirt, testing its resistance. As you calculated the distance between the ground and the wooden rod on the cave ceiling, you heard steps approaching. The door, that could only be opened from outside, revealed two tall figures, dressed in typical military garb. The Ghost, clad in his dark attire, got closer to you, sword in hand. Ah. That was it, then. 

“Have you come to kill me yourself, then?” You told him. He said nothing, just got even closer, long strides and deadly silent. He grabbed you, again, and you let yourself be taken. The other guard, with piercing blue eyes, just looked at the Ghost with a doubting expression. The Ghost started dragging you out of the corridor, and that was when you pointed your feet down, tears filling your eyes.

“What is going on? I won’t be shamed now. I’ve already been condemned.” You cried, afraid. More afraid now than when you were going to hang yourself, for your hand would be merciful, but the Ghost’s wouldn’t. He stopped then, and looked in your eye. He seemed weirdly reluctant.

“Keep quiet, now. You won’t die today.” Unintelligently, you muttered your surprise. The Ghost started dragging you along again, the other guard becoming smaller and smaller in your view.

You walked, and walked, and walked through the night and the city and the fields. Exhausted, you had to stop often, even for just a moment. The Ghost looked at you with distaste then, like he regretted ever taking you away from your attempt at your life.

“You can’t even walk a mile without bending on yourself,” he spit out. For his indecency and rudeness, you struck him across the face, hand making contact with the black muslin of his mask. The slap barely moved him and he growled, and you expected him to finally retaliate and penetrate you with his sword. But he just turned on himself and started walking again.

“If you had told me where you’re taking me, I would not have struck you,” you tried to bargain. He sighed then, clearly thinking you insufferable.

“You have allies in the city. As the true King’s daughter,” you gasped at his words, tongue curling around the r’s in an odd, mesmerizing way.

“But they all voted in favor of the Shepherd taking power.”

“You know it’s because of the secrets and extortions he has on them. He’s no dearer to them than a tyrant.” You closed your mouth then, pondering. Could the city go back to having a proper king, one that respected the Gods’ laws?

“So you are my friend,” you said simply. He swallowed at that.

“I am… your protector. For the time being.”

You nodded. He, too, was now an enemy of the state, by association.

“I thank you then. Even though I would not have minded joining my family.”

He remained silent at that. A while after, he spoke again.

“We need to stop for a few hours at least. And you’ll need male clothing,” he simply said. You hid in a cave, wider and longer than the one that was supposed to hold you in your death. The Ghost lit up a small fire near the opening, and you watched him as he stroked it, pensive. Perhaps he, too, was thinking about what he left.

“Ghost,” you called, tone uncertain, “can I call you that?”

He nodded without taking his eyes off the fire.

“How… What is going on back home? Who hired you?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he replied to your second question. “As for back home, we placed a corpse in your place to give us a head start.”

“Someone else died for me,” you whispered, upset in your soul. You had been ready to kill yourself.

“He was already dead,” spoke the Ghost, weirdly demure. “One dead instead of two.”

“But…”

“Enough of that. You do not deserve to die for burying your brother. It is as simple as that.” You were stunned into silence by the determination of his words. So far, you’d thought he was only hired to do what his employer asked him. But now, you saw he agreed with your stance. For some reason, you felt pride in yourself bloom.

“Where are you taking me, then?”

“I know a place,” he said, “where you won’t be found.”

Something moved in your heart, again. He was being remarkably gentle for a butcher.

You fell asleep some time after, warmed by the fire. 

When you woke up, Ghost was nowhere to be seen. You looked deeper in the cave, but made your way back when you couldn’t see the light anymore. When you reached the entrance again, you heard someone call your name. 

“Come, then,” Ghost told you as you made your way down the cave’s entrance, back to more stable terrain and the spare tree. A small river ran to the side of the plain. Ghost was clutching a leather bag, ruffling around it crudely. His eyes could have almost betrayed embarrassment. 

“I know nothing of princesses’ dresses. Will this suffice?” He held up a man’s tunic, to which you raised an eyebrow. The Ghost was an odd fellow, and you’d be indebted to him for the rest of your life. That didn’t mean you would understand all of his actions.

“You told me yourself I had to dress like a man.”

“True. I was rude about it.” Your eyebrow raised even higher. An apology… or a statement as close to it as possible. You didn’t think the city’s terror was even capable of that.

“No, you were right. I will change.” You grabbed his offering with shaking hands. Once you’d switched your black clothes for the off white tunic behind the tree, you tried to look at your figure in the stream’s reflection. There was little difference between men and women’s clothes, besides the face that your lower legs were now exposed. You’d wear your hood to conceal your female face, but also your upper body. You tugged at the Ghost’s wrist. He looked at you then, dragging his eyes from your face to your feet. You felt an odd sensation making its way up your back.

“Shall we go then?”

“Yes.”

You walked in the market, among the people and the animals. It was weird to not open a road every time you showed in a public place: and even weirder to walk side to side with a man. You looked up at Ghost, again, and you found him inspecting the surroundings with thin eyes.

“Are you hungry?” He asked you, like a wet nurse might ask her toddler. The image of the Ghost tending to a small child was so comical, a giggle left your mouth. You were quick to shut your mouth, but he caught you anyway. His expression was baffled.

“Yes, I am. Sorry,” you apologised. You had only eaten some bread all day, and maybe the hunger was making you silly. He accosted a stand and bought pears and bread from the farmer, who took a long look at you. Probably wondering why a man would bring his slave boy to the market, you realized with shame, and looked down.

You ate the sweet pears and the bread with the cheese under a tree’s shadow while Ghost kept watch. 

“Would you like to sit?” You asked him politely.

“No.” He simply said, and kept watching the horizon. You sighed into your food. Still alone, but at least not famished. Your march began anew, the male tunic proving itself to be more comfortable. Still, you felt somewhat exposed, especially in Ghost's eyes. Every time you locked eyes, you found yourself looking away first. There was something about this man that left you exposed besides your legs. Like a plow moves the earth.

Did he even sleep? He was awake when you were, and he kept watch when you slept. Later, hidden in another, smaller cave, you voiced your concerns to him. He raised one eyebrow.

“Afraid, princess? That I will fall while I watch you? I’ve been a guard almost longer than you’ve been alive.” You rolled your eyes at his pride and the humorous tone of his voice. Many men’s fall was their excessive confidence.

“Should I not worry for my only companion in life?”

That shut him up quickly. He just regarded you then, shifting on his feet. Clearly uncomfortable with the truth. When he decided to speak again, what he said shocked you most.

“I saw your brother die.”

Hearing a strange noise, only after a second you realised you were the one making it.

“Did you kill him?” You asked, voice tight. Ghost shook his head.

“The Shepherd’s men shot arrows at his back while he was fighting. He was a great warrior.” You sniffed hearing his words. You knew, you knew your brother would fight to his death, you’d seen his ruined body bloated but dressed for war. 

“It’s not honorable. Shooting a man in the back.” He said simply, holding your gaze. His body began to warp and look odd as water filled your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me this,” you whispered, and he nodded, finally sitting next to you. If you dried your tears on his wide shoulder, no one else saw you.

Your journey lasted more days than you imagined. Everytime you asked the question to Ghost, he would only answer soon. He saw you pray at the gods’ altars: Hermes, Artemis, Athena, Zeus. He never prayed himself, or placed offerings that you didn’t tell him to place, which at the start unnerved you and then made you curious.

“Where do you come from?” Your conversations usually started with a question from you and ended with a reply from him. But you didn’t think he was a too dire debate partner, anyway.

“From far away.”

“Stop treating me as if I’m stupid.” You did hate his dismissal ways, sometimes.

“I’m not lying,” he hissed from between his teeth, “I come from so far away, I wouldn’t even know how to go back home.” That intrigued you. The twists and turns of his journey would surely make for a great story. But you hoped you could arrive at your destination.

“Then we are the same,” you decided to reply, “both without a home.”

He sighed, oddly softly. You thought that was an interesting reaction, and nestled closer to him.

When you were too far away from a market, or from farmers who would sell their fares to Ghost, he would go hunting. You’d beg and beg to let him teach you how to shoot an arrow (you’d always dreamed to be a brilliant hero of the stories), and he always categorically refused to do it. But, extraordinarily, he did teach you something. He taught you briefly how to fish, so long as you had a needle; he taught you what weeds were good to eat. Dirtying your hands felt weird at first, but you were quickly motivated by the pings of hunger in your belly.

Finally, you reached another settlement. Your surprise was evident seeing so many people prepare for a feast. You asked a busy woman what was going on: she looked at you as if you had grown another head, and simply said “the Dionysia”. What joy, then. Drinking, dancing, singing. You hadn’t heard a joyful bard or a musician since before your parents died. Smiling, you turned to your brooding companion.

“Can we stop for the festival, Ghost?” You pled him.

He looked irritated at your request. 

“What will happen if you get recognized, hmm?”

“I am a mere daughter. I’m no danger to whoever sits the city throne now.”

“You can’t rule, that much is true,” he took his big hand and grazed at your belly with the back of his fingers, making your skin goosebump, “but what of the sons of your womb? And what do you think happens in these festivals? You must have seen it too, the men with the courtesans.” You blushed at his implications.

“You… you heathen! Are you not here to protect me?” He scoffed at your protests and at the light punches you threw at his chest, but he paid the inn for the day and you beamed at him. He’d even called you his wife to the innkeeper– the action had made your blood surge, but then you pathetically remembered you could never marry anymore.

You both drank a little, but not too much, you to not get too drunk, him to both integrate and not lose his mind. It was exhilarating, taking part in a feast as a common person and not a noble. Nobody but Ghost was looking at you, and you were free to do as you pleased. Nobody in the village had cared that you were a woman, the people just happy to have two more that would pray for the wellness of the settlement. 

“Should I go dancing?” You asked him, raising to your feet while he kept sitting down.

Incredibly, he laughed. Your mouth hung in awe. It was a husky sound, much like all of him. Immediately, you wanted to hear more.

“Silly girl, you’re dressed as a boy! You’ll look odd, moving to the girls’ dance.” Blushing, you sat back down again. There was so much you didn’t know or you had taken for granted due to your higher position, and Ghost never sweetened the hard truth with honey. As much as the noble girl had died with the rest of your family, this common one wasn’t quite born yet. A warm hand came to hold the back of your neck, gently petting it.

“You looked beautiful dancing at the palace,” you heard his voice low in your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. His mouth, red and soft, was exposed in order for him to drink and eat. “I remember your dress, that summer. Once we arrive, I’ll buy you a similar one.” 

He must have been speaking about the day of your bethronal to the Shepherd’s son, the biggest event you had ever been the protagonist of. You danced for a whole day. What had happened to your betrothed, that older boy? You had no way of knowing, but he didn’t defend you from his father. You knew even back then that he did not like you much, and he was probably ecstatic that you died to the city. 

“Are we close to arriving?” He started petting your cheek then, even brushing his thumb against your lips.

“Yes, very close, sweet thing.” He then blinked and drew away, as if he realised what he was doing. You wished he would keep touching you.

Oh Dionysus, you crazy god. You’ve freed the coldest of men at last, the one barbarian who couldn’t be dissuaded from his duty. 

You saw many peculiar things at the feast. The dances were different from what you were used to, and the plays were even more debouched. The road from your home had been long, and wherever you were, there was no longer any overlap for the princess and the girl. Even Ghost, the one link to your previous life, was no longer a guard, an impersonal male figure that worked for your father: he was a man under your will.

When it was time to leave the party, you did so broken-hearted. The warmth of the people had been a balm to your still hurt heart. And this new side of an intoxicated Ghost intrigued you.

“Oh my,” you said, seeing the inn room had only one, big bed. The headboard was an intricate wickerwork, far more beautiful that a bed from a village inn could hope to be. 

You’d never slept with a man in your bed.

You sent a nervous look to Ghost, who was busy rattling around in his bag. Always bustling, this man.

You could ask him to sleep on the ground, but as you’d been sleeping on grass and rocks for two weeks now, it would be a profoundly impolite gesture.  

You quickly removed your outside layer of clothing, and remained in your small clothes. You approached the bed and slid on it, turning on your elbows. As you settled, you saw Ghost looking up and sending brief glances your way, like he was respectfully gauging the situation.

“Ghost, come sleep next to me.” You felt yourself say. It was very much an alien part of you saying it. Maybe the innermost one.

He swallowed as he stood in front of the bed. Now in the closed, and warm thanks to the fireplace, he removed his mask.

You found yourself looking at his full face for the first time. He did not look like most men did back home, but you perceived his appearance as pleasing nevertheless. His hair was light, spun of gold. What happened next shocked you more, as he began removing the pieces that composed his armor. Ironically, had he been wearing a more simple garb, you would not have had time to elaborate, and you would have panicked. But the necessary time for him to undress allowed to study the man that was about to sleep next to you.

His height often intimidated most: he did not even need to glower at them. Despite his size, you found out he could remove his armor quickly and efficiently, and he did not stumble about even after drinking wine. Of course, you had seen many men in different states of underdressing, as that was the condition in which sports and competitions were taken on. His body was different from the ones of most athletes, but you recognised the build of a hero in it either way. For one, he was covered in hair– fair hair, matching the ones on his head, but so different from the hairless bodies of the oiled runners.This was a body meant to fight and protect, and not to be shown at the circus. Only his jaw was shaved: in a way, he was the complete opposite of the rest of the men of your city.

You smiled at him as he remained in his loincloth, and he sat down at the very opposite edge of the bed.

You had slept by his side many times now. What embarrassed him?

“You can lay down more comfortably.”

“This is improper.”

“Does it matter?” You replied, a bit miffed. “This last month of my life has been improper. You might as well get a good night’s rest.” He turned to glare at you, and that was the first time you locked eyes with him when he was unmasked. Whatever he saw in your expression must have been convincing enough, because he laid down next to you.  

“I so missed a real bed. Haven’t you?” You said to make conversation.

“I lied to you,” he replied. Anxiety rose in you.

“What?”

“There was no employer,” he said, almost hiccupping, hand on his face, “nobody told me to take you away.”

The revelation hit your heart strong, and you turned away from him. 

“Why did you do it, then?” You hummed and he sat up on the bed.

“I couldn’t bear to see you die,” he whispered, now looking at you while you kept your gaze away. “I am no citizen. I live off employment from lords and merchants. I was hired by your father, and I was bound by contract to protect his family.”

“When he died and the Shepherd rose, I could and should have changed city. There was no reason for me to stay there when chaos would rule. But I wanted to keep an eye on you, because you are reckless and too determined.” You spluttered, offended. “Don’t lie, you know it to be true. And I did well, otherwise you would have killed yourself. And what a waste that would have been.” You turned to face him.

“Ghost…”

“There is no grand plan. I wanted to take you to a house I know to be empty, for I killed the owner in the past. And we would live there, and you would be safe.”

“Why “would”? I am coming with you,” you said, very simply. “What else am I supposed to do? Take back my place at the palace? There is nothing dear for me there, besides one or two maids, that I hope are well.” You tentatively got close and raised your arm to brush his cheek, this time. You felt his stubble sting at your fingers. 

“Ghost, from when you took me away, you’ve become my whole family. You are my dead father and mother, my dear brother, and even my future husband. No one else will take me in, orphan and poor as I am. Would you leave me now?”

“No, never,” he hurried to say, and you smiled again. For whatever reason, your loyalty to your family had been rewarded with a loyal stranger.

“Then there is no problem. Would you… would you be my husband then?” He sighed then, long suffering, and he turned to hover over you as his hands came to hold your hips. You yelped, surprised by his speed.

“What are you even saying?”

“You… you said I was your wife to the innkeeper.”

“That was a lie,” he said, pressing an index to your nose, making you laugh, “so that we would be taken in. Should I have said “this is the runaway princess of an important town, and I’m escorting her away from her death”? Hmm? Should I have? You insufferable girl,” he held you close as you laughed and your legs squirmed under him.

“I told you I’m not a princess anymore!”

He scoffed then, but kept you close still even as you wiggled. “What else could you be? Delicate and opinionated as you are. Only a princess with her burly jailer,” he remarked. 

“Jailer? I’ve been freer with you these days than the rest of my life.” You whispered in his ear as you embraced him in your arms. With less commodities, for certain, but free in nature, in the landscapes you observed, in the food you ate and in the company you kept. No man’s law that differed from the gods’ existed here. To think you would have never spoken to Ghost if those great tragedies hadn’t befallen on you.

Because Ghost would never make a move to really connect the two like you ought to be, you decided to take a stand, and brought your lips to his cheek, leaving a chaste kiss there. Spurred by his involuntary purr, you kept kissing him, making your way to his mouth. There, you left a longer kiss, one that confirmed that his lips were, indeed, soft. When you looked at his eyes, you found out they were glazed over, lands away. But you couldn’t be jealous of his memories, because he then started to kiss you in return. At first, with his mouth closed, much like yours: but then his lips started to part, and he began kissing you with his tongue. Taken by surprise, you timidly tried to mimic what he was doing, although this one act was lost in the records chambermaids giggled about. Before long, you kept feeling that weird sensation in your lower body, at the juncture of your legs, the one joked about in the comedies, and you held one shy hand against Ghost’s chest. He immediately withdrew from you, as if burned by your touch.

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No… No at all. I feel weird,” you said, and immediately regretted it. Could you be any more fumbling. Ghost breathed hard, his chest grazing yours, and then moved so he would not lay on you anymore.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked you, and you shook your head, your hair brushing against his face. He laughed, softly, and you again felt a sense of pride in making him do so. He began kissing you again, and what joy that was.

The sensation in the middle of your legs was answered when you felt Ghost’s hand slipping under your clothes. Even without seeing, he knew what to do to you: he began tracing your sex, concentrating on the upper side of it, which made you gasp in pleasure. His index then entered you, and you felt your mouth falling open as he muttered encouragement in your temple. Good girl, good girl, he just said, and then he picked up speed and the slick sound of his fingers entering and leaving you made you hide your face in your neck. He kept cooing at you, and everything felt so real, too real, as you felt a burst of energy released inside you, a sensation unlike any other. You panted into his shoulder, shocked. Was this what being married entailed? Suddenly, you were very glad to have asked Ghost to be your husband.

Speaking of which, he moved from your side, and you cried at the loss of warmth and him. He shifted to be on top of you again, and you looked him in the eye from under. He looked very vivid, like the most alive thing you had ever seen in your life. The shadows of the crackling fire played on his hair, and you made yourself even smaller.

“Was it true? What you said.” He asked you. You didn’t even know what he meant in particular, but you had never lied to him, past that one night he encountered you as you fled the scene. You said yes.

“There will be no walking back from this. We will be as good as a real husband and wife after this, do you understand? I won’t let you go–” he choked out the last part, reining in his desperation. You shook your head again.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you.” He made another frustrated sound then, and you saw, in the muted light of the room, his hand holding his cock, the sword man penetrates woman with. Now you know your duty begins: the pain and the blood accompanying. But weirdly, unexpectedly, as he entered you you felt only a slight burn, a stretching sensation, but not the horrible pain of hushed stories. And then he started moving, and it was a pleasant feeling, a rocking motion in the arms of the man that had saved you from death. He kept kissing you, and saying the sweetest things– who could have imagined such a brutal warrior, turned into the gentlest, Eros-touched lover? 

His movements never rushed, or hurried to the point where it would hurt, but you could tell he was getting desperate. Just when you thought he would release in you, he moved away, leaving you gaping and cold. He took himself in hand then, and moaned softly as the white seed touched his hand.

“Why didn’t you…” You blushed again, not finishing your phrase. It felt wrong to you that he did not come inside you, but you didn’t quite have the courage to tell him so.

Ghost simply panted and looked at you, at you raising chest, and at your core. He then closed his eyes and released a decisive, deep breath. He fixed himself and held you again in his arms, moving you around as if you were a doll.

“I will do it when we get home.”

The remaining days on the road were a haze of happy memories. You remembered Ghost’s lingering touches, and the warmth of the sun in the middle of the day, happy villages and herds grazing the green grass. Ghost hissing at anyone who asked too many questions, Ghost hunting the hares, Ghost taking you on the woods’ ground, from behind and against the trees, free to mate as much as you wanted, always ready for you. And when you finally reached his home, that grey, desolate thing, the first thing he did was take you in the bed.

“This ought to be repaired,” you told him as you moved around the house and discovered yet another broken tool, or part, and he sighed, long suffering. But then the next day he would get to work, and fix the table, the window, and he bought you a dress that resembled the one you wore on the day of your betrothal, and it was even more special because it came from him.

“Listen here,” he told you one day as he returned from his work, and after you had hugged him to your heart’s content. His tone was guarded and serious as ever.

“I have news. From the city, I mean,” he said, and you nodded at his words. You felt a detachment towards what concerned your old life, besides the memories of your loved ones, but you were still curious.

“The Shepherd is dead.”

“Praise the gods!” You exclaimed. He nodded.

“The council killed him, they say. And the new king is a young hero who fought off invaders from the south. He is missing a wife. You see where I’m going with this?” He asks, tone even but tinged with that insecurity, that slightest fear... You did see it and hate it fiercely. You told him as much.

“I made a promise to you that night. Do you think me that fickle, that I would return to a city that wanted me dead so I could bear legitimate children to a new tyrant?”

He sighed again, lovesick, like he was the maiden taken away and not you. He kissed you and ran his hands into your hair, now long and free. You laid your head on his chest. How could he think you would leave him still? He was the only owner of your heart, your god-sent protector.

You didn’t know what your family would think about you running away with a man who, in the city, would never have had the chance to speak to you first, much less to marry you. But you knew that in your soul, you were living a life true to yourself and the gods. And that much would suffice for the rest of your days.

[natelia-aldelliz]

"I can't call Soap 'Johnny'," Alejandro grunts, an obvious smile in his voice.

"Don't," Soap answers immediately. "Only Ghost can pull that off."

Roach lifts an eyebrow. "And what am I supposed to call you then? Johnuald the third?"

Soap snorts, quietly enough that the others don't hear him, and sends him a look. Even in the dark, it's very obvious how much of a sunshine he is, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

Damn, Roach had never fallen for someone this fast before. Even with Simon, it had taken a few months. But for some reason, Johnny is so precious to him that he'd die - again - for him in a heartbeat.

"Jonathon? Jonah? Johnson? Johntay? I can keep going, I already had that conversation with Price years ago, and I had the internet back then. I had a pretty long list and I remember most of it."

"Cannae ye make yerself useful instead of bein a nuisance?" Soap whispers with a smile after quickly checking around that no one was paying him attention.

Roach gasps. "But being a nuisance is my true calling! You could say I like 'bugging' people, huh, get it, get it?" He beams when Soap shakes his head at him and goes through the wall.

The shadows are crawling outside, of course. He roams around, getting a rough headcount, then gets back at Soap with all the information. It's doable, honestly. Especially since Simon and him rigged several cars with explosives.

He is still a bit worried though, about Johnny's wound. He's not sure how it's possible, how he's still standing, but then again, he's a ghost talking to a living person, so there's that.

Rudy had said that no one except Alejandro can kill Alejandro, and Roach just has to wonder if Johnny got kind of the same deal. But Ale never gave any indication that he was seeing the burning person floating above his new friends, so maybe it's not the same.

With the clear intel he gives Soap, they make quick work of the Shadows and Price picks them up at the wall. If he was able to actually haunt people and not just follow them around uselessly, he'd stop haunting the Captain immediately as a thanks.

Because he's pretty sure Johnny actually needs some intense medical attention. He said that it didn't feel different than a leg or shoulder wound, but those definitely need more than just stitches and painkillers anyway.

It's very heartwarming, watching Soap greet the rest of the team with a puppyish energy, and he has to admit that it is kind of funny seeing Gaz and Price's faces when they notice the bullet hole in the front of his shirt.

The sight of Simon helping Johnny move along with a hand on the small of his back leaves him with mixed feelings.

There's the "I knew it!! I told you so!!" that he was expecting, of course, because he's always right and he did know it would happen. But there's also a pinch in his chest that he hadn't really expected. It's a feeling that he hadn't really felt since a really long time, since he was a teenager, probably.

Jealousy.

He hates it, he's always hated it. But the worst is he doesn't even know who he's jealous of. Perhaps he's finally remembering that he's dead and they're not, that all this flirting he's been doing with Johnny wouldn't have led to anything.

The grown arse sunshine of a man turns his head back, looking slightly confused, looking for him. When his eyes land on him, he beams so hard that it actually illuminates his whole face and Roach can't do anything except gravitate towards him like a moth to a light.

Wrong bug, he snorts internally.

"What's with you, smiley face?" he hears Simon ask when he gets closer.

Johnny is still looking straight at him, his smile getting softer. "Nothing," he answers, his gaze burning Roach more than the fire had. "Just glad you're here and glad we're leaving."

[valscodblog]

"He makes me giggle" Simon riley x OC TEASER!

OFFICAIL TEASER OF THE OFFICAIL SERIES OF GHOSTJEWEL <3

~<3~

"You said you loved her!"

"When did i say i didn't?"

He stared up at the taller man and glared.

"This isn't a laughing matter, Boy. This is My Daughter-"

"Right, like she calls you "Dad" anymore. Listen, mate, I'll be frank. I'm not a man of many words, but when i do talk, i make damn sure I'm understood."

and Ruby's father smirked. He looked the brute up and down, blood on his hands and boots, slapptered all over his vest and cargos...Ruby had taste, then.

"...What does my little Gem see in You?"

"He makes me Giggle."

~<3~

this series will contain mature themes such as S/A, CHILD ABUSE, AND SERIOUS BETRAYAL. And more. This series will not be for the faint of heart. I will be tagging a few moots, however if any moots i tag do not want to read of such things, in understand.

@2econd-of-1sts @skauni @writing-with-moss @needa-sum-luvn and uhmmm whoever i've ever ranted abt ghostjewel too tbh--

if any of you do not wish to see such things from me, do let me know in the comments or a reblog so i wont tag you when i release chapter one.

[thebutterflyofthemojave]

Diana and her Big Dada HC

(moodboard made by me)

Ghost in the Fallout AU with baby Diana. The stress about to stay away for weeks, the return at home where Laswell and her wife takes care of her after the death of his wife after the birth(its the wasteland unfortunately).

She is the only thing good in that world of death and pain, I imagine her first word “Dada”. Because she loves her big Dada so much.

When she says the first word he was returned after a request to assassinate some Gunners in a nearby factory, all covered in blood and sand, him tired, and sees his daughter of one year who tries to walk helped by Kate's wife and who keeps saying "Dada”

His eyes full of tears, the constant feeling of guilt in having to raise his little tangerine in such a world that are dissipated in that sweet "Dada" while he promised himself "to protect you little tangerine from this disgusting world”

[unch4rted-territ0ry]

I myself have found a way to save Soap from untimely dead, and I call it MW4, i don't have a good name for the AU yet.

Price doesn't kill Sherped, but Graves eventually fesses up after witnesses from Los Almas(?) Talked to Alejandro, and Graves is put into Milotary Prison in the US, and Shepered stripped of his title.

Basically, I have an original character that I want to put in at about right the end of the Countdown mission, who kills Mararov the same way Makarov was about to kill Soap.

Ghost, Gaz, Alejandro, and Radolfo stay the same.

Laswell takes Shepered's place, and keeps a close eye on 141, especially my oc who had saved Soap.

And I'll plan out a whole load of missions and shit they go on, and the story would include chapters outside of the missions they go on.

[saltycryptid]

Ghost’s head has always been too wise, but his heart is nothing but fire and ashes.

A page featuring a scene from the fanfic solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by @congee4lunch! Specifically from the fifth chapter because the prose haunts me to no end, genuinely so beautiful.

[cherryredstars]

“Ocean separates lands, not souls..” ― Munia Khan

"Every night I have dreamt of you. You plague my dreams, in the most deepest, truest sense. In every vivid picture, I love you and you, I. Each dream is a glimpse of pages from the storybook of our lives together. Futures so ripe that if I were to bite into them and give in to temptation, my mouth would be forever stained with its sweetness and the forbidden fruit would dribble down my chin and dry there. My skin would absorb it until it seeped into my bloodstream and it flowed through my heart over and over again. Until it was carved into my very soul and became nothing short of everything that I am. It would coat my hands and my heart and my mind until all I can breathe is you. It transcends even Odysseus's devotion to Penelope. It is so all-consuming that even I fear it."

Where Ships Sail: A Historical Romance

Simon Riley is a dirt poor boy living along the ports of mid-1700 Great Britain. He is only fifteen when he meets her: the girl who owns the ports. She is everything that he is not, but everything he will ever come to want. No amount of class divides or silky lace dresses are a match for the love beginning to drown his heart.

But love is not the only thing Simon must face.

There are revolutions across the sea, a family who needs to be fed, and a desperate need to show his worth. With an ocean between them, Simon must fend for himself and his country if he wishes to become the best for the people he loves the most. But after receiving a wake-up call in the battle fields, Simon realizes there is no time to waste when it comes to love. Upon returning to where it all started, Simon finds he might already be too late.

original story inspiration

Chapter 1: Where it Begins

Read it here.

Their lives will always start and end where ships sail.

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

[mccutcheon121]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty) Additional Tags: Minor Original Character(s), Past John "Soap" MacTavish/Original Character, Minor John "Soap" MacTavish/Original Character(s), Established Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & John "Soap" MacTavish Friendship, Past Verbal Abuse, very little, like one sentence, Task Force 141 as Family (Call of Duty), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Between Soap and Price, Good Friend Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Protective Simon "Ghost" Riley, Canon-Typical Violence, Threats of Violence, Dialogue Heavy, I'm Bad At Tagging, sorry - Freeform, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022) Summary:

“Oh fuck me,” Soap grumbles, taking a sip from his drink, demeanor going from smiling to not in a matter of a split second.

Ghost looks around without moving his head to see what caused the sudden mood change. He doesn’t spot much, the regular military-issued uniforms, some in more downtime clothes, others showing off more. Nothing stood out to the sniper.

“Oi is that–?” Gaz starts.

“Aye,” Soap answers before the other could finish.

“Let me rough him up a bit for you,” the British man says, cracking his knuckles. 

[luminous-writes]

Weak

Simon Ghost Riley x oc (Clarissa), gore, angst, character death (au), mention of infected, MW2, zombies (au)

A mission involving a hostage is set into panic after an unforeseen visitor makes its intentions known.

word count: 1654 approx

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Siren had been alone with Task Force 141's hostage for 12 hours on the dot. She listened constantly on her comm for new orders, only checking in every hour to allow them some peace of mind. Other than that, Clarissa had received no new intel, learning bits and pieces of how their current mission was going from Price, who she was reporting to.

Their hostage had just fallen asleep and Siren took this advantage by eating for the first time in many days. She also took this moment to miss her battle buddies… and Simon… she had been away on missions for longer and the sniper only imagined that he felt the same way about her being gone with no news. 

Swallowing, Clarissa threw her trash in an old garbage bin and threw some old trash over it. Old habit. 

Doing a perimeter check and finding nothing but old bootprints from her force, Siren returned to the old wooden house and sat down to clean her guns. She didn't usually do something like this on a mission but her anxiety was making its way up her spine like frostbitten vines, determined for her to return to the inner depths of her brain. 

Clarissa Cole had just recovered from her first, and hopefully last, self-destructive mindset and everyday it lurked, just outside of the shadows, with its cold fangs and piercing green eyes to rip her down again. 

Funny how even when you're actively trying to avoid it how it is still the only thing you think about; like a former addict to the thoughts of a high. 

Her ears pricked at a sound. A growl. An animal, maybe? No armed force would growl to get her attention, right? Siren waited, still as stone as she strained for another noise, something that could either confirm or deny that their hostage and her were in danger. 

None came. 

Continuing to tear apart her guns, they lay scattered in front of her as she went through the motions. Take them apart, put them together….

"Your guns are an extension of yourself." A memory of Shepherd's visit at her boot camp echoed in her ears. "Remember every groove, every sound. Keep every piece close, know without thinking where each part goes. Danger is everywhere and imminent."

Another growl, louder this time, made Clarissa stop in her tracks. Fear gripped the back of her eyes as the woman slowly looked up at the window, which was clouded over and cracked. Her fear turned to terror as she saw the silhouette of a man just disappearing out of sight. She struggled to get a gun put together, Siren was never good at close combat and if this person was a danger, she would be easily outmatched. 

Fitting the last part on her pistol, Clarissa barely had time to take the clip out of her pocket before the door almost flew off the hinges. Terror was not the word she would've used, it was something far worse, like her soul itself recoiled in her skin but Clarissa's body made no movement. 

The thing that stood in the doorway was not human. It's eyes veined with blue, skin an ashen color, teeth yellowed and bloody were bared like an animal, clothes ragged and torn, the growl it was emitting was dry and cracked, white foam bubbled at the corners of it's mouth. 

Siren quickly gained her bearings, spinning on the ball of her foot and trying to dart to the hostage's room. Before she could reach the hallway, the thing rammed into her side with a shriek, jaws snapping. 

Clarissa kicked at it, her pistol clip bounced across the old linoleum, leaving the woman to fend for herself. A roar rumbled in her throat but it was encased in horror as Clarissa realized nothing she was doing was deterring it. 

Finally peeling it off her, Clarissa did a mix between a crawl and a run to the hostage room, fear in her seaglass green eyes as she heard the snarl behind her, met with its fingers scratching at her throat from behind. Speeding to her knife, Siren spun, simultaneously causing the thing's nails to scratch her neck deeply and stabbing it in the shoulder before using a kick to distance the two of them. 

By now, the hostage was screaming. Blood gushed from the side of her throat as she used anything and everything in the room to block the door. 

"Be quiet!" She growled at him before falling to the ground, adding pressure to her wound. Catching her breath in large gasps that dried her throat, Clarissa turned on her comms to everyone, not just Price this time, "I am requesting backup, something's wrong. I am injured. Again, I am requesting backup. S.O.S." She repeated herself three times before shutting her comms off. She couldn't bear to hear any of her men, her fiancé, her best friend.

Blood soaked through her fingers and she tore her jacket off and replaced it with that. The door was being pounded on, it had already been broken in places, the thing's eyes darted into the room and lingered on her… then it picked up the pace. 

Facing death was a part of the job. Clarissa had been faced with it countless times but none had been like this. She ordered the hostage into the old closet and told him to keep quiet.

As the door splintered and caved, the woman remembered Soap's jokes, Wasp's friendship, Price's mentoring nature, Gaz's stories, but her thoughts lingered on Ghost, her Simon, whom she loved more than her heart allowed; the man helped right her, helped teach her that a man's touch could be good, helped teach her to love; the night before the mission, the two had spent it in each other's arms, loving as if it was their last.

The creature was almost through the door. Narrowing her eyes and picking herself up from the floor, Clarissa Cole was not going to die here. 

···

Ghost's blood ran cold when Siren's S.O.S came across the comms. They had just dealt with a horde of infected people, the area was clear and they were due for extraction, he had even felt a twinge of excitement thinking about getting back to Clarissa. 

He met eyes with Wasp, who was already looking at him with terror. She was alone. The team simultaneously began replying to her comms, begging for more information. The sound of the helicopter filled Ghost's ears as they climbed in and made an immediate u-turn to Siren. 

Her silence made Ghost sick. He felt as if millions of ants were crawling over his skin, anxiety making his jaw clench. Soap put his hand on his shoulder and Ghost couldn't even look at the lad.

They could see from a distance that the door was open and Ghost felt bile climb his throat as the heli dropped them off, turning the engine off. Price pushed himself to the front of the group.

Everyone was silent as they stepped into the quiet house. Ghost swallowed thickly as he saw the scattered parts of her rifle on the table and floor, the clip in the kitchen. The hallway where the hostage was being kept was in front of him off to the right. A pit in his stomach grew bigger as Wasp stepped around him, paler than a sheet as he aimed his gun into the dark hallway. 

Ghost finally found his bearings and followed close behind him. He almost dropped his gun when he realized the walls and floor were covered in blood, drops and finger trails. 

When they got to the door, Ghost was holding his breath as Wasp reluctantly swung the destroyed door open and a loud shuffle gave him a flash of relief. As Wasp swung his flashlight around, Ghost saw that the room was bloodied, a body lay across the room in the corner, it was unfamiliar… unfamiliar and dead. That was a good sign. 

"Siren?" Ghost's voice was the one she needed to hear so she would feel safe enough to let her guard down. 

A low groan from by the closet alerted the team as they rushed in. Ghost quickly went to advance to his partner but a swift fist to the chest stopped him and he barked out. "What?" Simon's voice died in his throat as he saw her. The love of his life was unrecognizable; white skin, blue veined eyes, jaws dripping with gore as she looked up from the body of their hostage. 

"Oh," Ghost's voice cracked as his knees buckled under him, "Oh, no." 

He hit the ground the moment one of their guns went off, putting Clarissa to rest. He crawled to her and reached her with a shaky arm as Simon felt his vision blur with tears, her skin was cold as if it had been in the freezer, closing her eyes and wiping the blood from her mouth with his hand, Ghost weeped for the woman he loved. 

The team around him was in shambles as they came to terms with the death. Price had to leave the room to request pickup for her body, Soap stared at Ghost and Siren shell shocked before leaving the room himself, Wasp was unmoving from the corner.

Ghost couldn't give two shits what they did right now. This was the woman he was going to propose to, he wanted a life with her, have stupid kids and live a domesticated life with… her S.O.S message played on loop in his head, the last traces of her voice.  Feeling anger of the situation deep within his core, Ghost carried her outside to the heli, eyes teary but narrowed and angry… so angry at the events that unfolded here and before that. Simon Riley was not going to let her death be in vain.

[winterwandersland]

i think i might do a separate story that’s just little moments between characters to show more of their relationship. it would be the same storyline though and like short stories.

[shadow0-1]

He’s a dog with a bone

[simp4ghostie]

Ghost ~ Oneshot

MDNI 18+

Fem reader y/n x Ghost

Feel free to leave suggestions!

The lieutenant and you had always gotten along well. During missions the two of you seemed almost in sync. Your ability to become an unstoppable duo made you have quite the dynamic. Ghost recently suggested you come to his room in the barracks, the sexual tension was killing them. Fearing backlash or the possibility it was a setup somehow, you declined.

After a long mission you’re both headed back to the barracks, chatting as the two of you walk side by side.

“y/n I have a gift for you, I just need to grab it from my room” He states rather monotone, however his accent makes every syllable like liquid gold.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to go into your quarters Lieutenant?” Her voice soft beside him.

“I’m the boss, I say it is so it is” He grumbles.

“Yes sir” She follows him to his door and walks in behind him. His quarters are quite simple to her very decorated room.

He locks the door behind him and stands there staring at her back. The curve of her body. Ghost was going to have her.

“The box on the kitchen counters for you” He says nodding in the direction of a plain black box.

Your eyes trail over to the box and you walk over to it, lifting the lid off. What you see is something you would have never guessed your lieutenant of all people would gift this to you.

You reach in and pull out a decently sized Pink vibrator. “Sir… wha-“

Ghost stalks up to you and grabs the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him.

“Cut the shit y/n. We’ve both made our wants very clear. And since you won’t let me fuck you, I got you this” he says grabbing the toy from your hand,”So you can fuck yourself while I watch”

“Simon… we shouldn’t, what if someone catches us?”

“There’s nothing in the rules saying we can’t” He says his gloved hand stroking your hair, “Want me to show you how it works?”

y/n looks up at him and nods her consent.

He puts a hand on her chest pushing her backwards against the wall. Slowly trailing his hand down to her pants popping the button open and pulling them down and off.

“Bloody hell” he groans when he sees your lacy black panties. Hooking his finger in the hem and pulling them off as well. Exposing your pussy, he turns the toy on. It starts to vibrate and he places it on your clit.

“aah fuck!” you cry out as the sensitive bud is being overstimulated.

“So responsive, your cunts already dripping” He practically growls. You feel the cool texture of the fake cock at your entrance. It slides through your slick folds quickly.

“oh my god” y/n cry’s out and moans as she feels him turn the vibration up more, the part on the outside touching her clit driving her mad.

He pushes another button and it starts to thrust inside of her slowly.

Moans and whimpers escape your lips, as he lets the toy fuck you.

A sudden knock at the door beside you makes your eyes bulge.

“Stay quiet” Ghost instructs. He cracks the door.

Panic fills you hoping they can’t see you.

“Hey Johnny” Ghost says calmly.

“Hey Ghost! I was looking for y/n, have you seen her? I was supposed to drop off some files for her but she never answered her door” you hear Soap say.

Suddenly Ghost hits a button to make the vibrations even stronger. Your chest heaves and you clamp your hand over your mouth to silence your moans.

You were so close to coming, the feeling building up and making you overly sensitive.

“Nope I haven’t. Maybe she’s in the showers, or training room” Ghost says casually.

“Alright I’ll check the training room, if she’s not there I’ll wait till tomorrow. By the way I think your phones going off I hear it vibrating” Soap says.

“Yeah I hear that too, Thanks Johnny. Good luck” Ghost says to him with a wave. Shutting the door and locking it once again.

“I need you to be a good girl and follow orders. Is that clear love?” His deep voice demands.

“Yes sir” y/n replies.

“My bed, naked. Now.” He says and pulls the toy out of you. It’s dripping with your wetness.

“Fuck that’s delicious” he moans and brings the toy to his mouth pulling his mask up to expose his lips, licking it and groaning. You notice the tent in his pants, and promptly go to his room. Quickly you toss off your shirt freeing your tits and lay on the bed.

Simon enters the room with a chair in his hand and sets it at the foot of the bed. He sits down and his eyes meet yours and then trails over your naked body.

“You are more perfect then I imagined…I want you to use this on yourself” He tosses you the toy. You take it and lay back on his pillows.

You watch as he unzips his pants and frees his cock. You practically drool at the sight of it, it’s about 8 inches long and girthy with veins. He fists it with his gloved hand stroking slowly as he watches you tease your pussy.

The toy stretches your pussy making you moan in pleasure.

“Fuck… Simon” you moan as you watch him stroke his cock.

“That’s it doll…. Keep going” he pants breathlessly.

The pressure builds in your lower belly, as you work yourself.

“Ghost please” she begs staring at his cock mesmerized,” I need you”

“What do you need Love? Tell me. Use your words.

“I need you inside me” she whines and arches her back.

Ghost gets off the chair and gets on the bed standing on his knees. He grabs your ankles and drags you to him. Quickly grabbing the toy and throwing it somewhere, it doesn’t matter he doesn’t need it anymore.

“I only got a taste earlier, I need to fucking feast” he growls out and puts his mouth on your pussy. Licking and sucking on you. Nipping your clit with his teeth.

“Oh fuck, oh my god Simon don’t stop” y/n cry’s out tears at the corner of her eyes from the overwhelming feeling.

His mouth moves intently on you, drinking down your wetness like he’s dying and it’s the only thing that can save him.

You cry out as you come, feeling Simon growl against your pussy. Making your sensitive puffy flesh pulse.

When he lifts his head he looks at you completely feral. His eyes heavy with desire, the skull mask making your stomach get butterflies. Watching him crawl up your body and position his cock at your entrance, rubbing the head against your pussy. Spreading your sloppy pussy juices over himself.

“You ready for this y/n?”

“Yes sir” she says with a smirk.

In one flush moment he shoves his cock all the way inside of your hungry pussy.

“Aw fuck!” You cry out at the sudden intrusion.

You’ve never felt so full in your life. He leans down breathing heavy by your ear.

“You feel like fucking heaven love” he groans against your ear.

Slowly he begins pumping into you, stretching you comfortably. Without warning he picks the pace up, pounding into you. The obnoxious noise of bodies slapping and wetness filling the room. Along with your cries of pleasure and Ghosts loud groans.

“Simon… I’m close”

“Me too y/n” he starts pounding harder and you arch your back, pressing your tits into his chest with a cry as you release.

Suddenly he groans and you feel a flood of warmth inside your pussy, and the throbbing of his cock pulsing. Filling you up with his cum.

“Dear god..” he says and slowly pulls out of you. He watches as the mixture of your cum leaks out of your pussy.

You smile at him as you say,” thank you Lieutenant”

His eyes meet yours and raises an eyebrow.

“For what y/n?”

“For the gift” you say with a smirk.

[dani3aby]

new story teaser?

“Captain, I’ve got something for you.”

“Well, that’s never good coming from you.”

Kate Laswell smirks to herself on the other end of the phone, knowing that Price’s words were spot on. She sighs, opening a manilla folder file on her desk and shifting through its papers. 

“New mission for the 141.”

Price huffs. “Fantastic.”

The Captain places the phone on the table, pressing the speaker button so that each soldier present in the room can hear the debrief Laswell was about to give. Sergeants Soap and Gaz lean forward in their seats while Lieutenant Ghost steps closer to the table, his arms stoically crossed. “Lay it on us.” Price sighs. 

Laswell looks over the papers on her desk. “The last two months, we’ve gotten reports of some sporadic murders. Normally, this isn’t something the FBI would be concerned with. Leave it up to the state police.”

Price nods. “Right.”

“Well, the victims happen to be some important people. Two senators from the US, one politician from Germany, another from the UK, and seven government officials from Russia. It's threatening national security. We have no idea who is killing these guys or why they are doing it. Shepard is on my ass about this. I need you guys to find this guy and bring him in. Preferably alive for interrogation. I've got a lead; I’ll send it over to you.” Laswell finishes, starting to type away on her computer.

“How d’you know it’s only one guy commitin’ these murders?” Ghost speaks up.

“He leaves a…calling card, of sorts. Pink ribbon, tied to the victims. It’s a bit…” Laswell trails off.

“Odd?” Soap finishes. Price glances at his brothers-in-arms, his gaze lingering on Ghost for a moment, almost as if silently asking his opinion on the matter. Ghost only gives the Captain a blank look. The phone on the table dings, and Price picks it up to see the information on the lead Laswell sent. “All right, we’ll get it done.” Price says, standing from his chair.

“I’ll be in touch. Play this smart, Captain. This guy is dangerous. He escaped three different capture attempts. He knows what he’s doing.” Laswell warns through the phone. 

Price grins, glancing at the men in front of him.

“Well, so do we.”

************************************************************************

is this something people would be interested in? ive had this idea in my head for a HOT minute and i would loveeeee to write it all out. it will probably be a long story, lots of parts and plots cause im just silly goofy like that but trust me, the idea is SO GOOD (like actually). imagine if you mixed COD with Marvel's Black Widow storyline......BIG HINT BUT-

[darkeraurora]

Admissions - Chapter 6

Trigger warning for implied SA. No details, just very brief, minimal mentions.

Word count: 3226

MASTERLIST

Another barrage of bare-knuckle punches. Sweat poured down his face under the balaclava, his shirt completely drenched. Bruised knuckles screamed for him to stop, or at least give it a rest for a few minutes, but Simon ignored the pain and kept punching. The smothering feeling pervading his mind and crushing his chest wouldn’t allow him any reprieve.

He felt disgusting.

Every time – every fucking time – he was near her the pressure in his chest increased and the most indecent thoughts flooded his mind. The things he wanted to do, that he longed for – fuck, even things he’d never even thought of in his entire miserable existence, especially not since...

Now Ghost abhorred even the notion of another person's touch. The thought alone made his stomach roil and bile rise into his throat as memories came to the surface. The thought of her touching him was both intoxicating and terrifying. But god how he wanted it. Would welcome it gladly even. A part of him honestly felt that he could die a happy man if he could feel her soft skin just once. 

Just to touch her once…

Yet he couldn’t.

So gorgeous, so perfect, so… so everything he was not. She didn’t deserve the likes of him. Someone so broken, damaged, scarred. Weak. Tainted.

… Used.

What happened... what had been done to him... A single tear escaped and rolled down his cheek to disappear into the fabric of his mask.

He was undeserving of her.

Ghost inhaled sharply at the painful thought and the ferocity of his strikes intensified. That was how Price found him an hour later.

“Ghost,” he called gently. The lieutenant was too far gone to hear. Price carefully approached the raging man from the flank, “Ghost!” his authoritative voice bellowed.

Simon finally slowed his punches long enough to turn toward the voice. Price clenched his jaw at the pain visible in those eyes. “That’s enough for one night son,” his deep voice soothed. “Come on now, give the bag a bloody rest, eh?”

Ghost’s legs wobbled slightly with the effort of walking toward the nearest bench. He sat, panting hard with exertion, angry eyes firmly locked on the floor in front of him.

“What’s eating at you Simon, hm? Did the bag do something?”

Silence.

“Or would this perhaps be related to a certain young lady?”

Ghost shifted uncomfortably at the question, thus giving Price his answer. “You’ve been a mess for weeks now Ghost. So come on now, out with what’s troubling you. Tell ole' Captain Price all about it.”

“N-negative sir,” the skull replied almost automatically, still winded from his workout.

“Ohhh now Simon… that wasn’t a request.”

“Sir…,” Ghost started to argue, only to pause when Price held up his hand signaling him to stop.

“Lieutenant, you’ve been running on fumes since you got here. Ya' aren’t sleeping, you’re not eating, instead you work yourself half to death at all hours of the day and punish innocent punching bags until your hands barely work anymore. Now I know you have your reasons, but this time keeping us out isn’t a choice. You’re destroying yourself. That’s no good for a mission. No good for you either. So I’ll say it again: tell me what has you so upset Lieutenant, that’s an order.”

Ghost took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight. “I… I can’t,” he ground out in a low voice. He wanted to answer his captain. He honestly did, but he just couldn’t get the words out.

“Try,” the captain encouraged. A long pause stretched between them before Price decided to help his poor lieutenant out a bit. “It is her, innit?”

“… yeah,” Ghost whispered in a defeated tone.

“You’re in love with her, are you not Simon Riley?”

Clarity flooded his tormented mind in an explosion that would have brought him to his knees if he hadn’t already been sitting down. Warmth rapidly spread through his entire aching body as he finally had a name for what he was feeling. The way Price said it made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. Undeniable.

L-love..? I’m-I’m in… love? Thoughts in his mind began swirling. His shoulders tensed and his throat locked up.

But no. Impossible. Impossible, unthinkable, ludicrous and any other number of adjectives. Not for someone like him.

“Mhm," the older man hummed as he nodded wistfully. "You, Simon Riley, are in love. Quite understandable, I think. She is indeed a beauty. More than that – she’s smart, dedicated, compassionate. A woman of great integrity. Really, what’s not to love?” Price smirked slightly, “Love is an amazing thing, so why do you look so miserable son?”

“John, I-I can’t-” his lieutenant repeated, all but pleading as he turned his eyes away from Price with a shake of his head. “I'm not-” he hissed through gritted teeth, shaking away memories of his father's taunts and slanders that were loud enough in his head to make his ears ring.

“How long now?” Price pushed carefully. Getting his lieutenant to finally open up was a rare thing and Price didn’t want him to shut down and fly off into another rage.

Ghost waited for several breaths, still refusing to look at Price. Propping his elbows on his knees, Ghost rested his masked head in his hands. “First day.”

“You’ve been in love with Sereza since the day we got here. I thought as much. Does Sereza not return your feelings?”

“She… doesn’t know.”

“You’ve never told her,” Price clarified. 

"No.”

“Simon,” the captain got down to one knee, sinking to Ghost’s eye level, and rested a hand on his shoulder, “Being in love and having the chance to earn a woman’s love in return is a wonderful thing. There is no greater treasure in the world for a man.”

“I’m… not enough,” Ghost ground out lowly.

“No man is enough of anything to truly deserve a woman’s heart, Simon. They are enchanting, if perplexing, wonders. We can never be equal to them or worthy enough of them but the feeling of holding the woman you love in your arms… There is nothing in the world like it, son. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

If only. God if only. He barely dared to imagine the feeling of holding Sereza against his chest. There were no words to describe how badly he wished for that. But the Brit knew it was something he could never have and the vision only hurt him more. Ghost could only nod at his captain in response.

“I hate to think of you denying yourself that happiness when it’s right here in front of you.” Price squeezed Ghost’s shoulder encouragingly, “Despite what you think, you deserve a chance at happiness Simon. More than any other man I know.”

Simon squeezed his eyes tight and grit his teeth at the emotions Price’s words stirred in him. “Negative.”

Price stayed quiet. A calculation to keep the younger man talking.

“I don't want to love her.” He let out a deep breath, “She deserves better. Not this kind of life… Not a soldier who might never come home one day. Leave her all alone. Not someone who is so… so fucked up, but…,” he trailed off before releasing a shaky breath as he dropped his head further into his bruised hands, “I can’t get her out of my head.”

Price let the quiet admission hang in the air a few moments.

“She… she’s always there,” Ghost’s fingers scraped over his masked hair, digging into it. “But she is not mine to have…She will never be.” His voice broke the tiniest bit at the pain that fact brought to him.

“Nonsense Simon. Now I can't say what Sereza’s feelings are – she can be every bit as stubborn and difficult to read as you are – but I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” Price smiled a bit wider when Ghost finally lifted his head, giving his captain a skeptical glance. It didn’t surprise him at all that Ghost hadn’t noticed. “She does. Always watching for you and drifts closer to you every time you’re around. She wants to be nearer to you Simon. I know you don’t think you’re worthy of the lady, but to be honest son – that’s for her to decide. And I’m fairly certain she has feelings for you as well.”

A shudder ran through him. Price felt it, he was sure. The thought alone that Sereza felt something for him other than the revulsion he felt for himself – anything at all – was causing his heart to race in his chest. 

He would…

Actually, he had no idea what he’d do. This was all a brand-new experience for him, and he truthfully had no clue what people who were involved this – in this ..... relationship… stuff....  did during the whole thing. Besides bedroom activities, obviously. And a discussion about THAT with his captain would be a whole other level of hell. Plus the only experience he had with relationships was watching his parents and there was no way he was going to copy that model.

But he did know he would… somehow… do everything in his power to make Sereza happy because her happiness was the only thing in his dark world that mattered.

“The only way to pull yourself out of this hole you’ve found yourself in Simon is to tell her.” Well now Simon’s heart was racing for an entirely different reason. “I know that can be as scary as any fucking fight there ever was, but that’s the truth of it son. The only way forward is through.”

Simon visibly swallowed hard. “N-negative, I… I need some time first.” He really hoped Price would understand without him having to explain further. This was embarrassing enough as it was. But Ghost needed time to think first, to process his emotions about the whole thing. To adjust to… being in love.

The captain could understand that request. For someone like Simon, this was a jarring realization to come to. “Alright Simon. Take a little time. But don’t wait too long son. Love waits for no man.” Price clapped him on the shoulder once more before standing back up and heading out of the gym. “And get your arse to bed soon, for fuck’s sake.”

That was a little more like it. Price routinely told his lieutenant to go to bed almost every chance he got if he saw Simon out of his quarters late at night. Ghost appreciated that small shred of normalcy. He released another rush of breath and rested his head back in his sore hands.

Love. I’m… I’m in love. He thought to himself. I’m in love… with Sereza. He only wished the internal confession caused fewer conflicting feelings within him. With a weary groan, the exhausted lieutenant stood and made his own way out of the gym to go shower.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

Weeks passed. Some slowly, others in a blur where Ghost couldn’t be completely sure he remembered everything that had happened. With no missions or intel to keep him distracted he'd spent the entire time processing his not-so-little epiphany.

No there was nothing little about it at all. For him it was fucking life-altering and nothing short of terrifying.

Love. He repeated for the ten millionth time in his head. I’m in love with her. The thought brought back the now familiar warm feeling in his veins. A feeling he now recognized to be love. He was getting much better at admitting it – in his head.

Out loud was a whole other thing entirely. Sure he could now more or less admit to himself freely that he was in love with Sereza, but that was pretty much where his progress came to a halt. God his mind was ridiculous.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed out to himself.

And apparently his luck was also ridiculous today because Price decided to pick now – Ghost’s little moment of solitude on the roof – to have another chat.

“Lieutenant,” his cheerful voice boomed.

“John,” Simon greeted simply with a nod of his head before returning to looking out over the base below.

“I can't help but notice Ghost that you’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past few weeks,” Price stated matter-of-factly, rocking back on his heels a bit. Ghost didn’t understand why the man seemed so proud of himself for that. “Since it’s been a bit I thought I’d check in with you, see where your head’s at now.”

“I have, yes sir.” Ghost took a deep breath as he tried to keep himself calm. Why was this stuff so bloody difficult to talk about anyway? “I’ve thought about it a lot and… I understand it now. I can accept it.”

“You admit that you love Sereza?”

“…Affirmative sir,” Ghost answered after a beat.

“Very good. Now did you admit it to her yet?”

Simon inwardly groaned. “Negative.”

Price wanted to facepalm himself. Or whack Ghost in the back of his head. Either one. “I see. Why not lad?”

“It’s not that easy.” Ghost’s irritation was beginning to bubble up. He hung his head as he searched for the right words. “And it’s… difficult… to talk about.”

“What is it the Americans say? 'Embrace the suck' or something like that? Bloody Yanks,” Price chuckled, “True Simon, new things are hard at first. But they get better with time,” Price leaned on the railing next to his stubborn lieutenant, “And they get easier a lot faster by talking about it, bloody hell.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Ghost knew it drove people crazy sometimes trying to have a conversation with him. He felt bad for it and he was trying, but it was so fucking difficult. Particularly when it involved feelings, and emotions, and that… L-word. Why was everything in his life so damn hard all of the damn time?!

The Brit could feel Price’s eyes glued to him. “How about we start small, hm? You said you can understand it and accept it?”

“Affirmative,” Ghost replied, only a slight hesitation this time.

“Great! Let's hear it then.”

The skull’s eyes went wide. So much for only a slight hesitation. “Sir?”

“Let’s hear you say it. Say that you love her.” Price was enjoying this too much, if his grin was any indication.

Deep breath, you can do this. It’s just a few fucking words. Simon’s hands began to tremble. What the hell are you thinking? No you can’t. He clenched his fists around the railing. “I…” Another deep breath. How the bloody hell was this starting small? “I-I… I’m…”

He couldn’t do it. "FUCK!!" he snarled loudly in frustration, slamming his hand on the railing and turning his back on his captain.

“You said yourself you can admit it,” the older man started.

“I can!!” Simon roared as he paced back and forth in his agitation.

“So go on then,” Price countered.

“I meant in my fucking head!”

“Simon, look at me.” Price waited as Ghost settled down and faced him. He knew this was hard and he could be patient when he needed to be. “You love Sereza. Yes or no?”

Simon sighed, “…yes.”

“You make it sound like a bleeding punishment. Just say ‘I love her.’ Easy-peasy lad.”

For fuck’s sake. Well, if it will make Price get off his back – even a little - “...I love her.”

Price wiped a fake tear away. “They grow up so fast,” he fake-cried. Ghost wanted to punch him. Might have actually done so if he wasn’t the captain. “Maybe slightly more happy, hm? A bit less like you’re being sent to your doom?”

“I… love her.”

“Better, better. Much less doom that time. Again?”

“Price…” Simon was not in the mood for this. What he wouldn’t give for the man to just sod off.

“Again.”

Fucking fine, Simon yelled in his head. “I love her.”

“Much better lad! You could try using her name though. She does have one.”

Yes I’m fucking well aware, you wanker, Ghost thought to himself. Bloody hell this was embarrassing. “I... love Sereza.”

“Why do you pause like you’re being forced on pain of death to say it?”

So help me, I’m gonna punch him, Ghost groaned in his head. “Not a natural sir,” he deadpanned.

“That’s for bloody sure. Quite shit at it really, Christ,” Price concurred. Simon wasn’t so sure that merited such a quick agreement. “Keep trying son, it’ll get easier.” He gestured for the lieutenant to continue.

Why did this man enjoy taking the piss so much? Ghost was honestly curious.

Finally, after an unnecessarily long time and a lot of teasing comments, Simon could say it with only a little difficulty. “I love Sereza.” It came out fluidly, a hint of confidence even.

“There you go son!” Price laughed and patted Simon hard on the shoulder. “Now then, what exactly do you love about her? Hm? Is it the usual dazzling eyes and smile?” The skull almost rolled his eyes when his captain made a sickeningly sweet face and blinked rapidly at him from under his eyelashes. “Or is there a little more to it?”

“More.”

There was so, so much more.

His mind flooded with all the things he loved about Sereza.

Simon let his eyes wander to the horizon. “I, I love… the sound of her voice. I love the feeling I get when I see her walk into the room. Her smile and the way her eyes shine and her scent. I love the dumb jokes we tell each other and making her laugh with the really stupid ones. But I also love just sitting in silence next to her whether it’s reading or just watching her return emails. It can be any mundane little thing and I’ll love every second of watching her do it. I love the strands of loose hair that fall against her neck. I love the shape of her ears and the expressions she makes when she’s annoyed. I love how much she hates when her wet hair makes her back cold and her bad mood when someone wakes her up early. I love watching her hair blow in the wind when she’s sitting outside. I love the way she drags a finger across her lip when she’s deep in thought. And I love …” Ghost’s voice trailed off as he paused for a bit. “I love how she makes me feel at peace by just being near her. I love her not just for what she made of herself, but for who I am when I’m with her.”

Price was in awe. “Simon… you’re smiling under there.”

Ghost felt his face flush deeply. He so appreciated his balaclava at the moment. But Price was right, damn it all; he was smiling. And it felt good.

...He felt good.

“That was beautiful son,” the captain sincerely complimented, “Absolutely beautiful.” Price decided there couldn’t possibly be a better ending for their discussion than that, and he definitely wanted these chats with Simon to end on a positive note. After an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, Price left the lieutenant to be alone with his thoughts.

Moments later, "Hey Ghost."

The teeth behind the mask clenched together tightly as the sweet sound of her voice washed over him.

Fuuuuucking hell...