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callsign-datura · 10 months ago

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Both you and ghost hiding feelings for each other until you make a decision on a mission that saves his life but nearly results in you getting killed. Argument leads to angry sex that melts into soft gentle adoring sex

About A Girl

A/N: anon this is my favorite ask of all time pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader, reader's callsign is raven synopsis: ghost gets hurt, you cover it and nearly get yourself killed. he doesn't want to lose you. Simon "Ghost" Riley doesn't make mistakes. Not when he's stressed, not when he's under pressure, not when people are looking up to him. He doesn't make mistakes, and that's just who he is. When he looks at you and his heart thrums in his chest, he gets distracted. When he feels that tickly feeling in his stomach whenever you look up at him with those eyes of yours, he feels something. And to him, those things and feelings are what cause mistakes. And Simon "Ghost" Riley doesn't make mistakes.

"You're gonna be getting intel from a cartel-run trading port together." Price's voice is low and hoarse as he twirls a pen in his hand before tapping it against the edge of his desk. Ghost's tall, menacing form stands beside you, his arms folding over his chest as he stands. His eyes are cold, neutral, and murky as he stares holes into Price.

You stand beside him, smaller in comparison, your hands slipped into your pockets. His presence is suffocating and to you, it feels like he's taking up the entire damn room. "Just the two of us?" Ghost asks. His voice is husky and raspy, a sexy tone that has your knees knocking. "No backup?"

"No. This'll be a mission I can only send our best on. The place is fortified and you'll be going in, finding the woman and getting the intel, and then getting your asses out of there before the entire place knows you're there. Understood?" His eyebrows rise and he looks from Ghost to you, giving you a brief nod as if he's trying to make sure you have your attention on him. Ghost doesn't say anything. He turns on his heel and starts walking towards the door, and you look at Price and utter a soft, "Understood." before following him out.

"You're leavin' tonight. Get geared up." You look back at Price and nod, and when you look forward, Ghost is already halfway down the hallway. You sigh and you go the opposite way towards the armory to get your gear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Tell us where Dimitri is." Ghost's tone is terse, snapping. His words are short and cut, and even though he's not talking to you, even you feel slightly intimidated. His hands are placed flat on the table in front of him, and he leans forward on it, brown dead eyes trained on the lady tied to a chair at the other side of it. "Fuck if I'm telling you," she laughs, accent cutting through her words as she struggles against the ropes. She avoids his gaze however, her eyes cast down and away. "Look, Lana, if you tell us where the man is, we'll let you go." You're lying. Ghost glances at you and his eyes narrow briefly before he looks back at her. Lana Antonova. Russian financier working under a mysterious person named Dimitri Kulikov, the guy who's supplying the man we're looking for-- Red Spirit, a man who's at the head of a cartel. Multiple fatalities as a result of the escapades he and his men went on, including the murder of one of our informants. "I'm not telling you!" She hisses, jerking her body against the ropes. Her voice is shaky, and she's on the verge of breaking. Ghost sighs and pulls away from the table, pacing at the far end of the room. You approach her and lean against the table with your hip, holding your rifle with one hand and putting your other hand on your hip. "Why aren't you telling us? Is it 'cause you're... involved with this man?" Lana pauses for a second, and then she scoffs, her eyes going up to yours. "...No." "You're lying again," you say, your voice taking on a higher tone, like you're mocking her. "I'm sure those ropes are uncomfortable. Tell us what we need to know and we'll release you." "No." She repeats, her gaze going back down again. She jerks against the ropes once more, and you sigh. You look back at Ghost and you see him rummaging through the various cabinets in the office. He's searching for something on her. You look back at her. "If you tell us where Dimitri is, we'll take him into custody and he'll get a lighter punishment. But if you don't tell us, we'll have to find him ourselves... and if we find him ourselves, we'll have to kill him if he gets combative. Do you want that?" Your voice is condescending, but it's obvious this gets the gears working in her head. She scoffs again and looks away. "I know you're looking for Red Spirit... I have logs on the supplies Dimitri bought. Where the supplies went, when they were bought, and when they arrived at their location. I'll tell you where those are. Just... leave Dimitri alone." You stand up straight and look at Ghost. He looks back at you and gives a nod, before coming back over. "Where are they?" "They're... in this office. In that desk." She nods with her head, and you go over to the desk and rifle through it. "It's a USB drive... insert it into a computer and it'll start a download of all the purchase logs and delivery reports." You find a small USB drive, and you hold it up. "This is it," you say, looking at Ghost. He nods again, and you put it in your pocket. He leaves the office. "Hey! Aren't you going to let me go?!" You go over to her and pick up a roll of duct tape on the table, picking it up and ripping off a strip before putting it over her mouth and smirking at her. "No chance, lady."

You turn around and jog out of the office, locking the door behind you. Ghost is waiting in the hall. He looks at you. "Got the drive?" You nod. "Good. We're going." Then he starts jogging down the hall and out the door you both came in through. You follow suit and he leads you out of the building and down the road leading to the docks at the shore. Waiting further up the shore is the patrol boat you used to get there. Halfway down the road, when you're catching up to Ghost, gunfire sounds. Your head whips back and you see about five men at the top of the road, shooting down at the both of you. You're about to start running, but you see Ghost using a wide tree as cover. He has his back to it and he has one hand on his leg like he's been injured. You turn around and return fire, taking cover behind another tree further up the road. Whenever you've taken out four of the five men, you go to Ghost's side. He's bleeding pretty bad from his leg. "Shit," you hiss. "Come on, let's go." You move to help him limp further down the road to get to the boat. "No, just go. You have the drive." he grunts. Millions of things are running through his head, and he'd rather get left behind than risk you getting injured just because you're trying to help him. Gunfire sounds, and his heart thumbs in his chest.

"If they find you, they'll kill you!" "Just go!"

"No, the boat is right there--" You take his hand and start leading him down carefully. He's limping, and it's taking some effort. You don't stop. You help him down to the boat and into it. You get in as well, and there's more gunfire. You look up as the patrol boat starts pulling away from the shore, and there are more men lined up at the cliff. He knows he should be grateful. But for some reason, he's angrier that you risked your life saving him. You don't say a word, and neither does he. He's just stewing in his own anger, packing his wound. He shouldn't be angry at you. But god, he is. He's pissed that you'd even think about risking your life for him. For some reason, he's angry that he was more worried about you getting shot trying to help him than he was worried about the thought of you possibly leaving him behind. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's a few days later. You waited to talk to him in hopes some of the energy from the mission had diffused. You went to his room, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. He was sitting inside, on his bed, reading a book. He was doing better now, and the injury he sustained on the mission was a graze from a bullet and a pretty badly sprained ankle. He sets the book aside and gets to his feet, going to the door with no trouble, pushing open the door and peeking out. Once he sees you, something bubbles up in his chest. It's a mix of happiness that you came to see him, guilt that you went out of your way to help him, and anger that you risked your life. He never really dealt with all of the feelings that came with the encounter. "...Hi." You say, your gaze darting down to his leg. "You're doing better, huh?" He steps back and nods, gesturing for you to come inside. "Was jus' a graze and a sprained ankle." "Explained the limping." You say, stepping into his room. It's meant to be a playful joke, but you can't tell if it landed or not as he stares at you. You swallow slightly, crossing your arms. "...We gonna talk about what happened?" He says, his voice low and raspy like usual as he leans against the wall, mimicking your body language. "What is there to talk about?" You act nonchalant. "You saved me." He says matter-of-factly, staring at you a bit harder now. "I did."

"You risked your life to do so. Why?" His tone takes on an angry note; different from how he usually sounds, and you can tell all the emotions are resurfacing. You take a step back, looking at him. "I wasn't just gonna leave you behind, Ghost, that's not what a teammate does--" "No, I'm not jus' your teammate. I'm your lieutenant, and you're supposed to do what I say. I say run, you run. I say leave, you leave." "Are you seriously pulling rank right now?" You genuinely can't believe that he's acting like this, and the look on your face must show it. He scoffs a little. "I'm not pullin' rank, I'm tellin' you that you should have listened to me." "You were telling me to leave you to die!"

"And you should have listened." He pushes himself off the wall and goes toward you. "You're my subordinate." He gets in your space, and his face is a few inches towards yours. Suddenly, you're incredibly aware of everything. The way his brown eyes focus on yours, glittering with anger, the way he leans over you, and how big his hulking frame is in comparison to you. He notices the way a blush spreads across your cheeks, and he pauses for a second. He notices that you're looking everywhere but his eyes. He glances down at your lips and he takes a step forward. "You're an idiot, s'what you are," he grunts, his eyes trained fiercely on your lips. He takes a step forward, shutting the door behind you and pushing you up against it, leaning in and reaching one hand up to pull his mask over his mouth, his other hand tilting your head to the side as he leans in and starts planting rough kisses along the span of your neck. The audacity of this man makes your chest bubble with more anger, but you can't find it in you to push him away. His kisses feel heavenly. You bring your hands to the fabric of his shirt and you ball it up in your fists tight, grunting. "Yeah, well, you're an asshole." You mumble, tilting your head and shutting your eyes as he keeps kissing your neck.

"I might be an asshole but you're still the one who risked your life for me," he grumbles, nipping at the flesh of your neck as his hands find your waist and you pull him closer. "Yeah, well, what would I do without your smartass mouth ordering me around all day?" You mumble, your voice shaky as his touch sets all your senses alight.

He scoffs under his breath and he laps his tongue over your pulse, his big hands running underneath your shirt and gripping your hips. "I'm the one with a smart mouth? You're the one talking back to your superior." He grunts, leaving a light hickey on your neck, then another, then a darker one.

A moan that's badly muffled leaves your lips. He pulls your shirt up roughly, and you lift your arms to make it easier. He throws it aside and moves on to the next article of clothing, unbuttoning your bra and throwing it to the side as his kisses trail down. Over your collarbone, towards your chest as his calloused hands run over every inch of your bare skin. "You've always been so damn reckless," he grunts, lapping his tongue over your soft flesh and leaving more hickeys as he moves down. Your head falls back against the door and your shoulders draw together as he kisses down. One of his hands moves up and he starts playing with one of your breasts as he takes your nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over it and closing his lips around it before giving a little tug on your other nipple with his thumb and pointer. His other hand is busy unbuttoning your pants, and his hand leaves your breast to pull them down around your hips as he detaches from your nipple and huffs. "So damn reckless, so damn stupid. You don't even recognize the fact you could have died trying to save me."

"I-I know damn well that I could have died, but I wasn't thinking about that at the time--" Your breath hitches as he tugs your pants and panties down around your legs. You kick your shoes off and he pulls your pants and panties off of you, leaving you entirely naked and subject to his gaze. He pulls back and his gaze roves over you, and his gaze softens just slightly before it hardens again and he stands up, leaning back into your neck and littering more hickeys there as your hands paw at his chest and tug at his shirt. You whimper whenever he takes your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head, a silent order for you to be patient. You're not having it though, and you grunt under your breath, pulling your hands free and bringing them to his shirt. He looks alarmed for a second and using his surprise against him, you pull his shirt up and off, and he grunts immediately.

"Damnit, girl," he hisses, but he lets you anyway. Your hands move to his pants and you start unbuttoning them, and he continues his ministrations as he kisses and bites your neck. One of your hands slips down his front, your eyes fluttering shut as you gently pull his cock free from the confines of his boxers. He's big. Not incredibly long, but he's thick, and heavy in your hands. You gasp and bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your satisfaction as you pump your hand around him, from base to tip. "Fuck." He hisses. He's going to stop you, but it feels too damn good to stop you just yet. Besides... this is the same thing he's dreamt about for months, and it's finally happening. He lets you continue for a few more seconds before he quickly hoists you up by your thighs, pinning you against the wall with his body.

Your gaze travels over him, taking in every inch of him. From his muscled chest, his arms, the tattoos on his arm, and then his hips-- his v-line, and his happy trail. Your gaze goes back up to his face, still partially obscured by the mask. So you reach up, tugging at the hem of it lightly to signal, 'off'. He chuckles just a little, feeling his chest swell slightly. He hesitates. His lust and that fluttery feeling in his stomach override his sense of rationality, and he lets you pull it off and throw it aside. You stare at him wide-eyed, taking in his features. He moves and grips the underside of your thighs a bit tighter, shifting a bit against you. You jolt when you feel the tip of his cock rest against your hole, and he leans forward, putting his face in your neck and slowly pushing into you. It doesn't hurt, not at all. You gasp when he sinks his cock into your heat, and your arms wrap around his neck and you cup the back of his head. He makes you feel so full, and your heart swells a little when you realize you're finally getting what you've wanted this entire time. He litters kisses and bites over your neck, his grip on your thighs tightening. He pulls his hips back, dragging his cock out of you before he bucks back into you, the head of his cock knocking against that gummy spot inside you. You mewl, tilting your head back as he bites down on that spot that makes your insides spasm on his cock.

He grunts and bucks into you once more, before adopting a smooth, rhythmic pace. He drags his cock out of you and then bucks back into you, the tip of it hitting that spot inside you each time. The sounds of wet skin on wet skin develop quickly, and he's grunting and groaning into your neck. He pulls back to look at you and his expression softens, his thrusts stuttering a bit. Your head is tilted back and your lips are parted as you whimper breathlessly, and it's like he's seeing you for the first time-- looking at you in that same loving, bewildered manner he did when you introduced yourself to him. His eyes sparkle, and a smile spreads across his lips.

"Fuckin' hell, girl... you're pretty, you know that?"

Your breath hitches whenever he addresses you so affectionately, and you lean forward to kiss him. He follows suit, and the moment your lips are on his, his hands slide up to cradle your ass as he adopts a new, quicker pace. You whimper into his mouth, and his tongue darts out to prod at your bottom lip, asking for entry. Your lips part and his tongue dips into your mouth, flicking against your own as his cock bullies into you over and over again, reaching deeper as he leans back and holds you up so your weight leans forward onto him a bit. You pull at his hair gently, teasingly, and he grunts and kisses you harder. You're moaning and whimpering. You have to pull away from the kiss to breathe, and when you do, his lips are on your neck again. Leaving dark hickeys, teeth nipping at your flesh as he pushes you up against the wall again and wraps one arm around your waist, his other hand sliding up your back and tangling in your hair, and he pulls it in retaliation to you pulling his. You whine when he does, and he bucks into you a particularly rough time, drawing another mewl from you. The way he's fucking into you has you seeing stars, and your eyes are rolling back into your head. All you can focus on is the sensation of his cock pumping into you over and over.

His grip on you tightens, and you feel his cock twitch inside you. He continues his pace, but you can tell he's getting close when he groans softly into your neck, tilting his head to nestle into your neck as he continues thrusting. You're getting close too, whining when that coil in your belly winds impossibly tight. You wrap your legs around his waist and you whimper. "Fuck, Ghost, m'close--" You feel his thrusts stutter again before he's groaning into your neck. "Say it, love." "Ghost..." You whine, your grip on his hair tightening when his thrusts suddenly cease, the pleasure fizzing away. "No, sweetheart, my real name. Say it, 'n that pretty voice of yours, and I'll consider letting you cum." You pause, and embarrassment swells in your chest, but you can feel your orgasm slipping away and you're quick to plead. "Simon, please..." "Yeah?" He chuckles quietly, kissing your cheek as he starts bucking into you again, a bit rougher this time. "You wanna cum?" You whimper in affirmation, and he whispers, "Then cum for me, sweet girl."

That's all it takes. Not even a second passes, and your walls squeeze on his cock and you're mewling as your orgasm wracks your body. His grip on you tightens and he leans in to kiss you and muffle your noises, nipping at your bottom lip as he bucks into you and buries himself into you as deeply as possible, bottoming out. You whimper when you feel ropes of his cum spill into you, and you're moaning breathlessly into his mouth and pulling his hair. (You're almost positive you told him you loved him.) He grunts and stays inside you. Your cunt spasms around him, and he grunts, withdrawing himself from your pussy. You feel just a bit of his cum dribble down your inner thighs as he slowly lowers you to the ground, littering loving little kisses over your face and running his fingers through your hair as the haziness of your orgasm fades. He guides you over to his bed and shifts you down onto it, getting himself dressed before he comes back to you with tissues in hand, wiping his cum from your inner thighs and pulling your panties back up your legs. He runs his fingers along the inner side of the hem to make sure they're in place. You're still panting, and a bit out of it from the entire experience. He pulls away and grabs one of his shirts, gently helping you put it on. You're enveloped with the scent of him, and it's a warm feeling. You feel the bed shift as his weight is added to it and he lays beside you, pulling you close and tucking your head into his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. You coo quietly and nuzzle into him in response, holding him close and tight. Your body is still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure, and being in Simon's arms has a smile spreading across your lips; one you just can't wipe off. "You know, if sprainin' my ankle and gettin' grazed by a bullet results in this... Might just do it again." "...Don't you dare."

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #ghost cod #callsign datura

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seresinhangmanjake · 8 months ago

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader - We Both Know

Summary: Simon broke up with you but you both know it was a stupid choice.

Notes/Warnings: Stalker-ish Ex!Simon; Soft!Simon; Insecure!Simon (a little bit); some smut (18+), fluff, cursing, typos probably

Words: 1642

He’s here. You know he’s here. Not because you can see him or hear him or feel him—he’s too skilled for that—but because you know Simon Riley like the back of your damn hand. And Simon Riley won’t let you go. He has not proven himself capable of letting you go. Not yet, not fully, and if you can help it, not ever.

When you close the door behind you and kick off your shoes, you don’t bother turning on the lights. You’ve spent nearly two months flipping that switch in your entryway, pretending he isn’t somewhere in your apartment. Two months of going about your nightly routine as if there isn’t an intruder in your home. Two months of ignoring the soft shutting of your front door or window once you’ve settled into bed. But you’re tired of playing this game, and frankly, you miss him—the man; not the ghost who has been haunting you, trailing you, hiding in plain sight.

“You've been watching me,” you announce into the void.

A handful of beats pass but not for a second do you let yourself believe you’re crazy for attempting to converse with blackness and silence. Then the little cord on your lamp is pulled by thick fingers, illuminating the side of the apartment where he stands. He’s a shadow in the corner of your living room, drenched in black from head to toe, skull-printed balaclava included, and it takes everything in you not to rush to his side, shove that piece of fabric up over his chin, and kiss him.

“You've made it necessary,” he scolds; the first words he has spoken to you in nearly sixty-five days. It’s the longest he has forced you to go without hearing his voice, having been attached at the hip since you met; and having that smooth, deep tone in your ear is like soaking your body in a hot bath, sloughing off the wear and dirt and grime to come out renewed and refreshed.

You nod because you know what you’ve been doing. You’ve known your choices would bring him back to you. You hoped, at least. But you also hoped he would give himself and his stalker behavior up long before you would have to call him out. He’s usually much more possessive when you spend your evenings drinking and freely dancing amongst crowds, and the thought of you flirting with other men has always put him in a sour mood. You thought seeing it up close would make his vision go red, but he's held himself back. However, you suppose him watching and following you from a distance is better than not caring to watch or follow you at all.

“You're not being safe,” he tells you.

“You mean I'm doing things you're not happy with.”

Simon doesn't respond to that. He can’t, because you’re absolutely right and he isn’t the type to disrespect you by lying to your face.

“You broke up with me to—what was it—‘live my life’ while you're gone? Do you really have a right to be pissed at me for getting a head start?” you ask as you take steps further into the apartment and toss your purse on the counter. “If that's the case, maybe you should've dumped me a little closer to your deployment date so you wouldn’t have to witness it.”

Now you do feel him. You see him through the mask. He’s bubbling inside, the beginning of a boil, because he made a silly choice and doesn’t like to be reminded of his mistakes. He hasn’t exactly voiced that, specifically, but it’s the truth. It was silly. It’s also the truth—though again, not specifically expressed—that he regretted it the very minute he walked away from you, leaving you in tears because he is the one afraid of what will happen when the two of you face his first deployment in your relationship. He is afraid to come back home expecting a loving welcome only to find disappointment if you’ve chosen to seek out the comfort of another man. So, ‘Don’t let me hold you back, love’’ he’d told you. ‘Live your life, and I’ll figure out what to do with myself.’

Simon groans, grumbles, vibrates the room. He begins to close the distance between you until he thinks better of it and halts beside your couch. “I did it because–”

“Do you miss me?”

“That is not rela–”

“Do, you, miss, me,” you press.

He swallows hard, Adam’s apple protruding under the balaclava. His fist clenches at his side. You don’t think he's going to give you the satisfaction, but then he sighs and says, “Of course I fucking miss you.”

Your breath catches in your throat and your vision starts to blur at the edges. Those words heal the bits of your heart that he broke when he left.

“Then don’t be stupid,” you say, crossing the room until your chest is nearly pressed against his. You rest your hand on his cheek, or what would be his cheek if not for the mask. “Don't make us spend your last week here apart from one another.”

With another exhale, his shoulders loosen their rigidity, and in that moment you know you have him.

“Fuck me, Si,” you whisper.

His eyes flick to yours. A flash burns through his irises.

“It'll just make it harder.” That pathetic argument betrays his actions. One of his palms instantly goes to your waist, gently tracing the curve. The gesture is so natural between you you’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it.

“I promise it won’t,” you say.

Then your hands slide along his shoulders to grip his biceps and you slowly turn his body until you can push him into a seated position on the couch. He lets you lead. He lets you staddle his lap. He lets you lift the mask a few inches and connect your lips as you grind your hips down, hardening him within his pants.

Simon’s fingers squeeze your thighs. They travel to your hips, encouraging your movements, before they continue a path up your spine. With his tongue in your mouth, you lose track of his touch for some time until he’s settled on a placement for his hands. One wrapped around your waist, hugging you tight; the other woven into your hair, holding you in place as his kisses swell your lips, verging on bruising.

“Come on, baby,” you mutter into his ear when you break the connection to breathe. “Don’t you want to be all warm and snug inside me? Don’t you miss how well you fit? Like my pussy was made for you, right? That’s what you’ve always said.”

You know how it sounds. It’s desperate and needy, but you don’t care. You’re begging, not just for the man who sets your body aflame, but for the man who altered the trajectory of your life when he entered it. The man you refuse to live without.

“Love–” he starts, but his groan from the nibbles you give to his neck interrupts him.

“You can rest deep in me for a while if you want. I’ll stay perfectly still for you. Or I can go nice and slow the way you like.”

Moving your head back, you stop the shifting of your hips and lock your gazes. You pointlessly wait for him to deny you. Pointlessly because Simon Riley doesn’t deny you in situations like this. The equal balance of your need for one another has made that impossible, so it doesn’t surprise you one bit when he nods in agreement.

Your thumbs delicately guide the balaclava over his nose, but you stop there. Only he removes the mask. It’s his right; his decision to show his face and to whom. You are one of the lucky ones, but you’ve never taken advantage of that gift.

With one hand, Simon grips the top of his mask and jerks it the rest of the way off his head—hair sticking out in a million directions—as he sneaks his other between your bodies to undo the button of his pants. He lifts his hips, bouncing you on his lap, before you do the same so he can push his pants down his thighs.

You don’t spend time marveling at the thick column of flesh he’s pumping with his fist. You know everything about his cock. Every ridge and valley from base to tip. Every vein. Every inch of him you have memorized, and you’re too hungry to waste another second without him where you want him most.

When Simon finally slides inside of you, you hum in satisfied delight. Like basking in the heat of the sun after the chill of Winter. Like the first bite of your favorite ice cream hitting your tongue. Like quenching a thirst. Like coming home.

Simon’s head falls back against the couch and his chest heaves with heavy inhales and exhales. His eyes are closed, but you catch a hint of a smile on his face.

“We feel so good together, Si,” you say, slowly rubbing your hand up and down his chest. “I want this when you return. Don’t you want this when you return?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then why deprive yourself of what you love? Especially when what you love wants you so bad.”

He lifts his head and reaches up to brush his knuckle from your cheekbone to your chin. “I was trying to make it easier.”

Palms cupping his jaw, you run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Fuck easy.”

“Love, it’ll be a year. No less.”

“I don’t care,” you swear. You start to rise and then you sink back down onto him. “I'll be waiting for you, Simon.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #modern warefare ii #mw2 cod #mw2 #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley fic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley fanfiction #simon riley fluff

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soapsbaby · 2 years ago

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Goodbyes

Summary: How you and your CoD partner would spend the last day and night before they have to go off on a mission.

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, König, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra, John Price, Valeria Garza, all x gn!reader Rating: SFW Themes: Angst, sadness, softness, no warnings needed Word count: 1300ish

Ghost

He’ll try to push you away, as if that would make it easier for both of you.

Once he can tell that he just makes you upset, he apologizes and makes sure the two of you get to do whatever you want to, usually you prefer to just get takeout with him, stay in bed and cuddle.

To him it’d be easier to not do that, it makes him miss you even more, but he does it for your sake. He knows that if something bad happens to him that you’ll be the one who suffers most, so he makes sure your feelings are prioritized.

He makes sure to say goodbye to you at night so he doesn’t have to wake you up in the morning and make leaving even harder on his part. He tries to be stoic about it but he hates every second of it, especially if you fall asleep on top of him and he has to gently shove you off and then just leave you behind.

Soap

He will absolutely not leave your side at all, trying to make the most out of your last hours together. No matter where you go, he’ll have a hand around your waist, is constantly kissing you and showering you in affection.

He tries his very best to be as cheerful as possible even though it’s hard, but he hates seeing you worried or sad.

Before he leaves in the morning he makes sure he has something prepared for you, he puts flowers in the kitchen for you to find, notes on the mirror. You’ll also almost always wake up to a voice message on your phone by him, telling you that he loves you and that he’ll be back as soon as possible and there’s always a suggestion on what you will do, whether he wants to take you to a fancy restaurant he heard about or some nice café.

König

He gets quiet. His anxiety almost always tells him that something terrible will happen to either you or him once he leaves and the thoughts slowly drive him insane until he leaves and his brain switches into work-mode.

Even though he doesn’t really talk to you about it, you can tell that it bothers him and so usually you are the one trying your best to cheer him up. It also helps when you plan things you will do after he comes back and not even let the possibility that he might get hurt become an option. Oh, it’ll be just a week until you’re back, I might as well book the cinema tickets right now, right?

He has a hard time expressing it, but he is eternally grateful for how casual you are on the outside even though you are of course freaking out as well. His job is really, really dangerous and him not coming back is always unfortunately a possibility.

He'll cuddle you to sleep and kiss you in the mornings, softly telling you that he loves you.

Price

He always makes sure to treat you to a nice dinner before he leaves, to leave a good impression, as he puts it. This can mean that you go to a nice, upscale restaurant, but he also loves cooking at home for you. He loves providing for you in general but the days before missions are the ones where he goes all out, going to the market for the fanciest ingredients and making sure you have an appetizer, main course, dessert and whichever expensive wine fits the meal the most.

He’s usually in good spirits before missions and not too worried about his wellbeing which rubs off on you. He is confident that nothing will happen, so you are too.

You get up with him so you can have an early breakfast and spend some time talking before he has to leave.

Gaz

It hits him so much harder than it hits you. Not even because he is afraid that something will happen to him when he’s gone, just because he hates being apart from you for so long.

If he got his way you’d just spend all day in bed, his face buried against your chest and rubbing his back but you usually try to at least get him out of the house a little bit, go for a walk or grab a coffee somewhere.

He is always affectionate but those days you won’t be able to get rid of him, not that you want to. He just needs as much reassurance as you can give him.

He really struggles getting out of bed in the morning, usually he’ll roll over to you again and kiss you awake, telling you he doesn’t want to leave and how much rather he’d stay with you. It doesn’t matter whether he has to leave earlier than you, usually you`ll get ready with him, giving him as many hugs and kisses in the process and sending him off with a smile. He doesn't have to know that you break down once he has left.

Rudy

The day before is always reserved for a family party, a barbecue or some other get together. He goes away often so not his entire family will come over every time but there’ll always be someone there. His family is incredibly important to him and he also feels much more secure knowing that you have a good relationship with them so you are taken care of if something were to happen to him.

Once it becomes evening, though, he will make sure that he can focus on you and you only. Usually you won’t do anything “special” but he makes sure to take his time to talk to you, to make sure you are alright and that there is nothing on your mind that you are not telling him. There is nothing more important to him than clear communication and making sure he is on good terms with all of the people he loves before leaving for a mission.

You’ll fall asleep in his arms and wake up the same way, he would never leave before saying goodbye to you. Usually you’re still sleepy and he’ll kiss you goodbye, tuck you back in and let you keep sleeping.

Alejandro

He tries his very best to be as casual before missions as he can, going through his regular schedule and not to make too big of a deal out of it, but you can tell that he is giving you more affection than usual, being a little more touchy and telling you how much he loves you even more than he does otherwise.

He’ll make sure that everything is taken care of before he’s gone, taking you grocery shopping before and stocking up on everything that you might need. He also makes sure you pick up extra on some items to make the time easier for yourself, a good book, some snacks, maybe a bottle of wine.

He is a true romantic at heart but he keeps the special dates and occasions away from your last days, it feels like bad karma otherwise.

He’ll make sure you are comfortable getting to sleep and that he has told you a million times that he adores you, that he’ll be back so soon and that you don’t have to worry one bit.

Valeria

She tries so, so very hard not to show it, but she is terrified every time she leaves that it will be the last time she gets to see you. Hell, she might not even get hurt but she might get caught and go to jail for the rest of her life.

She always makes sure that she has her affairs in order before she leaves, makes sure that you have access to everything you need so you can get away safely and not be punished for your connection to her.

She’ll be extra affectionate, making sure that you know that she loves you and also making a point that she would never be mad at you for denying any connection you have to her if she gets into legal trouble.

She treats every goodbye like it might be your last one, kissing you like she never gets to again and spending the entire night holding you.

#call of duty imagine #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #könig x reader #konig x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #valeria garza x reader #captain price x reader #cod fanfiction #cod x reader #so sorry for alex being in the gif and now being written #i just don't know enough about him at this point to feel confident writing him sorryyyyy #ari writes

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 11 months ago

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In My Time of Dying

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of injury, kidnapping, held hostage, mentions of suicide

Words: 2.9k

Synopsis: The clock is ticking...

You are currently reading part 12 of The Roommate Series

You’re not sure how long you’ve been stuck here.

Here, you assumed, had to be some abandoned building. The air was humid and filled with mildew that filled your nose. The must and mold made your headache worse and the more you sat against the cold concrete walls, the more it felt like it seeped into your skin.

You sniffled, hot tears continuously running down your face as you struggled to breathe. You had been stuck in a state of panic since you woke up in the SUV but it got worse when they tied you to a rusted pipe in the dark room you assumed was going to be your tomb.

Everything in your body hurt.

The men who had kidnapped you weren’t friendly in transporting you from your apartment to wherever you were right now. They had shoved you and pulled you in every direction while demanding something of you, all while you had a bag shoved over your head so you couldn’t see where they put you.

Pain split from your temple and made you dizzy. The man had hit you incredibly hard and caused blood to pour down the side of your face. You were sure the amount you had lost contributed to the dizziness, though you were sure he had caused a concussion too. You could hardly move in your spot without feeling so nauseous that you were sure you were going to throw up.

A whimper escaped your lips as pain struck you and you keeled over, more tears falling as the pain worsened.

You weren’t entirely sure why they wanted you, you suspected that it was because of who you lived with, but you still didn’t understand why. You weren’t someone special, you had no significant amount of money and you certainly didn’t have any valuable information about Simon’s line of work. You didn’t even know what his job was until two weeks ago.

Simon. You wished he was here, if he had been none of this would have happened. You wished you were in the safety of his arms, to feel his warmth against you and to hear his voice. If you had known that it would be your last time, you would’ve savored the moments longer, would’ve told him you loved him more, would’ve done something more.

Your chest hurt and you let out a soft sob.

The thought of Simon being left alone after everything he told you, the possibility that he may never even find your body when he gets home made you want to scream sob into the empty room.

You didn’t deserve this and he didn’t deserve to deal with the aftermath.

Tears blurred your vision and yet crying didn’t make you feel any better. Your head still hurt and you were still trapped, waiting for your potential slaughter.

You had to get out. You had to escape. They had left you hours ago…or what you assumed was hours ago and made no indication that they’d be back any time soon. You had a chance to run, to get help and call Simon.

You tugged on your restraints and the pipes groaned. You gasped and blinked away the tears as you stared up at them in the darkness. You focused on the pipe you were tied to and tugged as hard as you could, watching it shake from the force and nearly come loose.

Hope grabbed your throat and between your labored breaths you began to continuously pull against it despite the ropes biting into your skin.

For a split second you thought it would break, but then you heard voices.

Your heart stopped and you froze, fear taking over you once more.

They were coming back and who knows what they would do to you if they saw you trying to escape. You missed your chance by being terrified and your mind conjured up the worst scenarios of what was going to happen when they showed up.

The door to the room opened and you instinctively pushed yourself against the wall. You watched them walk in with wide eyes, your attention jumping to the floodlights they turned on that blinded you to the man who had taken Simon’s gun.

He still held the gun but in his other hand was your bookbag. One of his men set down a foldable chair where he set the bookbag on before he opened it up.

The silence was deafening as you watched his rifle through your belongings, occasionally throwing items onto the floor with no care. He threw your phone on the ground, almost as if to taunt you with the idea of safety before he glanced up at you.

“I’m sorry about the-” His voice made you jump as he gestured to the side of his head to mimic the wound he gave you. “But I did warn you.”

You couldn’t find your voice as you watched him continue to go through your things. Instead you sat there shaking uncontrollably while your eyes never left him.

Just a prey caught in a hunter’s trap.

He pulled out the burner phone and your mouth went dry. He inspected it and tossed your backpack on the ground, taking its place in the chair.

“Why?” Your voice was broken and small, shaking to the point you were surprised you even got the word out.

The man looked at you with raised eyebrows as if he was confused by your question. He leaned forward on his knees and thought for a moment before he shrugged as if this was something entirely normal.

“You were the only way to get what I want.” He scoffed. “Well…not the only way but you were closer, easier than the others.”

Others? Your heart hurt more and your stomach dropped about the thought of there being more who had to go through this, more who might die for whatever he wanted.

“What do you know?” His voice was calm but the intent behind his eyes meant he wouldn’t take much to anger.

You shook your head frantically despite the pain. More tears threatened to fall at the thought of him not believing you about the fact that you had no knowledge about Simon’s line of work.

“N-Nothing! I don’t know anything.” You pleaded frantically. “Please, whatever you think I know, I don’t. I’m just a college student.”

You were prepared to beg and plead until you lost your voice. Anything to keep him satiated enough to keep you alive until you had another opportunity to escape. You hoped your panic would make it believable because you were telling the truth.

He stared at you, his eyes scrutinizing you as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. For a moment you thought he didn’t believe you until he held up the burner phone.

“Tell me, does this phone reach Ghost?” He asked and it was your turn to look at him with confusion.

You had never heard of that “name”, especially from that burner phone. The only two numbers in there went to someone named Laswell and to Simon. There wasn’t a Ghost…unless he meant Simon.

It was the only thing that made sense. The phone connected you to Simon and it seemed like the man wanted to get to him but knew him as “Ghost”. You had no clue why he wanted him, what the reason was but it only made more fear build up inside of you.

What was he going to do when he found Simon?

He didn’t seem to like your hesitance because he sent you a warning glare, a look that sent a chill to your bones and made your heart beat faster.

Simon had to be Ghost to you now. For the sake of your life and his privacy…though if the man saw the dog tags hidden underneath your shirt, it wouldn’t matter.

“It does.” You nodded and he turned on the phone.

“Which number?” He demanded and you paused.

Your life was on the line but what if Ghost’s was too? You couldn’t be the reason he’d get hurt again, you couldn’t be the one who would get him killed-

The man backhanded you with enough force that your sore head hit the pipes behind you. He didn’t care as you cried out in pain, the sting from his slap radiating off your skin, before he grabbed you by the hair and made you look at him.

“Which number?” He repeated, his voice ice cold and deadly.

“The second one.”

He let go of your hair with a shove and stood up. He called the number on the phone and held it up to his ear, his eyes glaring at you as he flaunted the gun he stole.

A reminder of your fate.

Ghost followed closely behind Price to the extraction point. He listened to Price call in the information they worked the last twenty-four hours on and kept his eyes trained on the area surrounding them.

It didn’t take long for him to get back into the routine of work, in fact it was only hours after he had gotten back to base that they were shipping out to the next target, right where they left off two weeks ago.

Price had been a little worried. Ghost saw him keeping an eye on his lieutenant but he proved to him quickly that there was no reason to be worried.

“Couple more days and we’re done.” Price told them as they settled down at the extraction point. He made an effort to look at Ghost as he said it. “Laswell will need to look over the intel we got before we can make our next move.”

“Bet you’re thrilled, Lt.” Soap teased as he sat down on a rock.

“Who would’ve thought he’d be the first one out of all of us to have someone waiting for them.” Gaz joined in and sent a smug smile his way.

Ghost sent them both a look that didn’t deter either of them so he just rolled his eyes. Though, he wouldn’t outwardly admit to them now but he was incredibly happy to be able to get back home to you sooner rather than later.

Between the fact that he only had those three days and then two weeks to spend with you, he was really starting to crave the many months of interrupted time with you. He was waiting to get back into the regular routine of being deployed for a couple months and then coming back for a couple months just so he could have the time to actually spend with you.

No wounds to be healed, no calls from Price, just you and him alone like how it had been for three years.

He was ready to do whatever you wanted and ready to take on more dates.

“Cheeky.” Ghost grumbled and they snickered. “I won’t be thinking of either of you when I’m in bed, not alone.”

Soap and Gaz groaned, causing Ghost to snicker to himself while Price shook his head. He set his gun down and pulled out a cigarette, begrudgingly giving Soap and Gaz one when they began to beg for one of their own.

“Should make you run for them.” He tossed them the lighter.

“Don’t be cruel, Lt.”

“Yeah, Cap wouldn’t make us run for them.”

“I wouldn’t?”

They shared a laugh and for a moment, even after the atrocities they had seen, things were good. But then a ring tone sounded out from a pock on Ghost’s tactical vest and his heart dropped.

The others looked confused but Ghost had gone completely serious. He threw the cigarette on the ground, not even taking the time to extinguish it before he scrambled to find the burner phone.

“What’s that?” Soap wondered.

“Burner phone.” He explained, his voice having a slight edge to it. “She’s supposed to call only if there’s an emergency.”

That made them perk up and they gave each other serious looks.

On the outside Ghost was calm like he usually was but on the inside there was a slow building anxiety that began to spread across every part of his body. He hoped that this wasn’t an emergency, that maybe this was a butt dial or was you calling him because you missed him. He didn’t want to listen to the thoughts that maybe something was terribly wrong as he answered the phone.

“What’s wrong-”

“Nice to finally speak to you, Ghost.”

His blood went cold. His heart stopped and he immediately tensed up, his body going so rigid that his muscles ached. He felt bile in the back of his throat while his mouth went dry and adrenaline coursed through his veins. All sense of ease had been ripped from him and now he was back in his work mind, back on the field and ready to find the bastard who spoke through your phone.

You wouldn’t give the phone to anyone and the fact that the man knew his callsign meant it had been taken from you.

They got to you and this time they were mocking him. This time they were going to tell him and this time there was going to be more hell to pay.

“Where is she?”

Ghost spoke in a cold tone that made the rest of the 141 freeze. The anger was palpable and their expressions fell into their usual seriousness as the situation laid itself out plainly, though behind their eyes he could see their own fear about it.

“Alive for now.” The man didn’t try to assure him and he swallowed hard. “I want to speak to the captain as well.”

Ghost put the phone on speaker, his hands gripping it with enough strength to possibly break the phone while the three stepped closer. He glared at the screen as if he could see the man and force the thoughts of your dead body, you beat and bloody body out of his mind.

“Speak.”

“I have a proposal,” the man got straight to the point but he hated the sound of his voice. Vile like a snake. “That information you took from us months ago was valuable and I’d like something in return.”

“Your business is with us.” Price grunted out. “Whatever you’re planning-”

“I never would’ve been able to reach you. Her life isn’t in my hands, Captain, it’s in yours.”

The guilt that struck Ghost in the stomach made him grip the phone even tighter. The love of his life had been taken from him, like his family had been all those years ago. All of his past mistakes hit him and he found it hard to not keep his emotions under control.

If it weren’t for Price he’d panic, if it weren’t for the sergeants he’d be in an inconsolable rage.

How could he let this happen again?

“What do you want?” Price kept his cool and he was thankful he was doing the talking or else you’d probably get shot.

All of his training for this seemed to go out the window. He was too blindsided that he couldn’t get control of himself when you most needed it.

“Plans. Intel on what your next missions will be, what weapons you, everything about what you do and what you plan to do. I want to be repaid for what you stole from me and if you don’t give it, she dies.”

Ghost thought he may have heard you cry in the background but maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him. His mind was already tormenting him about letting you get captured and if you died, he’d follow.

“What’s the time limit?” Price demanded. “Eight hours. You’ll meet my men at the location I give you. You give me the intel, you get your hostage. Try anything and she dies.”

The call ended and the words hung in the air. Ghost could hardly think, his mind overcome with the realization that just getting back would take a couple hours which was too slow for him. He was starting to lose himself in the images of his butchered family, your own corpse mixed in with them.

The nightmare, you clutching onto him, he’d be too late-

Price placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder and squeezed it tight, enough to ground him back in reality. His blue eyes were serious and cold, enough for everyone to understand it was time to get back on business, especially as the helo came into view.

“We will get her.” He said with no doubt in his voice.

All they had to do was their job. Your life was in an hourglass and every second counted.

“Yes, sir.”

Price nodded and gave him a firm pat. He immediately radioed to Laswell, filling her in on the situation and asked her to search for your phone location, your real phone, and anything else. A missing persons report, a break in, any suspicious activity around your neighborhood.

Ghost followed him to the helo and with every step he took, more and more of the panic fell underneath the fire of pure rage that coursed through his veins. There was no doubt the lengths he would go to get you back.

He’d be covered in blood, a mangled, hollow version of himself just to have you safe in his arms. The world would burn if you died and the men who took you would beg him just to end their lives.

A side of himself that he had long forgotten about would see the light of day again but he didn’t care.

Ghost would do anything to get you back.

Link to part 13

a/n: unhinged Ghost who's going to kill everyone is my favorite

The tag list is closed!! I am so happy that so many of you want to be tagged for this story but I will not be accepting anymore requests to tag people in this series since this list has gotten long and it's hard to keep track of how many I have to add! Sorry for the inconvenience!

Tags:

@kat-nee @alexwashere82 @suicidal-marshmellow @shuttlelauncher81 @poohkie90 @reiya-djarin @k4marina @mionacaped @igotmajordaddyissues @xxghostyx @pasta-m1lk @imstargazing @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @kgive @konig-is-bbygrl @lialacleaf @frazie99 @gremlin-ghuleh @spencerreidisbae123 @writingmysanity @lillianastuff @alastorhazbin @reid490 @lockleywife @sheepselecric @dead-noodles @marshmallowtraver @sinclairbrosbathmat @sofasoap @crazyfandomist @iwmtfm @oiiviagrande @genesis1363 @revyjerry @guttabutta00 @greenkiki @d4z01 @quietlyignoringyou @mysticalgalaxysalad @almightywdm @maviee @lycheedr3ams @multitargaryen @fruitymoonbeams-blog @lilpothoscuttings @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @adriennepoison

#the roommate series #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #mw2 ghost

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userlando · 2 years ago

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✧･ﾟ 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐬

simon ‘ghost’ riley x female!reader [3.3k] summary ⤍ your boyfriend slept horribly on a good day, and hardly closed his eyes on a bad day. warnings ⤍ 18+ (mdni) explicit language & smut (handjob), mentions of ptsd/war/military, mentions of nightmares and death. a/n ⤍ it’s my birthday so here’s my gift to u. simon riley u have my heart <3

You don’t know what pulls you out of your sleep - whether it’s a forgotten dream or your subconscious - but you jerk out of it all the same. Sleep clouds your vision, blurring it and it takes you a moment to blink and take in your surroundings in the darkness. The covers tucked tightly over your naked shoulders fall when you shift into a sitting position, supporting your weight on a wobbly arm against the rigid mattress.

There’s a slight ache in your back that you choose to ignore. Your boyfriend slept badly on a good day, and he hardly closed his eyes on the bad days. If a rigid mattress helped him get even an ounce of sleep, then you’d endure whatever you had to.

At the thought of him, you turned your head to find his spot on the bed empty. Your fingers touched the sheets, finding it cold and barely slept on. You’d gone to bed together, but he must’ve gotten up the second you dozed to sleep. He was good at that, slipping off unseen without alerting anyone. It was his job after all.

You shed the covers off your body, shivering slightly at the frosty bite of the air and you hurried to close the window that you’d left ajar. It had gone cold overnight and you wasted no time to find a pair of sweatpants to pull up your legs.

It was silent in the house, almost eerily so, and you fought the sudden need to turn back and crawl into bed as soon as you reached the dark hallways. It was ironic that you were scared of the dark you were, considering how you were living with someone whose call sign name went by Ghost of all things. Who thrived in darkness and used it to his advantage. A ghost.

Simon was almost hard to miss, tucked away in a corner of the appointed gym room and lifting dumbbells like they were the lightest things he’d ever touched. Your eyes tracked the movements of his lifts, taking in the swell of his arms as they strained and the straight line of his back. It almost startled you when he turned his head and looked straight at you from the corner of his eyes. It shouldn’t have surprised you how aware he was of his surroundings and you took a moment to calm your sudden racing heart before you stepped further into the room.

“Hi.” You greeted him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

You knew not to ask too many questions, because you already knew the answers to them. Are you okay? No, he wasn’t. Why aren’t you sleeping? Because he couldn’t and working out was one of his many ways to shed those nightmares plaguing his brilliant mind.

Your boyfriend grunted as he lifted the dumbbells for one more rep, setting them down next to his feet. His eyes looked weary, tired from lack of sleep and troubled from whatever was weighing on his mind. It wasn’t an unusual expression he donned, but it made you sad all the same.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, voice rough.

You took another step toward him, shaking your head in the negative and watching his eyes flit to the tips of your toes - almost like was watching where you were heading. His legs separated just a tiny inch, but it was an invitation if you’d ever seen one. You wasted no time to close the distance between you two, stepping into the space between his thighs. He welcomed you without any words being said, arms circling your hips and closing the remaining distance between the two of you.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” You asked, though you knew the answer. Your hands found his hair, sliding your fingers through and touching the damp strands gently. “We could put a film on and have a little cuddle.”

You couldn’t help but notice how the man in your arms leaned his head against your stomach, just like he always did when you were sitting on your sofa watching the telly, or when he’d had a particularly bad night and you stayed up with him. You knew that it was a tactic to hide himself, shield his face from your observing eyes so you wouldn’t read it or see the emotion he never hid well in his eyes. It didn’t mean that you didn’t appreciate it though, considering how he’d shut himself off completely at the beginning of your relationship. It was a tough road, but you’d gotten there eventually.

“‘m not done.” He murmured against the fabric of your sweater. “You can go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”

A minute meant until the sun rose on the horizon and the light found its way through your curtains. You couldn’t have that.

“Hey,” you tugged at his hair, gently enough for him to look up at you; Blinking his blue eyes, looking innocent as ever. “I can sit here and watch you.”

He didn’t react when you pulled yourself out of his embrace, taking big, theatrical step back and raising your arms out by your sides with a smile. It was your poor attempt at making his lips twitch into one of his rare smiles, and all you got in return was a slight arch of his eyebrow that shouldn’t have looked as attractive as it did.

“What? I’m not even tired.”

Your insistence was proved wrong when a yawn crept up out of nowhere, and you hurriedly tried to hide it behind your hand even though it was too late.

“Okay, maybe a little.” You lamented when your boyfriend narrowed his eyes at your obvious lie.

“Alright pet, let’s get back to bed.” He pushed himself up onto his legs, his hulking six foot something form looking particularly menacing in the dim room.

You reached your hand out, not wanting to grab him without his consent and he immediately took you up on your offer by sliding his hand into yours. It almost made you grin like a fool and you bit the inside of your cheek, opting to guide him out of the room and back to your bedroom instead.

The room wasn’t as chilly as you’d left it, and you felt your body yearn for the bed at the sight of it. Just when you were about to close the distance, Simon pulled his hand out of yours and it made you look back at him questioningly.

“Just need to clean myself up.” He explained and you nodded.

He left the room to seek out the bathroom. You watched silently before turning back to your bed and slipping in. Instead of taking your spot on the right side of the mattress, you plopped yourself in the middle and shoved your feet under the covers to keep them from going cold.

And then the waiting game began.

It took a moment for Simon to come back from his shower, but you waited patiently. Your eyes were just starting to droop when the screech of the shower knob echoed from down the hall. The pour of the shower stopped, and you didn’t have to wait long until your boyfriend came walking back in.

He stopped at the sight of you and you could see the gears in his head turn. How he noticed you sleeping smack dab in the middle of the bed, your feet shoved under the covers and your hands hidden in the sleeves of your sweater. You would’ve missed it if you blinked. Simon’s lips twitched into one of his smiles, the ones he’d reserved for you, and you only.

“Cold?” He asked, yanking a drawer open to rummage through it for clothes.

You hummed, watching him dress himself with more ease than a lot of people. “It’s freezing. Need someone to warm me up.”

It almost felt like an award when his lips transformed into a smile, dimple deepening the side of his cheek adorably. It wasn’t a full blown smile, but your stomach twisted at the sight of it anyway. He finished getting dressed, draping the wet towel over the back of a rocking chair in the corner before he plucked a pair of fuzzy socks from a different drawer.

Your heart beat its way into your throat when you realized what he was doing; Tracking his movements when he sat down on the bed by your feet and gently fished them out from the cocoon of the covers. His eyes were soft, mouth set into a straight line like they always did when he got particularly focused on a task. The task right now? Pulling the fuzzy socks over your bare, cold feet.

“Thank you.” Your voice sounded choked up even to your own ears, but his soft side never failed to bring tears to your eyes and butterflies to your stomach.

He glanced up at the sound of your voice, wrapping a hand around your calf and giving it a squeeze. His way of saying you’re welcome. You raised your arms and waited for him to scoot up the bed and into your embrace. He grunted as he situated himself right up against your side, one leg thrown over yours and his arms tightly wrapped around your torso. You knew that he probably heard the sound of your heart beating unnaturally fast, but he didn’t say anything about it as he laid his head against your chest.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked quietly.

He shifted against your side.

“Nothing you haven’t heard already.” He replied.

It was true, probably. From a traumatic childhood to the horrors he saw when he was deployed, there wasn’t much Simon Riley hadn’t experienced in his lifetime. Hearing about the things he’d been through as a wee child had almost brought on a panic attack on your side, because no one deserved to grow up in the environment he had and your boyfriend deserved the world and everything beyond it.

You squeezed him closer to you at the thought of a dirty blond haired boy, scared out of his wits and lonely in a house that never felt like a home to him. The scent of his shampoo grounded you for a moment and you buried your nose into his wet hair.

“I’m alright, love.” He spoke after a moment, most likely picking up on your breathing and stuttering heart. No one was as attuned to you as him.

“I know, I just love you a lot.”

There was no mistaking the intake of breath at your words. It was clear to you that he had a hard time hearing those words directed at him, and it had taken some time for him to believe them when you spoke them. He’d been a hard man to crack, and he still is. There were so many things you still didn’t know about him, and you were too afraid to ask. Afraid of what his answers might be.

“I love you, too.” His voice sounded ragged, tight.

Any moment now, and he’d be pulling himself away from your embrace. You respected it, how he sometimes did that when he felt overstimulated or got way too into his head to pull him out. But it had been a long week and you were craving his closeness more than you wanted to let on.

So, he didn’t protest when your fingers found his sharp jaw, pushing slightly to tilt his head up to look at you. His eyebrows were knit, pupils blown out and he looked like a man on the verge of getting sucked right back into the black hole. In a moment of slight panic, you leaned down and closed the small distance between you two, pushing your lips onto his. He barely responded at first and for a moment you feared that you’d misread his emotions and was just about to pull away when he shifted his body to face yours. His lips responding to yours made you sigh on relief through your nose, opening your mouth to his insistent one and kissing him deeper.

The low rumble in his throat made you grip him harder, letting him straddle you without putting any real weight on your body. But you craved it, craved his warmth and weight and everything he had and wanted to offer.

No words were spoken as you kissed and kissed, and kissed. Your lips turned raw, swollen and you wanted more. He didn’t resist when you somehow managed to flip him over, albeit a little clumsily. He let you straddle his thighs, hands finding your face and neck to hold as he tasted your tongue.

His hands had been through enough, shed more blood than you liked to think about and killed people in combat. But you had never felt as safe as you did when he touched you like this.

The urge to show him how much you loved him became too big, too great to keep inside anymore.

There was a question in his eyes when you pulled back a little, eyebrows drawing together when your hands made quick work of pulling at his sweatpants and locating the hem of his underwear. You could see his hands reaching out to presumably grab you from the corners of your eyes, but he stopped himself in the last second and folded his hands into fists instead. You flickered your gaze up to his eyes, finding him staring at you.

“Is this okay?” You asked, halting your movements entirely. He nodded after a second of contemplation and you bent down to kiss him. “Words, Simon.”

“Yeah.” He rasped out, breath hitting your smiling lips. “‘s good.”

You didn’t waste more time to pull his pants and underwear down enough to fish his cock out, finding it half-hard and heavy in your hand. The weight of it made you squirm in his lap, turning your head to nip at the stubbled skin of his jaw.

Simon was a big guy, chunk and muscles all around. He filled out his clothes well and all those sleepless nights allowed him to work on his body and stamina. He didn’t go out very often, but there was no mistaking people’s stares and gaped mouths when he walked by them and you couldn’t blame them. Although you often glared at those who rudely stared until they had the decency to look embarrassed and turn their heads.

Your boyfriend being a big man also meant he was packing heavily in his nether region, thick and long enough to reach spots inside of you that you didn’t know were possible. You had half a mind to tug your own sweats off and sink onto him but you held off, knowing that what Simon needed first and foremost was relief. He just needed to be taken care of, and all you craved from him right now was him.

You made sure to have a good grip on him, not too tight and not too loose, before you started jerking him off to get him in the mood. Judging by by the way he was panting against your ear, it wouldn’t take long to get him there. His hands scrambled to find something to grip, settling on cupping your face and bringing you to his lips.

It was much filthier than your other kisses you’d shared tonight, teeth nipping and his nose pressing to your cheek as he found comfort in your lips. It didn’t take long for his cock to fill out, making it harder to have a better grip on him so you brought a hand up between you to lick a thick stripe on the palm before grabbing him again.

He hissed, eyes closing in a tight squeeze when you reached the tip of him. He was wet, precum beading on his head and you swiped your thumb over it; Using it as lube to make touching him way smoother and pleasurable for him.

One of Simon’s hands raked through your hair, finding a good grip on it and tugging until you let out a moan against his lips. He pulled you off further to look at your face, almost like he needed to know what you were thinking and if you were feeling the same type of pleasure that he was.

“You feel so good in my hand,” you nodded at his searching gaze, hand squeezing just a tad bit tighter around him. “Warm and heavy.”

He grunted in response, letting go of your hair so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. You placed small, sucking kisses to the sensitive skin there and scraped your teeth teasingly right beneath his earlobe because you knew how much he loved it. He’d go absolutely feral for the tiniest prick of pain.

It had the desired effect on him, hips humping up and sliding his cock further into your fist, making him hiss and hands grab at your back. He was close, it was evident in how he started chanting your name lowly in your ear. The reverent way his hands were scrambling to grab a hold of you and pull you closer.

“I’m -“ he shuddered when you picked up speed, jerking him off and bringing your free hand down to touch at his balls. “Fuck.”

The shudder in his voice had you soaking but you put all your focus on making him feel good, needing him to come and growl in your ear the way he always did.

“Come on, baby,” you whispered against his neck, nuzzling your nose up to his cheek and giving it a chaste kiss. “I got you.”

It was like that’s what he was waiting to hear, hips bucking up and body stiffening like he’d been electrocuted before his cock started spitting against your palm. It got on his clothes and yours, but you couldn’t care less when he finally let his mouth drop open and he moaned from deep in his gut. You slowed your pace gradually as he shuddered through the last of his orgasm, pressing little kisses to his cheeks and jaw until he made a noise at the back of his throat.

You let go of him, knowing that any more and he’d become overstimulated and that wasn’t your intention for tonight. All you needed was for his body to relax enough to get some type of sleep before the sun rose outside and night became morning. One look at his lax body and you knew you’d succeeded, kissing his slack mouth before sitting up gingerly.

It was warm, and you huffed in discomfort before shrugging your sweatshirt off and flinging it to the side somewhere. You’d need to do some laundry tomorrow, making a mental note in your head.

“D’ya need - ?” He started to ask, hands gesturing tiredly to your body but you cut him off with a firm head shake.

“Not tonight.”

He nodded once, lips twitching into a small smile and you leaned down to kiss it. Nothing suited him better than a smile, and you’d made it your mission to tell him that once every day.

There were very few words exchanged as you took off his soiled shirt and got him a chilled water bottle from the refrigerator. You left the door wide open like Simon needed and double checked so the latch was shut on the windows before crawling underneath the covers where your boyfriend was waiting.

You turned on your side, as did he, and shared a small secret smile.

“Thank you, pet.” He whispered and you stretched a finger out to touch his stubble, right where his dimple remained hidden.

“Always.” You said.

And you meant it.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley fic #simon riley one shot #task force 141 fic #call of duty modern warfare 2

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riverbutghost · 1 year ago

Text

Stop The Pain

Pairings: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even though you weren’t supposed to be on the field, you were. And you weren’t alone. You got a rookie under your wing, and that was fine until you got shot.

Categories: Angst/ Fluff, happy ending

Warnings: Graphic language, blood, wound, military stuff, sexual themes. Also, Medic!Reader.

The reader’s call sign is Pearl. I don’t know why.

A/N: This is my second fic and i’m over the moon with my first one aaaaggggh!! Anyway, happy reading lol, don’t forget to rb to support me :) still waiting for the day when someone’s gonna request something-but no complaining-

“Keep your eyes open, kid!”

You yelled over the storm, one hand pressing on his wound and the other trying to pull him by his arm. He was trying so hard not to close his eyes, but you knew it. You knew he was dying soon.

“C’mon, kid. Just a little, ugh, longer,” You huffed as the storm got stronger.

The mission was the hardest mission you’ve ever been to. And it was the first mission you had to use a knife to kill someone. A fucking knife. You were a medical professional after all, why would you need or use a knife to kill someone?

“I swear to God or whatever is above there-“ Your breath hitched and you stopped talking as a bullet pierced through your thigh. You pulled the rookie with you to somewhere safe, then looked at your thigh. It was bleeding.

Thankfully it wasn’t something fatal, but it still hurt. You looked at the kid, you were still holding him with one hand. You quickly retreated your other hand to his wound.

“Deep breaths, kiddo. You got this, I know you do.”

You checked your comm, but it wasn’t there. You suddenly started to feel helpless, useless.

“Shit, okay- you’re okay. We’re okay-“

He coughed blood, making you feel a lot worse.

“C’mon kid, just a little more, stay with me.”

He nodded his head but his eyes were blurring. You wanted to stop the war. It wasn’t fair.

“Talk to me. How old are you?” You said while trying so hard to stop the bleeding. You ripped your shirt, which was under your vest, and started pressing on his wound with it.

“I’m twenty two- this my first…” You nearly cried. this was his first mission, and he was dying. No, you said to yourself. You weren’t going to let him die, he had to live.

“You’re not going anywhere, buddy.” You tried so hard to reassure him, to let him know that he wasn’t dying soon. But he was.

“What the fuck?! “ You yelled when another bullet landed on the tree behind you. You wanted them dead, all of them. Fuckin’ terorists, you mumbled. Killing and torturing people, that’s what they fuckin’ do.

“Stay here, yeah? I’ll find a comm.” You told the kid. He nodded his head, trying not to drift away. You took his gun.

You stood up carefully, walked around the secure area that you found surprisingly. The area before you was almost empty. The keyword is almost.

You placed the sound suppressor on your gun, the rookie’s gun, and shot the enemy who was kneeling before a dead body. He didn’t even have a chance to look at you.

You quickly scanned the area and carefully kneeled down next to a dead body, which was wearing a balaclava. You figured it was someone on your team. You took the little piece and put it on your ear.

“Hello, is anyone there? It’s Pearl, I need immediate help. Please is anyone there?”

You were shaking now. You gripped your thigh, the pain making you more stressed than ever.

“Is anyone fuckin’ there! God damn it!” You yelled and stood up, going back to the rookie.

“Hey rookie, you good?” You swallowed the shakiness.

“Not- not a rookie. Soldier-“ He flinched and gave a shaky breath.

“Of course, just stay with me a little more, hm? ”

You were on the verge of tears now. No one was there. No one could help the kid. No one. You pressed your com.

“Please, I need help-“

A static voice came suddenly from the other line. You held your breath.

“Pearl, where are you?”

You relaxed a bit after hearing your lieutenant’s voice. He spoke in a cold manner, but you knew him. He was worried.

“S- Ghost, I don’t know I- We- The kid is dying- I-“

Your hands started shaking, your breath was limited. You tried to think about different things, but it was hard to do that in your situation right now.

“Are you hurt?”

“My t-thigh-“

“We’re comin’ , stay where you are ‘kay?“

You nodded your head stupidly. You looked down, the rookie was barely breathing.

“Hey kid, c’mon they’re coming!” You yelled and started tapping his cheek to wake him up.

He groaned but still didn’t open his eyes.

You were fully crying now. You didn’t know why were you crying. You’ve lost many many people in your life, some young some old, but this has never happened. Yes, you’ve shed a few tears but you’ve never felt like this.

“What’s your name, kid?” You wiped your nose on your sleeve.

He didn’t answer. You closed your eyes for a moment and when you looked at him, you checked his pulse with trembling hands.

He was gone.

Your shoulders dropped. Your eyes started producing more tears, if that was possible.

You gripped his dog tags and pulled them out. You looked at his name.

Theodore Moreau

You wipes your eyes then got up. No, you tried to, because there was a sudden pain that made you whimper and fall down again.

You had forgotten about your thigh.

You held your thigh, but your head was pounding. You weren’t sure if that was because of the shot. It was because of your panic attack.

You needed your Simon.

You cried harder at that thought, feeling selfish. But you needed him. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about you like that, but after that night you were sure you would talk to him about your feelings. Because losing someone was so easy at this point.

You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth and holding your wound.

You tried thinking about something else, something that would take you away.

You drifted away.

Simon was nauseous.

He was panicking inside, but didn’t show a single emotion on the outside.

Were you shot? Were you wounded? Did you need him?

He was angry.

Angry at Price for making you fight with the enemy. Angry at Soap for leaving your side to fight someone.

Angry at himself because you probably needed him and he wasn’t there.

Gaz looked at Price.

“Where are they? What if they’re both dead-“

“What? No way, yer aff yer heid.”

Simon shuddered at the thought.

“She’s not dead, Kyle.” Simon’s cold voice was heard. He had an authority, making Gaz shut up.

“We’ll look this way, and you’ll look thay way, got it?” Price spoke suddenly. Everyone agreed and went down the paths.

Simon thought about the first time he felt a thing towards you. It was three months ago.

You were cleaning Simon’s wound.

He was super close, you were super close. He was looking at your eyes while you were looking at his bicep. It was a sight.

You were a sight.

“You’re staring, Simon.”

His heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. It suited you.

How sweet would his name be if you moaned it. Just for him-

“Simon.”

He cleared his throat.

“Sorry, had a rough day.”

You smiled at him. That sweet innocent smile.

Fuck, he thought.

“It’s okay.” You continued working on him, your touch gentle.

“Am I hurting you?” You asked him with genuine concern.

He gulped.

“No, you’re not.”

You smiled again. He was feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

“Well, that’s it. Come again if it starts to bleed, Simon.”

He sighed and nodded. You stood up from the medical bed, and washed your hands.

Simon wasn’t sure if he was okay.

“Simon are you sure you’re okay?” You asked him while removing your white uniform, which was something like an apron.

“I’m, yeah. I’m okay. I’ll just leave,” He stood up quickly.

Your face fall. Did you want him to stay?

“Okay, uhm…” You cleared your throat.

“Do you mind me coming to your room tonight?” You asked him innocently. His pants were tightening.

“What?” He found himself asking.

“Y’know, to- to look at your wound. If that’s okay for you?”

He was sweating now, wanting nothing more than taking off his mask.

“Yeah, yeah that would be okay.”

You licked your lips. He sighed. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t do that.

Your gaze fell to his pants, making him more uncomfortable. Your breath hitched and you gulped.

Your eyes met again.

“I’ll come tonight.” You said breathlessly. He nodded.

And he couldn’t wait for the night.

He was right to feel that way. Because he felt like he was born again that night.

“Ghost?”

He turned to Soap, shaking the images of you from his mind.

“Yes sergeant?”

Soap pressed his lips tighter than before.

“I know you care about her.” Simon felt claustrophobic all of a sudden.

“I-“

Soap held a hand for him to shut up.

“I know. And I know you’re my superior and I have to respect you, but you were super loud, Simon.”

Simon gave a slow breath. Soap cracked a smile.

“And I know she cares about you too. I saw how her breath hitched when she saw you on the treadmill.”

Simon smirked. But his smirk fell when he realized you weren’t with him. You were in God knows where, and he was talking about you and him and your relationship with Soap. He gulped.

“Focus, Soap. We have to find her.”

Soap nodded.

“We will.”

“Pearl!”

You immediately opened your eyes and looked around frantically.

“Oh my God! You’re alive.”

Price sighed and looked at your form.

“Price, I’m sorry. Couldn’t save him.” You said while trying so hard not to sob. He gave you a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, he knew it was going to be a hard mission. He was a real soldier.”

You smiled weakly.

“Let’s get your wound cleaned up, yeah?” You nodded and let them take you to the truck.

“We’ll meet the helicopter in a second, Pearl.”

You nodded and clenched your jaw. The pain was starting to feel unbearable.

“Where is Simon?” You asked Gaz, who was holding you at the back. He scratched his neck.

“I’ll inform them.”

He held his comm.

“We found her, meet us in front of the heli.”

“Roger that.” Came Soap’s voice in a second.

You closed your eyes, finally feeling relaxed. You weren’t sure if you’d be mentally relaxed though.

You felt like an absolute shit when you woke up. You didn’t wake up because of the beeping or anything, you woke up out of nothing.

“Simon.”

Simon shifted his mask, you assumed, and turned around.

“Y’good?”

You nodded and swallowed.

It was pitch black other than the little lamp near you on the nightstand and it was comforting.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been on the field in the first place. It’s our fault, and I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Simon.” You smiled reassuringly at him.

“It’s not gonna happen again, don’t worry.” Simon said while looking at the floor.

You put your hand on his, which was on your side.

“It’s okay, I got shot. Accidents happen.” He clenched his jaw.

“Not to you,” He said your real name in the end. It made you shiver.

“We lost that kid, sadly. What if that was you? I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Your expression fell after the mention of the kid. You suddenly felt disappointed again, at yourself.

“I want to give his dog tags to his family.”

He reached out for your face, gloves already off. He stroked your cheek and you suddenly felt touch starved.

“Okay,” He mumbled, words vibrating his chest. You blushed.

“Don’t do that.” His hand found your lips, caressing them softly.

“What?” You said, meaning it.

“Don’t blame yourself.” You sighed.

He moved his hand to your chin and caressed there softly too. He was making you forget things, and you weren’t complaining.

“Can I see you?” He stopped caressing your face and took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to!” You suddenly said.

He took his mask off in a second. Your mouth was hung open.

“You’re really pretty, Simon.” You bit your lip, tilted your head. He felt his heart beat faster.

“Knock knock knock!! Pearl!”

A sudden voice was heard and Simon quickly put on his mask.

“How is our little Pearl?” Soap’s sickly sweet voice came in, behind him was Captain Price.

“I’m really good, actually .” You smiled at them softly then made eye contact with Simon.

“I’ll need assisting for a while, though.” You said mischievously. Soap laughed at that.

“Well, you sure need it.” Price said looking at Simon.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Simon rolled his eyes then got up.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight?”

“You will.”

Simon got out, smacking Soap’s head on his way out. Gaz came in a second later, making you stop your chit chat.

“Well, that was disgusting. But I guess I won the bet!”

You rolled your eyes while laughing at their antics.

You couldn’t wait for the night.

Just like 3 months ago.

That was so rushed. I hate it tbh but this is my second fic and I’ll improve. I just feel like I can’t sum up my fics? Whatever, please like and rb if you liked it!!

#call of duty #simon riley angst #simon riley x you #cod mwf2 #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of dooty #johhny soap mactavish #john price #angst fluff #call of duty x reader #modern warfare x you #modern warfare ii

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saintgoths · 11 months ago

Note

since u do requests heheh i was wondering if you could do something like this: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM66LSbW9/ bc omg i'm obsessed lmao and maybe with smut in the end? 🥹 thanks! 🤍

☾༺♰༻☽ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴇᴀᴛ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni - intense dirty talking, grinding, possessive ghost, mutual masturbation, m/f sex-full nelson position and heavy breeding kink

simon riley.

1634 words.

“Don’t worry darling, you��re the prettiest woman in the room,” Ghost muttered, his masked mouth pressed against your ear, causing you to shudder in response to his pant. With a wide smile that sneaked upon your face, you had pressed your back against his chest, gently moving in rhythm with the slow music that sang through the large speakers.

The both of you had decided to go somewhere you barely go, well, together, Simon usually finds himself in a pub due to his co-workers, and you would rather go to the club. Though aside from the loudness that had filled the room, there was a subtle ambience that had moved the two of you.

“I know that,” you smiled. “I’m normally the prettiest woman in the room.”

“Cocky,” he replied swiftly.

“And you’ve never been…?” You raised your eyebrow, with a shorter smile that remained on your face, teasing Ghost of his previous arrogant behaviours, you could feel the covered bulge of his press against your back, aware that the cool and soft lewd tension that had been shared between the both of you had slowly peaked.

“T’s different,” he shrugged, his masked mouth moving to the bareness of your neck, “Keep grinding on me like that I’ll end up fucking you in front of everyone.”

Surprised, you had raised the both of your eyebrows, slightly excited---you had tucked your bottom lip behind your teeth. “Ah?” You breathed out. “The possessive Simon Ghost Riley allowing over people see the way he fucks me?”

“The sound of that vexes me,” he grunted. “I won’t be able to hold myself back if you continue to speak to me like that.”

“Well, you’ll have to be a good boy,” you shrugged. “You want all the men here to see my naked body, don’t you?”

With a click of his tongue, Simon shook his head. “Now, when you word it like that, luvie, my idea to fuck you in front of everyone is ruined,” he gently whined, which had caused you to release a breathy laugh.

“Now that the mood is ruined, I need to go to the toilet,” you smiled before disconnecting yourself away from his grasp, you could feel Ghost lightly slap your ass causing you to mildly smirk before you pathed your way to the pub’s toilet, leaving Ghost to return to his seat and silently wait for your arrival.

“Aren’t you a tall drink of water,” a voice smiled, cutting Ghost from his train of thoughts. His brown eyes landing on a slim blonde who had her hair tied up into a tight pony tail, she had worn a blue dress that had tightly wrapped around her figure, and Ghost couldn’t miss the strong fake-tan that had caked her skin.

While he had adjusted his mask, Ghost sharply examined her once more. “What are you doing?” He huffed.

“What?” The lady repeated, confused by his stoic essence.

“I have a girlfriend, love,” Ghost shared.

“You’re not married?” The girl pointed.

“One day I’ll marry her,” Ghost said.

Satisfied by the twisted look she had on her face; Ghost watched the way she placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I have a partner too,” she shrugged.

“Really?” Ghost grunted. “Where’s your husband out there?”

With a quick look, the girl bounced her shoulders. “Not here, but gon’ on one of his business trips. Where’s your one day I’ll marry her-girlfriend?”

Humoured by the woman, Ghost shortly turned to where you had stood. “My one day I’ll marry her-girlfriend is standing right over there, staring at ya.”

“She don’t seem much,” the girl shrugged. “I’ll handle her.”

“I don’t fight over men,” you smiled while nearing towards Ghost. “But if Ghost wants you, he’s all yours,” you winked, picking up your unfinished glass, you briskly saw the insecure look that shadowed over the woman’s eyes the second she saw Ghost’s unsatisfied expression.

“Nah, I don’t want er,” Ghost shrugged, his final statement enough to have the woman leave, and satisfied you had moved closer to your boyfriend.

Eyebrows furrowed you had gently cupped his face. “You should’ve ignored her.”

“I was bored, and I like seeing you jealous,” Ghost replied. “It was quite upsetting hearing that you would easily give me up and not fight over me.”

With a smirk you arched your eyebrow in response. “I don’t fight over men,” you re-stated. “Men fight over me, and the fights go and end pretty nasty.”

“Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind in the future,” Ghost said. “With a face like yours I know there’ll be dozens of men I’ll have to neb.”

Impressed you gently whistled. “Now, the idea of you fighting over and for me, makes me really horny…the concept of me bouncing on your cock in front of everyone now seems very exciting.”

“No,” Ghost shook his head, lifting his tall figure onto his feet. “That we do in the car.”

“Car sex,” you smiled. “I like the sound of that,” you agreed slipping your hand into his, his strong hold dragging you through and out of the pub. The erotic lust building higher between your legs within each step closer towards the vehicle the both of you had made, and once you had appeared near the skin of his car, he had pressed you against the vehicle.

He had quickly pulled down his mask, kissing your neck and groping your curves, hungrily, you had gasped, the swift touch of his fingers brushing past your clit the moment his hand found way down your pants. “Simon,” you moaned, “We have to do it in the car,” you whimpered, gently shaking at the mere touch of his digits.

“I can’t help it,” he moaned. “The idea of you cumming around my cock, drives me insane,” he whispered. “My cum filling you up and me licking it out of your sweet pussy, my mind is going nuts.”

After the struggle of opening the car, Ghost had eventually pushed you into the back seat, his lust eager and beastly as he trailed after you---closing the door beside him, once he had been able to pull you close to his physique, Ghost had melded his lips around yours, his mouth fierce and rough, swelling the sweet mouth that had been tucked into his.

You had sharply moaned, aided on pulling down your clothing---with the help of the large hands of Ghost; and the second your panties had been pulled off, his cold digits found way to circle around your nub while your hand had carelessly slipped down his trousers, your hand tightly wrapped around his large cock that had his pre-cum seep through the opening of his shaft.

“You are my weakness,” he whispered, the throbbing motion of his dick perfectly fucking through your hand. “So pretty, just for me,” he moaned, gently rocking his hips to the rhythm of your hand. “I need to fuck you, please, baby.”

Obedient, you had pulled yourself onto his lap, your core wet and used as a lubricant as you had rubbed it against the skin of his cock while the size of his hands travelled up your shirt, unclasping your bra and perfectly cupping your breasts, a deep sigh humming from the back of his throat the moment your wet warmness welcomed itself around his width.

You could feel by the way his lower body shivered to your dampness that he wouldn’t be able to last long the way he usually does, his grip had been protective, wrapping his palms around the back of your knees before he slowly began to thrust his hips upwards, “Ah,” he desperately moaned, “Sit there like a good girl, and take me,” he gritted while his length slipped and slugged inside of you, the wet erotic noises filling and heating the vehicle.

As you had squirmed in response to his roughness you had felt your walls close and pulse around him, over-stimulated by his hot and tough thrusts and his nurture around your nipples, you could feel the commodities in your body flounder and reticently twist. “Yes, I’m a good girl,” you hummed. “Your good girl.”

“Let me fill you up with my cum, huh?” He mumbled, “Have you forever as mine, have my child yeah?”

“Yeah!” You agreed fiercely. “I want it!” You whined while finding way to your hood, your fingers circling your pearl as the excitement resumed to peak and crest inside of your body.

“Say it,” Ghost compelled. “Say you want my child.”

Eyes rolled back into your head, the taste of Ghost’s cock licking and brushing your walls had sent you over to the edge. His acute touch coercing you into saying whatever he had wanted. “I want it,” you had desperately nodded. “I want your child, I want it to be mine,” you hysterically listed, your fierce sentences pushing Ghost into frenzied orgasm, cumming inside of you, his dick twitching and edging inside of your hearth---while his juices trickled and spread down your body, you had slowly bounced on his cock, over-stimulated and intoxicated by his size pressing inside of you.

Your hip rolls weak and heavy as you could feel your orgasm round up while the tip of his digits twirled and pinched your nipples, your drool sleeked against your lips which had then slipped down your chin as your spasm and peak wrapped and enclosed all over his cock.

As you had lifted yourself off his member and allowed your body to rest against his physique, you had deeply breathed in, gently tickled by the light touch his lip had made against your ear. “Round two at home?” He questioned and randomly energised, you had slipped yourself off his lap, an encouraging look plastered on your face.

“You bet.”

POSITION REFERENCE ONE

POSITION REFERENCE TWO

#simon smut #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley x smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x you

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xmalereader · 1 year ago

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Simon Riley x Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Authors note: Here is the beginning of a new mini series! These are not in order so you can read them however you like, here is the first part of the mini series! I’d also like to thank @crazymr for giving me a few ideas and inspiration of this new mini series!

Summary: Simon is still new to marriage and to being a parent to a pair of twins and there chaos.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, mentions of bullying, broken noses, Simon is a good parent, twins being chaotic, OC kid names, Simon is still in the military, sarcasm, fighting back.

Word count: 2.3K

Very little people knew about Simon Riley being a married man. He kept his life private and never told anyone even if they asked he simply ignored the question and moved onto the next. You would think he would carry pictures in his wallet or perhaps keep them stored in his vest, but the man never carried that stuff with him. Too afraid and anxious of losing something important to him and perhaps putting them in danger if fallen into the wrong hands.

Simon was still fresh and new with marriage, suddenly getting married with his neighbor who was a single father raising twins on his own. Simon had interacted with the twins various times, always finding them on his front porch as they played with the stray cat that Simon had befriended and fed.

His neighbor was cautious of him at first, afraid of his tough structure but with time he grew to like Simon. Always knowing where to find the twins and trusting Simon to keep an eye on them if they ever ran off. After two years of the two dating it was Simon who wanted to marry the man and raises his kids alongside him. He’s grown to love the twins wether they were chaotic and a handful he didn’t mind.

With Simon being new to marriage he slowly grew used to certain things that both he and husband and kids did together. For example, they’d go out and eat or take turns dropping the kids off at school along with cleaning the house. It all felt domestic to Simon, something he thought he’d never have.

It wasn’t until Simon returned from deployment that he received a call from the twins school, urging him to come by the office due to Briar being in trouble. Simon only ever got contacted by the school in case of emergencies and was placed as a second option. Turns out that Y/n wasn’t able to get to the school and had contact Simon about the situation.

Simon knew that the twins were trouble.

Scratch that.

Briar, was trouble.

When Simon first interacted with the twins he knew that Briar was the tough one. Always speaking her mind and never cared for those who judged her while Ren was the quiet one. He was usually closed off and shy around new people but when he’s with family he’s just as chaotic as Briar.

If the two were separated in a room, things could be decent. But, if the two were in the same room, chaos arrives.

Simon learned to handle the twins attitudes, noticing the difference between the twin even though they had similarities and same age. Ren was the one who grew attached to Simon when he and Y/n first started dating, the small boy was always following Simon around like a lost puppy, he didn’t know why Ren did it.

Most children would run away from Simon in fear of him wearing a skull mask over his face or the big build that he had. Instead, Ren had told Simon that he felt safe around the man, protected. When Ren confessed his true feelings about Simon keeping him safe was when Simon grew to love Ren.

Protecting the kid and reassuring him during hard times.

Briar on the other hand was a handful. Simon expected Briar to grow attached to him at the same pace as Ren but she handled things differently. Briar was blunt towards Simon, maturing at a young age as she asked strange and interesting questions. Briar hadn’t really seen Simon as a parent until Y/n and him started growing serious.

Even though Briar had tough skin she did have one fear and that was Simon Riley. Simon could read her like a book and easily made her talk, there were times where she confessed that she found him intimating—a challenge.

Briar was young and tough and always stepped up for the hard tasks in life. The hears that Y/n spent raising the twins on his own, it was Briar who stepped up at a young age to take care of her little brother whenever Y/n was busy working. She’d clean, cook, and make sure that both she and Ren made it to school even when Y/n couldn’t be there for them.

Briar saw Simon as a challenge. Someone who was trying to steal her important role of the family.

When Simon arrived to the school he ignored the stares he received from both students and teachers as he makes his way to the office, stepping inside to find Briar sitting outside the principles office her arms crossed with an angrily look on her face.

Simons presence gets the twins attention, lifting her head up as the anger in her eyes melts away into a slight hint of fear. Quickly looking away as Simon sighed deeply under his face mask and sits next to Briar.

“Does dad know your here?” She suddenly asks in a soft whisper, getting Simons attention as he shakes his head. “Not yet, he will though.” Simon stares, leaning forward as his elbows are pressed against his knees, head on his hands.

“Okay…” She mumbled.

The two sit on silence until they are called into the principles office, Simon follows behind Briar into the room and the two sit down in front of the principles desk. The man on the other side of the desk can’t help but sigh at the sight of Briar.

“Briar Riley, you’re in trouble again?”

“Drink some cranberry juice.” She shot back with a grin.

Simon bites back a smile as the principle stares at her baffled. “What? No, not urine —you are in trouble!” He clarified as Briar kicks her legs, smiling innocently at the principle. It wasn’t until the principle is rubbing his temples with irritation showing on his face, knowing damn well that seeing Briar in his office was a regular thing already.

“Mr. Riley, is it?” The principle says, getting Simons attention as he nods in return. “I’m guessing you weren’t told why you were called here?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He answers honestly.

The principle nods in understanding as he laced his fingers together and set them in front of him, meaning business as he began to explain why Briar was called into the office today.

“Mr. Riley. The reasoning as to why Briar was called in today was because she got into a fight with a kid.”

Simon looks at briar in surprise.

“She punched a kid in the face.” The principle says.

“He deserved it.” Briar blurts out, glaring.

“You broke his nose!” The principle shot back with a deep sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose, disappointed and stressed.

“Do you know why she did it?” Simon finally asks, arms crossed over his chest as he allows the principle to explain. “Her and a young boy were arguing in the play ground and next thing I knew she was punching the kid.” He explains.

The room goes quiet after the explanation, giving Simon the chance to turn to Briar and ask for her side of the story. The nine year old huffs out a sigh as she explains.

“He was being mean to Ren, he pushed him off the swings and Ren scrapped his knees.” She mumbled out. “I told him to apologize but he refused and—he called Ren a mean name and I punched him.” She says, glancing at Simon who sat next to her and watched her closely. He’s able to read her eyes, knowing that she wasn’t lying.

He’s seen Briar fight kids in the past but it wasn’t for fun and games she mainly did when she was either defending herself or her brother. Simon knew that what she did was wrong, but can’t help but side with her on the situation.

“I see no problem with it.” Simon blurts out, getting a surprised look from both Briar and Principle. “Mr. Riley—“

“Briar was protecting her brother. It shouldn’t Briar sitting in this room it should be the other kid who didn’t hesitate to hurt Ren. Briar only did what she thought was right, by punching the kid.”

“She broke his nose!”

“Broken or not, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be here.” Simon shot back, giving the principle a glare. “I say the kids are even. He got to pick on Ren and in return he got a broken nose.” Simons voice is deep and full of order.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t do it again, but can’t promise she won’t hold back.” Simon stares, earning a shocked look from the principle as Simon stands from his seat and turns to Briar, nodding towards the door and signaling there leave. Briar looks from the principle to Simon before filling him out quickly, leaving a baffled principle behind.

When they reach the front of the office, Ren is sitting outside on the bench, kicking his legs nervously as he waits for Briar. When they make their appearance be jolts up from his seat and rushed over to hug Briar.

“Did you get expelled?” He asks, pulling away to look at Briar who shakes her head. “No.” She answers, looking down at the backpack that Ren held for her and smiles softly, taking it from his hands and slipping it over her shoulders.

“Doesn’t mean she’s not in trouble.” Simon speaks up, getting Rens attention. “You’ll father would want to know what happened.”

At the mention of Y/n, both kids are struck in fear.

—

Everyone knows that Simon is the scary one to be around when it comes towards missions. He was rough with his team and very demanding when it came towards getting things done. Thats only when he’s working, in his marriage it’s different.

Y/n is considered the scary one. He may look innocent and bubbly on the outside but once a nerve is struck he won’t hesitate to strike back. Which is why the twins feared him, afraid of disappointing their father who spent years raising them on his own and making sure they didn’t cause trouble.

Here he stood, hands on his hips as he tapped his foot angrily, glaring down at Briar who sat on the couch with a small innocent smile. Both Ren and Simon sat near the dining room, getting a clear view of the living room and easy access to ease drop on the conversation.

“Want to tell me why I got a call from the principles today?” Y/n asks, tilting his head to the side in questioning while Briar fidgets in place.

“I…uh—I punched a kid today..”

Y/n’s eyes widen. “You did what?!”

“I punched a kid!” Briar finally says, louder and full of pride which causes Simon to roll his eyes.

“Why?” Y/n demands. “He pushed Ren off the swings and called him a mean word.”

“And you think punching him resolved the issue?”

“She also broke his nose.” Simon pitched in, getting Y/n’s eyes to widen. “What?!”

“It wasn’t that bad…” Briar mutters. “You broke a kids nose!”

Briar frowns with a glare on her face. “What was I suppose to do? Teachers don’t do shit when kids get picked on and Ren was just swinging!” She says. “Then Ben and his friends came over and shoved Ren off while he was swinging and scrapped his knees and nearly hurt his head too!” Briar jumps off the couch, trying to size up Y/n and challenging him. “He called Ren a baby and I got mad and punched him! He deserved that broken nose!”

Her sudden outburst caused the room to grow silent. The only thing heard is Briars heavily breathing as she glared at her father who only stood there in silence, asking a small question.

“Punching someone isn’t the right answer.” Y/n knew how overprotective Briar was of her brother and would do anything for him.

“Yeah? Well—“ briar looks around frantically until her eyes land on Simon. “Simon, what would you do if dad got called something mean or tries to hurt him?” She asks.

Simon didn’t want to get dragged into the situation but at the mention of Y/n getting hurt Simon doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“Murder.” He says with narrow eyes. “See?!” Briar points out, earning a groan from Y/n who sits down and buried his face in his hands, groaning into them, knowing that Simon wasn’t making things better.

Briar takes in her fathers state and sighs softly. The nine year old approached him and hugs him, mumbling quietly. “I’m sorry for getting into trouble…I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Y/n looks up from his hands, sighing softly at his daughter as he pulls her into a tight hug. “God—your just a kid. I’m worried that your growing too fast.” He whines out.

Before Simon came into the picture, Y/n was raising the twins alone and seeing his kids grow was starting to take a toll on him. He enjoyed having them as babies but one doesn’t stay a baby anymore and his kids were growing a lot faster than he thought.

“They won’t stay kids forever.” Simon suddenly says, standing next to Y/n and Brair and smiles down at the two while his husband chuckled at him. “You’re right about that.” Y/n turns to Briar, pulling away from the hug and giving her head a kiss. “Just—no more fighting?”

“No promises.” Briar responds, earning an eye roll from Y/n who gently shoves his daughter away. “Go annoy your brother.” He gets a laugh from Briar as she rushed past Simon and towards her twin brother, leaving Simon and Y/n on there own.

“I always thought Ren would be the one to get in trouble.” Simons suddenly says, sitting down next to Y/n who raises a brow. “What makes you think that?”

Simon grins. “The quiet ones are always the deadliest.”

#male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon riley imagine #simon Riley #ghost x male reader #mw2 ghost #Twins AU

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s0apmactav1sh · 6 months ago

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More crappy thoughs coming from me.

Teenage!Simon Riley edition. With Bestfriend older brother troupe >:} (Reader is aged around 15 to 23.)

^ by this I mean simon from the ages 12 to around 20 and these are just silly things from my brain nothing got to do with his character in the game.

-Teenage!Simon who became bestfriends with your little brother pretty quick. The two stuck to each others hips. They were a do or die type friendship. If one done something the other had to follow. And that just meant you were often forced to go with them to make sure neither got hurt because god forbid that happens.

-Teenage!Simon whos only a three years younger than you and yet you still treat him like a little kid each time you see him. Acting as if hes more like your little brother than anything else. And it just made sense that when he got picked on it was you who was getting suspended from school for beating up his bullies.

Teenage!Simon who started coming over less and less after your brother got a girlfriend. Meaning your mam was pestering your brother and you on why her favourite adopted son hadnt been over in a while. To which you cant answer and neither can your brother because hes a little shit.

-cut to your 18th. Finally able to drink and guess who shows up at the door right before midnight completely drenched. Yuppp Simon. No one was home and you couldnt just leave him out in the rain. So you took him in, giving him clothes your brother refused to wear in replace of his wet ones because you also dont want to get killed over wet floors by your mam

-Teenage!Simon who finally realises that you were technically the 'better' brother. In the sense you actually stuck up for him, made sure he was fine and wasnt being bothered. And you even looked after him each time he showed up knocking on your window because he ran away from his house. You done more than your brother ever did.

-Simon who tries confessing to you when hes 16 and your 19. Only to be rejected by you because you didnt want to be accused of anything and because it was wrong from him to even think of you that way (internalized homophobia guys it happens :( to the best of us anyways)

-Simon who has to quite literallu chase you to get you to talk to him during school. You may not talk to him anymore but you still made sure he wasnt being picked on. He was still your brothers bestfriend. And even if he didnt need it, youd given yourself the role of protecting him from bullies in and out of school.

-You who lands yourself in jail after beating a 18 year old for the simple reason on the fact he was trying to get simon jumped. And word got around to you quickly even if you no longer were in school and were a second year in college. But hey it wasnt your fault he didnt think before he spoke.

-you who got out exactly 3 days before simon turned 18, meaning youd be around to celebrate with him (that was if you ever stopped getting phone calls from your mam giving out over you being locked away for 6 months.)

-Simon who makes the joke that he's technically legal and its not wrong for the two of you to date. But even then you fele icky over the fact that he may be wasting time on you when he could find someone way better.

-you who only accepts to go out with him because he seemed so determined. You guys spending the next 2 years together until he tells you he thinks he wants to join the military and see where that goes.

-you who are fully with him and even help him enlist. Not knowing that you'd lose touch only a year after he was gone. And then for it to carry on for the next 18 years. Until you spot him back in town with 3 other men you have no idea who they are but hey he's back and safe.

-Simon who doesnt remember a thing about his home town other than the fact that he still had a home to return to even if it wasnt his. And is all too surprised to see its not your mam or brother living there. Its you. And everything is awkward even when you tell him is find for him to stay. All he needed to do was stay away from your room and the garage during certain hours during the day.

-Price, Gaz and Soap being able to just sense the tension between the two of you. But not being able to pinpoint what it is exactly about you that has simon so on edge. Until it finally clicks when they see the pin board hanging in the hallway with a picture of you simon and another boy that looks like a younger version of yourself all standing at the bank of a river.

-them trying to stick ye in rooms together to get ye to reconnect but the flame that was once there is gone. And not an ember that remains to spark it up again. Even if you try.

I havent writen in so long and i needed to write something to get over my writers block so have this and enjoy. Ima try write a small fic to go along with this.

#fjords rambles #call of duty #male reader #the things i do instead of sleeping #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x male reader #dunno what this is #silly little post #bout a silly guy #fjord rambles again

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 1 year ago

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Criminal Minds | Masterlist

SERIES

Begin Again:

Chapter One: The Savior

Chapter Two: Room 304

Chapter Three: I Know Who Did It

Chapter Four: Swimming Pool Kisses

Chapter Five: Ninety-Nine Percent

Glitter & Crimson:

Glitter and Crimson

Reader is keeping a secret from the rest of the team and they're adamant to find out. When they do, they're absolutely gobsmacked. One of them more than others...

Steady As A Drumbeat

And that ends in a night neither of them will ever forget.

A Little Less Conversation

+ The Aftermath

ONE SHOTS / IMAGINES

Memoriam

Season 4 Episode 7 rewrite -- Spencer's childhood best friend helps him on the Riley Jenkins case. Working together after years of not seeing each other brings up old memories and new feelings.

Do Re Mi

Spencer's next-door-neighbor comes into the BAU, distressed, saying that her ex-boyfriend was the person responsible for the recent string of kills happening in D.C.

Truly Madly Deeply

Spencer comes home from a case and wakes up next to reader. Inspired by One Direction's 'Truly Madly Deeply'.

Johnny and Dora

Spencer and Reader go undercover together to catch the most prolific identity thief in New York. What happens on the case might spark a shift in their relationship. Inspired by the Brooklyn 9-9 episode with the same name.

When?

Reader is tired of always coming in second place. Even when her and Spencer have split up, she's still looking over her shoulder as though he'd still be there. When will that end?

When The Girls Talk Boys

Spencer and Reader talk to their friends about one another, which causes their co-workers to find out about their secret relationship. Inspired by Girls Talk Boys by 5SOS.

Nothing is Accidental

After hearing Spencer's talk on a conference, Reader tests her luck and talks to the young Doctor. It sparks a new friendship, partnership and maybe even more. Rewrite of Season 7 Episode 11: True Genius

Dream Away The Dark

Four times where Reader comforts Spencer after a bad dream and one time where Spencer does the same for Reader.

Hunting Monsters

Halloween is Reader's favorite holiday and she plans to implement that love into her child's life, too. When little Poppy tells Reader she doesn't want to go trick-or-treating, Reader and her husband's co-workers help her convince the tiny genius.

I’m Recharging

How Spencer and Reader's ritual of 'recharging' began.

Tongue Tied

Reader is invited to her best friend's birthday party where she meets Dr. Spencer Reid. An instant connection is made.

Meet Me On The Courtyard

Spencer encounters his neighbor from across the yard, dancing around in her apartment until she catches him. They decide to properly meet on the courtyard.

You Owe Me A Date

Spencer and Reader plan to go out on a date. When she doesn't show up, Spencer gets worried.

You Knock The Wind Out Of Me

Spencer clearly dislikes Reader, but when she tries to ask him why, he evades the question. Only her boyfriend being disrespectful towards her forces her to admit his true feelings.

A Man After Midnight

Spencer and Reader are best friends since they were kids. When Reader is set to marry James, Spencer decides to give her the bachelorette party of her dreams. Only he wishes it were him she was about to marry...

Girls Can't Drive

Where a case hits reader a little too hard. Spencer doesn’t get why it’s hitting his girlfriend so hard until she finally tells him how hard it is to be a woman sometimes.

Annotations

Spencer finds a book in the breakroom one time and when he starts reading it, he noticed the notes in the margins. What quickly develops as a love written in the margins of several books, might have to step out into the real world soon.

King of My Heart

Spencer has always taken care of reader. Whether it was giving reader food before they realized they were hungry or buying them coffee, ... Tiny gestures that made it impossible for reader not to fall in love with him.

This Love Is Ours

Reader and Spencer are best friends with obvious feelings for one another. When Spencer ends up in prison, Reader gets angry at him, which keeps them from visiting him. But once she does, there's no pane of glass that would keep them apart.

Mine (Spencer's version)

Spencer reminisces about the first time he met Reader.

New Romantics

After a bad breakup, Reader and her friends go out to party where she meets one young FBI agent. Suddenly, she'd forgotten her ex even existed and was more interested in getting to know the stranger.

I Can See You

When Penelope's best friend comes to help out the BAU on a couple of cases, there's an immediate connection with the youngest of the team. After longing glances, soft touches and wild fantasies, the truth comes out accidentally. What is the resident genius going to do with that information?

There's A 100% Chance I'm Gonna Marry You

The team doesn’t even know of her existence but when Spencer can’t get a hold of her, he gets worried. Now he has no other choice than to tell his coworker about her.

I Think He Knows

JJ invites her best friend, a linguistics professor, to help out on a couple of cases. When she and Spencer work together, something sparks between them.

Maybe We'll Take Some Time

Spencer and Reader broke up five weeks ago. When he comes knocking on her door, crying about a friend's death, their love is resparked.

HANDS

Spencer's hands are lovely and as he placed them on Reader's cheeks, it was the only way to calm her down. So, when Reader comes home breaking down after a difficult day at work, he's quick to calm her down.

The Stranger

Spencer and Reader are coworkers and best friends. When Reader gets hurt on a case, Spencer's feelings for Reader are bared.

Floored Decisions

Many decisions were made on the floor of their apartment. One day, she asks him a very important question.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #jj #jennifer jareau #elle greenaway #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #fanfiction #nele's masterlist

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peachesofteal · 6 months ago

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Deckhand Simon Riley / female reader 18+ mdni, dubcon. Simon is very no good terrible and kind of mean. Predator/prey. Excessive alcohol consumption, manipulation. Spitting, size, praise, a little bit of breeding/daddy - kink.

Simon arrives to town on the last summer wind.

It’s cold for the shoulder of the season. Not the coldest he’s ever felt, but cold enough his scars become rigid, inflexible swaths of skin littered across his body pinching at every hinge.

He can already feel the burn. The stretch and strain of his upper back, his arms, his legs. Can already feel the weight of the pots, sharp metal slamming and crashing, teeming with things that look more like creatures than they do delicacies.

Hook. String. Pull. Block.

The people stare at him, wide, wind whipped eyes peeking out underneath knit wool hems, gagged and confused, whispers passed back and forth like children with a lolly.

Did you see him?

Look at the size of ‘im-

Is that Ernest’s new deckhand?

Fucking monster of a man, I tell you.

He keeps his head down. Eyes fixed to the floor, old instinct still churning in his blood, shoulders stiff and squared. Captains are all the same, whether on land or at sea. Says “yes sir” as Ernest sizes him up, asks about his previous two seasons, and then sends him away with a perfunctory nod and a departure date.

The Old Man leaves in two weeks. See you then.

King crab fishing is the closest he’s felt to having a foot in the grave since he was actually in one. Opponents in a firefight are known, predictable. Monsters of their own kind, but ones he knows intimately. Minds of a killer, the lot of them, a certain subset of consciousness nearly shared.

The ocean shares its mind with no one. Its secrets are its own, buried in the briny deep, never to be revealed.

And the Bering-

The Bering is its own horror. Savage and cruel to those who would tempt it, willing to swallow anything offered and pull it down into fathomless black water. Cold enough to kill a man in seconds. Violent enough to toss them all to sea.

He’s seen it happen. More than once. The environment is uncontrollable, unpredictable, lethal, and the work is arduous.

The company is tolerable at best. The season is short, yet taxing. Deckhands live dozens of years, in a few short months. They stare off into nothing, watching the horizon, long gone look in their eye.

Still, he sees familiar flickers in them, same firelight he’s seen in the many men he’s killed, or worked alongside of.

At the base of it, these types of men, his kind, are all the same.

Rabid and dangerous in packs.

The cove is nearly derelict. The town spills up into white and black spruce, houses nestled in the grove of tree trunks twice Simon’s size, all doors facing the warped and tilted wooden slats of a long-loved dock.

There isn’t much here, a small grocery, a liquor store, a petrol station and of course-

A pub.

Aptly named The Wharf, the bar is as old hat as they come, seedy and sticky, sunken into the soft earth. It’s everything he’s come to expect in a fishing town this far up north, where the season is variable, and the money is too. Dark wood from floor to ceiling, over polished oak horseshoe, neglected stools and booths. Everything creaks, and The Wharf is no exception. The pub, the dock, the trees. Wind whistles and bark groans, a rasp you can only find here, in these places where time is too slow, and the world forgets.

There are rooms above the bar, usually rented to his ilk, deckhands biding their time, greenhorns rattling with excitement. They all filter in weeks before the season opens, and when he checks into his, he’s not surprised when the woman at the desk tells him he’s got the last one.

There are only ten, after all.

The Wharf’s side door swings open in a gust of blistering wind, yet not a single person turns their head.

None except him, though he doesn’t need to look to know it’s you.

He can smell you. Can feel you, clear across the floor. Sea salt and lavender, it whirls in your wake wherever you go, and when he lingers on the sidewalk outside of your little workshop, he swears he’s standing in a cloud of it.

“If y’need jackets, bibs mended from last season, there’s a place on the corner, next to The Wharf. She’ll get ‘em done before season.”

You’re the bloody seamstress. The tailor. Nimble fingers twisting and tying, threading and looping inside a faded light blue storefront, working into the small hours of the night. Your workspace is small, and overflowing with bright orange polyurethane covered clothes, long lengths of neoprene, socks, shirts, wristers. A mass of work, it seems, one that keeps your light on after all others have gone dark.

Except The Wharf’s.

It’s the second time he’s seen you here.

He doesn’t count the times he’s seen you without you realizing it. Doesn’t count the times he’s finished a cigarette on the street at the perfect angle, a solid perch to peer right in through your window. He doesn’t count the times he’s watched you from The Wharf’s one dark window, when you step outside to take a long breath of air, stretching your back and shaking your arms out, rolling your head in a circle-

and baring your throat for the slaughter.

The first was days ago, close to zero hundred, when you swung in to settle on a barstool with your back to the door. You look like you’re made from spools of silk, even underneath all of your winter layers, big coat, knit wool hat. There’s a coruscated dapple in your eye, one that manages to shimmer even in the darkest shadows of the bar, voice saccharine as he’s ever heard, dipping into a melody as you go back and forth with the bartender.

He hears it now when he closes his eyes at night, awash in a sea of bourbon, cigarette stench sunken into his skin. A gentle rhythm, a syrupy voice, saying his name.

Screaming it.

You catch his gaze across the bar. Catch him watching you, peeling you, picking you apart, but you say nothing. Blink a few times, glance down at your beer, pretend to busy yourself with something else. It’s not a flinch, but close enough to it.

He knows what you see. What you should see.

A monster. Licking his lips at a girl. A fire breather bearing down on top of a princess.

If he crossed this room right now and yanked you off that barstool, who would interrupt? Intervene? They’re all men of the same vein, born from different battlefields. The rules of engagement become status quo, regardless of whether you’re baptized by the Bering, or by fire.

Rabid, dangerous in packs.

Eleven days left, and he’s finally found something worthwhile to occupy his time, besides lurking in the dingy corners of The Wharf like an old, decrepit sailor.

You.

You live above the shop, an old fire escape leads to a wooden door with a big window, one covered by a curtain hung from the inside.

The Wharf’s rooms have a fire escape too. A metal catwalk.

Metal. Who’s the idiot who decided metal anything would be good in a place like this? Iron nearly turned red, rusted to all hell. One shift, and it all falls down.

He takes his watch there, at night. A gargoyle at his post, waiting for the flicker of your kitchen and bedroom lights, shapes and shadows dancing behind the thin drapes, a ballerina on stage for the masses.

For him.

He brings you his gear. Looms over you at the desk where your sewing machine is grinding out an industrial stitch thicker than what he’s seen on parachutes.

“H-hi.” Hi. Aren’t you cute? A little lamb, alone in the woods.

He nods. Stays silent. Enjoys watching his catch twist herself up on his hook.

You glance at the noxious orange pieces draped over his arm, and half timidly reach.

“Need those patched? Er, like… have any tears or rips?” Not really. He keeps his gear in good condition. Throws out his underclothes after every season- can never get the stench of fish out of em, but his outer gear is well cared for.

It almost pained him to rip them apart last night.

“Simon.” He gives it expectantly, jogging your manners to the forefront. You have the good grace to look embarrassed with how fast you spit out your own name.

“Bibs have a few holes. Big ones. Jacket’s got a rip under the armpit.” You reach, tiny little fingers stretching across the barren space between him and you, and he lashes down the urge to snatch your wrist out of midair and bring it to his teeth.

Do you taste like lavender? Sea salt? Is your cunt briny like the Bering, slicked sweet and brackish?

“Okay, well, I should have them done before-“

“You better.” You startle, eyes wide and confused, before they find your feet, cowed little girl before an awful man. “Jus’ need em, is all.” He softens the approach, not willing to cut you down just yet (that comes later), and you respond well, perfectly, pushing your glasses up onto the bridge of your nose with a genuine smile.

Live bait on the line. Set, cast, hook.

“Got it.”

His control is becoming a house of cards.

You’re in The Wharf earlier tonight, asking Jimmy for a double, whiskey over ice and nearly to the brim of a rocks glass. Just one, you say. Neck is sore as hell.

He maintains a distance. More inclined to watch you devolve, fascinated by the way you unravel with each sip. Lightweight. Figures.

You pull your glasses off and rub your temples, hopping off the bar stool with a quick word over your shoulder, a request for another drink. “Just goin’ to the bathroom.” You explain, walking away with a hardly detectable sway in your step-

directly into the side of the wall the bar juts out from.

Someone, a woman who never so much as looks up the entire time she’s here, furrows her brow at where you’re rubbing your forehead and tsks.

“Your glasses!” You turn, embarrassed, downright mortified, and sheepishly slide your fingers across the bar until you find them.

“Oh, right. Thanks Laurie.” Laurie, says nothing. Not until you’ve turned away and almost disappeared into the bathroom. Then, she mutters to herself, into her fresh pint.

“Damn girl is blind as bat without those things.”

He buys Laurie another round before he leaves for the night. An eventual thanks.

"Can I bum one?"

His neck nearly snaps. Where did you come from? You're timid in the mouth of the alley, lichen washed red brick flanking you on either side, your hands folded together at your navel.

"Little girls allowed to smoke 'round here?" Now your neck snaps.

"I- I'm not a little girl, thank you." It's like you're trying to turn your nose up at him, but he's a giant above, and it's hopeless.

"Sure you're not." He plucks the cigarette from his lips, and then holds it out to you. Your breath hitches, top teeth digging deep, an instigation, invitation. His hand whips forward, too fast for you to realize, gripping your chin, pressing his thumb into the flesh of your bottom lip. "Want a drag or not?"

"S-sure." He's got your cheeks squeezed together, just so, enough that the fat of them crowds your mouth and makes the s sound more like a whistle.

He doesn't let go as he feeds it to you, stopping just before the filter touches your teeth. "Go ‘head then." You draw, deep, eyes closing as that first hit of nicotine rushes your blood, undoubtedly making you light headed, and his cock thickens with dreams of his fat head pushing between your lips instead of this cigarette, dreams of you split open on him with a soaked pussy, neck bared for his teeth.

Hook. String. Pull.

He squeezes himself overtop his jeans, heavy weight pulsing between his legs, a dangerous affliction growing larger and larger with each second. He could rock against his palm, right here in front of you, and it would feel worlds better than the last measly meal he had, months and months ago. Nothing will compare to you, he already knows.

You see it all. Frozen like a deer in headlights, your lips part, transfixed, confused. Will you run? Will you shout? Will you tell?

"I uh, I better... get going. Have a lot of work t-to finish." Good girl. He nods, letting go of his aching cock, slipping the cigarette back in his mouth, searching for even a hint of lavender and sea salt lingering in the filter.

"Goodnight."

Four days left, and his gear is finished.

You leave a message for him, letting him know he can pick up whenever is convenient. During shop hours. Cash or card accepted. What a dutiful business owner.

You’re in the back when he arrives. It’s long past close, but no one locks their doors here. Anyone could walk right in.

“Be right out!” You yell, slightly muffled. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t opt to give himself away, just waits at the front desk, where a mug of fresh coffee sits, still hot, still steaming.

Desperation for claim, for possession, claws up his throat to his tongue, thrashing in a fit until saliva pools in his cheeks. He sucks through his teeth, rolling the pockets behind his molars forward, pulling as much as he can, his soul even, up and out, landing it in a glob on the surface of your evening caffeine fix.

It sits there, tiny bubbles and all, an island in endless ocean, unable to break apart or disappear. Blatant. Obvious.

So, he sticks his finger in it and gives a quick swirl. For good measure.

There’s rustling in the back, and then you pop through the doors, glasses sliding to your nose. “Hi! So sor-“

You grind to a halt, spine curling forward, as if you’re trying to protect your precious organs from his fingers, avoiding his grip around your ribs, his urge to rip you open and devour you whole.

He smirks. “Got a message my gear is done? Nick o’ time.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s done. I’ve got it, one sec.” You fidget, gun shy and shuddering, flitting away on the turn of a heel, eager to escape where he hulks in front of your desk, no doubt.

When you come back, you’re a bit more put together. Polished. Glasses in their rightful place, you place his bib and jacket on the counter unceremoniously, lips pressed together. He hands you a wad of cash, and you count it carefully, keeping your eyes pinned on the bills as he inspects the stitching, taking stock in your sharp attention to detail. “Like new, great work. Thank you.”

You go doe eyed, demure, flattered, and then confused, trying to reconcile this man, this version with the one from last night. “T-thank you.”

It all comes to a head, two days out.

There’s a party of sorts, a gathering. Entire boat of deckhands crammed into The Wharf, plus others, town residents and even some from the next over.

Too many, for Simon’s tastes.

Too many, except for one.

You’re crammed between the wall and someone’s shoulder, occasionally saying hello, accepting thanks for work well done. You keep your idle hands busy, accepting drink after drink, a shot of tequila, another of rum.

You’re even dressed up, cute as a button. Sweet as cream, honey on the hive.

Your hiccups ring out from across the room directly to his ears, chest shaking with each one. The bar is at max volume, shouting, cheering, chattering, but he can hear you crystal clear. Can hear the high pitch echo of each one, can hear your throat bobbing, the long exhale singing from your nose after trying to hold your breath. “I need some air,” you say to your neighbor, “be right back.”

He downs the last of his bourbon, subtle fire in his throat, and then makes for the back door.

Your arms are crossed, leaning against the brick with your head tipped back, eyes closed. Wearing a knit sweater, a skirt, and wool leggings, for fucks sake. “Dangerous place to be, a little girl all alone.” Your eyes snap wide, startled.

“Simon,” you don’t stutter his name, liquor easing your nerves, sweetening you up to a slaughter like the little lamb you are. Your ability to assess risk is long gone, and when you peek over at him, head rolling, the usual skittish haunt of your gaze is nowhere to be found.

“Out for a smoke?”

“No, just some fresh air.”

“Poor lamb. Drink too much?” You shrug, steadying your balance against the wall. Trying to appear more with it than he knows you are.

He stalks closer, closer than you should be comfortable with, but you only sigh, wilted as the grass withered by the impending winter.

He tests. Probes. Brushes a hand against yours, watches how you tip a little to the side, his side, eyes glassy between hard blinks. “You’re so sweet, little lamb.”

“Oh,” you make an o with your lips when you say it, like you’re suprised. “T-thank you.”

“Do you taste sweet, you think?” You jolt, but he handles your hip like he’s afraid you’ll fall, though you have a better grasp on your balance than you think you do. “Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.” It’s a race now, one you’re desperate to catch up in, but falling behind faster and faster.

Hook. String. Pull.

“Open your mouth.” You do, on instinct, and he hums with approval. “Good girl.” He sticks his thumb inside, depressing your tongue, shoving back and to the side, hard enough he stretches the corner of your lip, and then tugs.

Hooked.

You’re too drunk to process it, not really. Enflamed with a rollercoaster of shock, shame and disgust. But beneath it all, something else rises, breaks at the surface for air. Desire.

He doesn’t waste the moment, hands splayed at your ribcage, shoving you back against the wall, your shoulders slamming into it. He’s on you, rabid, wolf at the throat of a lamb, tongue forcing its way between your teeth without permission. You jerk, tense, muscles shifting like you might put your arms up, but instead they fall limply to your sides, and you moan.

String.

The length of his torso, chest and stomach press against you, hold you in place, allowing him free rein to wrap his fingers into the fine fabric of your wool stockings and rip. The shocked little gasp falls from you as expected, but you’re too far gone to fight. Prize on the line, he tugs them aside and strokes over your folds, already wet for him, dipping into your cunt, tight and fluttering around his invasion.

“Si- Simon- stop.” You push at him shoulders, trying and failing, squirming and whining. He shoves deeper, one nearly too much, two an impossible fit.

“Why would I stop when you’re so wet f’me little girl?” He presses the swell of his cock against you, your walls clenching at the contact, and he chuckles darkly. “Gonna say you don’t want this, sweet lamb? Gonna lie when this little pussy is dripping all over my hand?” You’re scandalized. Ripped from your comfort and thrown ashore, a fish out of water, gasping on land. He breathes into your neck, biting and sucking his way back up to your mouth where he distracts you for a brief moment, long enough to tip your balance to the side, a stutter step disrupting your focus, and delivers an opportune strike to snatch your glasses off your face so fast you flinch backwards in the confusion. He manages to cup your head just in time and cushion its bounce against the brick.

Pull.

“My glasses.” Your voice trembles, and he’s surprised to feel a twinge of guilt. Don’t worry little one. He’ll pull you apart, but he’ll put you back together. Eventually. “Simon… my- my glasses, do you see my glasses?”

“No, sorry. It’s too dark, sweet thing.” You tear up, horrified, and they spill down your cheeks, fat and wet, leaving tracks all the way to your neck.

He licks them with glee.

“I need to-“ he pays you no mind, returning to his work, his meal, shoving your knee to the side and lifting you up the wall, until the smear of you cunt weeps all over his jeans. “I need-“

“Know what you need, little girl.” He shreds your leggings wider, tearing a hole big enough to expose your thighs, your lower belly. Later, when he has you pinned to his bed, he’ll eat you until you can’t speak or see, but for now, bludgeoning the entirety of his cock into this too tight space will have to do.

You hiccup again. It’s too sweet, rots his soul. He wonders if you’ll be here, when he gets back. If you’ll run, or if you’ll wait. Maybe he’ll give you something to remember him by, knock you up, nice and fat by summer, heavy with a piece of him. Maybe.

He slides his zipper now, pulling the weight of his cock free, sliding the head through your slit as you look down. You can’t see, how big, how thick, how impossible it looks, head trying to push into you, your body unyielding, spasming as he batters his way inside. You claw at his shoulders, spitting out a half moan, a half sob, and he taps his forehead to yours. “It’s too m-much, too- hurts-“

“Don’t fight it. You’ve got plenty of room, be good.” He soothes with a lie, probably. You’re so tight he can feel you in his bones, restricting, bearing down. He pushes, heat and slick closing in around him, making him dizzy, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Fuck- that’s it. Feel that?” He drags your hand to the root of his cock, splaying your fingers around the base. “Feel yourself splittin’ open on me?” You moan some nonsense, some sort of garbage mixed with a yes, and a no. “Perfect little pussy, stretchin’ for me, yeah?” Only for me.

He fucks you so hard you’re shoving higher and higher up the wall, cunt choking him with each thrust, your fingers twisted in his sweatshirt, clinging on for dear life, a sailor in a storm. Lost in the fuzzy, blurry world without your glasses, he gives you a port in the dark, a lighthouse calling you home. He spreads you wide, rolling over your clit, pinching, thumbing, finding the rhythm that makes your buzz, hips starting to jerk, swallow him up.

Unbelievably, you tighten up even more, eyes slamming shut, and he holds you steady at your hips, driving deep, mouth on your ear. “Gonna be good and cum? Gonna show daddy how good you can be and cum all over his cock?” You gasp, and he drags you to it, pushes you over, rolls your shoulders back against the brick when you curl forward, pussy so tight it tries to force him out. You scream with it, but he covers your mouth, palm to your tongue, elbow at your collarbone. He’s relentless now, shoving himself until there isn’t a space inside you not filled with him, as fast as possible, body like a ragdoll. When he’s on the edge, teetering so close, he pinches your cheeks. “Open up, little lamb.” Your brow furrows, but partially blind, you’re more trusting, and you do as you’re asked. His hips piston, a rough saw, chasing, sprinting towards the end, heat climbing down his spine and across every muscle until he’s shoved so deep inside you he thinks he’s in your belly, and rears back, sucking a glob of spit to his lips and launching it into your mouth, just as he floods your pussy with cum. He jerks inside you, slow strokes, and you hang limply against him, fucked out, still drunk, docile as a lamb.

You hiss when he pulls free and lurch forward against his chest, not able to stand on your own. “C’mon, let’s get you a bath.” He murmurs into your hair, and you protest weakly.

“My glasses.”

“I’ll find ‘em.” He vows, patting their safe spot in his front pocket. “Don’t worry.”

#peaches writes #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #writing about the ocean and ocean adjacent things really does it for me #and I wrote half of it on my phone so mind the mistakes thanks #simon spits in your drinks agenda #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #unedited

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wormwoodartemisia · 2 months ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley might come to play a significant role in your life...

Something short, about 700 words.

(Might become part of something longer. Not sure, yet...)

Civilian afab reader is tall. No further descriptions.

Warnings: no smut, (light?) stalking (not from Ghost!)

Then suddenly you see him.

Despite the fact that there are many other tall people around, his height makes him stand out of the crowd, as does his half-hidden face behind the black surgical mask. He's not too far away from you so you're pretty sure you could manage to make it over to him before... - well, you wonder whether he'll be willing to play along...

It's not that the two of you really know each other; you've barely exchanged more than some pleasantries except for that one occasion - that one occasion which should count, shouldn't it? After all, you saved him then. Well, saved him some time, at least... (Ok - and later it was him who helped you out but...)

You can’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder nervously. Fuck. That creep is still following you, grinning, and you are too tall yourself to simply go invisible in the mass of people surrounding you. Damn... So, hoping the best, you decide to swap one stranger for another.

What finally feels like some kind of plan invigorates your energy to push forward towards your aim, that blond, tall man all in black, massive and imposing - and hopefully in the right mood to help you out once more today.

He doesn’t look your way but seems to be watching something or someone to his far left. Your focus is fixed on the right side of his face - and obviously your gaze is intense. You're still some steps away when his head snaps to directly take you in with razor-sharp eye contact.

He seems to recognise you immediately and doesn't flinch when you hook your hand under his arm, sweetly chanting "Hey, honeybun!", (It's just one tad too loud) before drawing back. Luckily, he doesn't even raise an eyebrow.

You don't touch him anymore but keep standing close, clearly too close in his personal space but you can’t help it now.

It has only taken him a split second to interpret your clingy behaviour and the pleading look in your eyes. He then mimics your too shrill exclamation. "Hey, cutie pie."

You are more than relieved because his totally exaggerated pet name for you is the signal that he understands - though, with his deep voice, it could definitely pass as genuine...

And then he puts his arm around your waist, draws you in for a real hug - with his strong arms engulfing you in a feeling of safety you've never experienced before. He makes your head rest close to his throat, so close to his uncovered skin, using the motion to turn himself more to where you've come from.

Pressed to his chest, you allow yourself to close your eyes for once and focus on his solid presence surrounding you.

Tucked away like this, you can’t see him immediately finding your persistent pursuer. The hard, dark look of his eyes is the wall that makes the other guy stop dead in his tracks. Nothing more is needed to have that bloody blighter turn round and vanish in the masses for good. Then you feel how his arms loose every pressure and so you let go of him as well.

All of a sudden you feel very shy about your approaching him, forcing such close proximity upon this man, despite the fact that he’s kept up the charade for you without complaint - so far. You can hardly manage to maintain eye contact with him, the way his amber-gaze pierces through you.

So you use the chance to look around and check your surroundings. Just as you hoped, your stalker is gone. A small, shaky sigh of relief escapes your lips. Although the situation is clear, you feel obliged to offer some short explanation.

"Thank you. There was this creepy guy, you know? He wouldn't listen and stop following me all the way...", you swallow. "Sorry for using you as a shield..."

He studies your face and must be annoyed because he remarks: "Better not do that again, doll. Next time", and then he slowly leans in closer to you, his masked lips almost touching your ear, "rather use me as a weapon."

#to wip or not to wip...#should i make this part of sth longer?#we shall see #simon ghost riley #x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #tall reader #afab reader #no smut #protective #me writing #wormwoodartemisia

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amongthebooks · 9 months ago

Text

did you miss me?

FANDOM: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II/III (Reboot)

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley / John 'Soap' MacTavish (SoapGhost)

WORD COUNT: 870 words

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

Thinking about Soap and Ghost who constantly greet each other by asking “Did you miss me?”

It started off small.

The phrase first spoken whenever Soap joined Ghost for breakfast at their usual booth. Every morning he’d slide in on the same side, knocking knees with the other man as they squished together despite the empty bench on the other side.

“Did you miss me?” Soap would ask, even though they had only spent a night’s rest apart. Even though the previous day was spent entirely in one another’s company.

Ghost was no better, using the phrase whenever he entered a room - regardless of how long it had been since he had left it. How could he not, when Soap would always perk up at his return each time?

It didn't matter if he left for a few minutes to use the bathroom, or to grab paperwork from his office, or what. Without fail, he’d always slot himself back at Soap’s side, a hidden smirk pulling at his lips.

“Miss me, Johnny?”

Neither knew exactly how it started. If it was meant to be a joke or if a sincere question hid beneath those words.

Honestly, it took surprisingly little before it became second nature. The question was their thing. And the more they used it, the more its meaning grew.

When the 141 were wrapping up a week long mission- one where they all ended up split between the supporting units- it was Ghost who pushed through the sea of soldiers until he was at Soap’s side again. Eyes raking over the man’s mud-stained gear for any signs of a wound in his absence.

“ ‘d you miss me, sergeant?” Ghost asked. His tone made it seem like just another question asked by the superior, though it didn’t stop the underlying check-in from coming through.

Are you hurt?

And despite the fact they weren’t yet on safe soil, still locked into their commanding roles, the tension visibly released from both of their shoulders at the realization that they had made it to exfil safe.

“Don’t think there was enough time for that, sir,” Soap quipped without missing a beat.

I’m solid, now.

When the team was sent on mandatory leave– most of them returning to their families for the duration– it was Soap who constantly checked on Ghost. Knowing that the man would have chosen to spend their break back on base.

Somehow, he seemed to constantly run into things that reminded him of his lieutenant, and never hesitated to call him about it. Each time, the phone would only ring once before Ghost answered. As if he was waiting for their daily chat.

Right before he’d dive into a story about a ghost-themed trinket he saw, or a new restaurant he tried, or an animal he ran into, Soap would always start by asking–

“Miss me yet?” His singsong voice never failing to get a chuckle out of Ghost.

Is everything alright?

“You’re the one that can’t seem to stay away,” the man would respond on the other side of the line. Despite knowing that he was about to happily listen for hours as Soap updated him about his day.

Thank you for checking in on me.

Again, and again, and again they fell into the familiar cycle of always checking in with each other. Always coming up with a reason. There was nothing ever official between them, but it served as reassurance and comfort all the same. The care that they showed one another was just so clear.

Things finally progressed when the two of them were sent on back to back solo ops, forced to go months without seeing each other.

Soap barely waited for the helo to touch down before finding his way to Ghost’s door. It was late, and he knew his arrival wouldn’t have been shared with the team yet, but that didn’t stop him from knocking anyway.

The door opened by the third tap, revealing a surprised Brit on the other side. There were clear bags under his eyes, and curls poking out from his mask that was haphazardly thrown on. No doubt having been woken from deep sleep.

But it didn’t stop Ghost’s expression from softening as he wordlessly stepped aside, letting Soap into his space before shuffling back to bed. He trusted Soap enough to not need to keep an eye on him as he did whatever he came for.

When he felt the bed dip minutes later, rolling over to accommodate Soap after his gear was removed, Ghost simply threw an arm over the other man. It was the first time they had shared a bed, but the milestone felt nothing but natural.

As they held each other tightly, making up for their time spent separated, Ghost mumbled fondly into the darkness-

“I missed you.”

And the body that curled around him whispered just as sweet, “I missed you too.”

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ponyosmom35 · 5 months ago

Text

Meeting

Homelander x original female character

synopsis: Lydia snaps and loses control. When Homlander is sent to investigate he's surprised to see a girl, he's even more surprised by the need he felt to take care of her.

warnings: TW CHILD ABUSE, cursing, death, fire, loss, blood, gore, angst

link to master list: https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

"Lydia, let's go," calls the voice of her little sister Riley as she runs through the forest, stopping to look back at Lydia who was lagging behind.

Lydia smiles and jogs slightly to catch up. She wraps her arm around Riley's shoulder and walks with her, listening as she recounts her last day of 8th grade. "So, how does it feel to be a high schooler officially?"

"I don't know," Riley shrugs. "I feel the same."

"I'm sure it'll be different once you start school in the fall," Lydia muses.

"No, I don't even want to think about that!" Riley responds loudly, feigning disgust.

Lydia rolls her eyes as they enter the familiar clearing in the woods where they spent most of their afternoons. They had stumbled upon it once while walking home from school and declared it their 'special place.' Lydia had even carved their names into the rock at the center of the clearing.

The woods had become a safe space for the two siblings. They knew that the longer they stayed away from home, the safer they would be. By now, their father had been drinking since 2 PM after he got off work. If they managed to stay away from the house for another two hours, he should be knocked out on the couch, bottle of scotch in hand.

Lydia watches as Riley sets her things down and continues to ramble while pulling out her notepad. The older sister sighs in exhaustion. She had been working all day at her local grocery store and barely made the bus. She ended up being twenty minutes late to pick up Riley, and her head was pounding from lack of food and fatigue. Lydia wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in bed, but she needed to make sure Riley got her homework done before they went home. Then she would have to make dinner (if they had any food) and sleep for 1.5 hours before heading to her second job at the diner a few blocks away from their trailer.

This had been her life for the past two years. After she graduated high school, she knew that college was completely out of the question. She couldn't leave Riley alone to deal with their father. Jordan Jones was a bastard, known around town as the drunk who hadn't been sober a day in his life. Jordan was bearable when Lydia was young, back when her mother was still around, things were fine. However, the summer before her first year of middle school, her mother left and never came back. Jordan changed after that, drinking his life away and spending nearly all their money on alcohol, night after night. He became violent, taking his anger out on the two girls who reminded him far too much of their mother. Some nights he would be waiting for them, belt in hand. Others, he would ignore their existence until they made a noise too loud, then it would be war. Lydia was 12 when it started, Riley just 6. At the age of 12, Lydia Jones was forced to grow up overnight. She became Riley's sole caretaker, doing whatever she could to give her younger sister a semi-normal childhood.

But it all changed on a particularly cold winter night. Jordan Jones returned home to find the girls huddled together, trying to stay warm. He had been surprisingly calm as he entered the room. He bent down in front of Lydia, and she noticed a needle in his hand. Her eyes widened as he gripped her body. She begged him to let her go, but it was too late; he shoved the mysterious blue liquid-filled needle into her arm. Lydia blacked out after that. She didn't awaken for three days, only finding out later that she had been running a fever, her body hot to the touch. She felt as though her skin was melting off. She spent the night clawing at it, trying to rid herself of the intense burning sensation. Three days had passed before she began to feel normal once more. It had been an agonizing 72 hours, many times where she wished to be dead. It was only then that she found the paperwork on her father's dresser. He had injected her with some drug called 'Compound V' in order to receive a sizable amount of money. Her eyes read through the potential side effects, and her stomach churned. She moved into the kitchen, noticing the brand-new bottles of alcohol placed around, and her eyes filled with tears. He had signed her life away without a second thought, all for more liquor.

Her powers began to manifest in little ways at first. Whenever she walked into a room, the temperature would rise. She made chicken nuggets for her sister and accidentally brushed against the hot pan, but her skin did not blister and burn; it remained pure and clear. As the winter months passed, Lydia felt the heat of the sun on her face, and she felt stronger than ever, like she was untouchable. It was the summer before seventh grade, at the age of 13, that she discovered what the drug had done to her after she set her hairbrush on fire.

Never once did her father discuss what he had done to her. She doubted he even knew she had changed. He had seen a way to make money and signed his name, without bothering to wonder why Vought would be paying to test a drug on children. She decided then and there she had to keep it a secret. She was a supe, just like The Seven. But she knew that she could never be one of them; she wasn't cut out to be a real hero, she wasn't brave like Queen Maeve, or strong like Homelander. She was a nobody, and she knew that protecting her secret was the best way to keep her sister safe until she could get them both far away from her father.

Now, seven years later, Lydia learned she was capable of a lot more than just setting things on fire. She had been practicing during the few hours she had after work. Her sister watched her in awe as Lydia absorbed the light from the sun and created a ball of fire in her hands. She glanced over at Riley's face, smiling at her larger-than-life smile.

"Work on your homework," she said before allowing the fire to expand between her fingers.

"How could I? You're playing with fire," Riley giggled.

"Now, Ry," she warned.

Riley grumbled under her breath, and Lydia rolled her eyes. She turned her focus back on the fire and manipulated it, spinning the dancing flames around her in a large circle. She noticed her younger sister's gaze still on her and sighed, knowing that she would never do her homework while Lydia tried to practice. She dimmed the flames and put them out completely before moving over to her sister and leaning against the rock.

"What do we have today?"

"Okay, so for this assignment I have to write about my hero and why I chose them."

"That's cool. Who'd you pick? Let me guess, Queen Maeve?" Lydia asked.

"Nope."

"A-Train?"

"No."

"Black Noir?"

Riley laughed. "No!"

"Jesus, is it Homelander?"

"He's your favorite, not mine."

"Okay, so tell me who it is," Lydia asked, crossing her arms.

"I chose you," Riley said earnestly.

Lydia stared at her in shock as her throat tightened. She fought tears as she smiled warmly. Lydia wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulder and kissed her head gently. "You did?"

"Yeah, I mean I was gonna choose Queen Maeve but I thought about it and realized that she's never done anything for me. You take care of me, you keep me safe, not Maeve or Homelander or anyone else."

"I'll always keep you safe, Ry. That's my job," Lydia said gently. "Thank you for choosing me."

---

The next few hours flew by quickly. The sun had set long ago, and the sisters walked side by side on the long gravel road that led to their dilapidated mobile home. As they got closer, they could see a figure on the porch. It was their father, bottle in hand, seemingly waiting for them. They paused, and Lydia pushed Riley behind her as he stood, walking over to them.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he demanded.

"I got off work late and missed the bus," Lydia lied easily.

"Bullshit," he snapped, causing both girls to flinch.

Jordan gritted his teeth and walked closer to the girls, his eyes glazed over as he practically shook with rage. He gripped Lydia's arm and pulled her closer as he glared down at her, the scent of alcohol strong enough to make her want to gag.

"I called your boss. She said you got off at 3, so where the fuck were you?" he demanded.

"The—the forest, Dad," she said in a small voice.

"Speak up! I can't fucking hear you when you mumble!" he screamed.

"The forest!" she responded.

Jordan released her arm and punched her square in the face, knocking her to the ground instantly as she held her cheek. Lydia didn't stop the tears that fell down her cheeks as she whimpered in pain. Jordan rushed over to her, gripping her hair and pulling her up to her feet. She screamed in pain, and he slapped her once more.

"How many fucking times have I told you to come straight home?" he roared, spitting in her face. "Jesus fuck, how many times?"

"I don't know, Dad!" she cried.

"Fucking dumb bitch, you don't listen."

Another punch sent her to the ground, her head smashing against a rock. Lydia's body fell limp as she passed out. After nearly a minute, she began to come back to. The faint sound of yelling woke her up, and she blinked her eyes open. She brought a hand up to her forehead, feeling the sticky blood dripping down her face as her head pounded. She sits up, trying to breathe through the pain when a familiar scream causes her head to shoot up. Her eyes search frantically for Riley. She spots her father dragging her towards the steps of the house as she screams for help, and Lydia pushes herself to stand, ignoring how dizzy she was.

Lydia rushes over to them and pulls her dad’s arm back, his skin burning at the touch. He wails loudly, his grip on Riley dropping as he whips around to face her. He looks down at his burned skin and back to her. His eyes widen as he takes a step back. Lydia’s eyes were glowing orange, and her hand was encapsulated by blue flames.

“What the fuck?” he says in shock, holding his hand to his chest.

“You don’t fucking touch her,” she grits.

“What the- how is this- you fucking burned me!” her father spits out.

“Come here, Riley,” she says, ignoring her father.

“No, you stay back!” he demands, pushing them to the door. “You’re a fucking monster!”

Lydia scoffs and stares at him in amusement, all of her fear that she’d held onto for so long pushed away as she finally had the power. Now he was the one who should be scared.

“You did this to me!” she smirks. “You injected me with Compound V for money and gave me this power.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did,” she nods, smirking as she steps closer to him. “Do you have any idea what I can do?”

The man stares at her in horror as she holds her other hand up, flames dancing around her skin majestically. The fabric of her shirt burned, leaving her in her tank top as her arms hold the fire.

“I could fucking burn you to death,” she spits.

“Help! Please, someone help me!” he calls out to their neighbors.

“Nobody can help you, Dad. Right now, it’s just you and me,” she says.

“Stop this, Lydia!” he shouts.

“Why? Did you ever stop when I begged you? When I was unconscious because you pushed me down the steps? When you broke my arm? When you beat me with your belt until I passed out?” she yells.

“Fuck,” he begins to panic as he holds his hands up.

“Lydia!” Riley’s voice calls out.

Her eyes snap to her sister’s, wide with fear. She takes a breath and closes her eyes, allowing the flames to simmer slightly, her eyes returning to their normal color.

“You have to stop this,” her sister begs.

“No, I’m done being scared of him, Riley! It’s time for him to pay for his sins.”

“That’s not up to you to decide!” Riley shouts. “Then you’re just like him!”

“She’s right, Lydia. You can’t hurt me. You don’t have it in you! You’ve always been weak!” her father taunts as sirens echo through the woods. One of the neighbors must’ve called the police.

“Shut the fuck up,” she growls.

“If you hurt me, then you’ll hurt Riley. Is that really something you wanna do?” he asks.

“Lydia Jones, put your hands in the air!” a voice screams as several police officers approach, surrounding her instantly.

“He doesn’t get to get away with this!” she yells as tears stream down her face, the rage inside of her growing by the second.

“He won’t! But you have to let us help you!”

Lydia whips around, staring at the man in anger. “Help me? How are you gonna help me? I’ve spent years walking into school with bruises. How many visits to the hospital with broken bones and stitches? Now you wanna fucking help me?”

“Lydia-”

“No, this is justice,” she says as she lights her hands on fire once again. Loud gasps and curses ring through the police as they point their guns at her.

“Drop your hands right now before we shoot!”

“Fuck you!” she yells before turning back to her father.

In the blink of an eye, several shots ring out. Searing pain in her abdomen causes her to fall to the ground. She screams in pain as her ears ring. She can barely see rough hands on her skin flip her over, putting handcuffs on one of her hands. She holds her head up to see Riley, her body crumpled on the ground. Her heart stops as the officers surround her. One of them moves out of the way, holding his hand to his mouth as he steps back, running his hands over his head. She stares at her sister, six gunshots embedded in her body. Her blood spilled onto the porch rapidly. Her beautiful blue eyes stared directly at her, yet devoid of life.

“She’s dead!”

“Riley!” she screams in horror.

“Help me sedate her!” the officer holding her yells as she begins to fight against him.

Before the officer could cuff her other hand, she flips around and grips onto his hand, burning him instantly. He howls in pain and crumples to the ground beside her. Lydia grunts in pain and pushes to her feet. The other officers swarm her, and she lifts her hand, sending a gust of fire at them. In an instant, they’re laying on the ground several feet away. She falls to the ground as the searing pain was immediate and overwhelming, as if a white-hot poker had been driven through flesh and bone. Blood poured from the wound, pulsing with each heartbeat, while the area around the injury throbbed with a deep, relentless ache. The skin felt raw and burning, and every slight movement sent jolts of agony radiating through the body. The sharp, stinging sensation was accompanied by a nauseating sense of weakness and dizziness. She grunts in pain and crawls up the porch steps, making it to her sister.

She gasps in horror and gently touches her cheek as tears fall down her cheeks. “Riley, wake up.”

She waits several seconds before dropping her head as sobs wrack through her body. “Please, Ry, don’t do this.”

“She’s dead, Lydia,” her father’s emotionless voice says. “She’s dead because of you.”

Lydia looks up at him, all of the pain and rage taking over her body in an instant. She rises to her feet and slams a burning hand on his shoulder, pulling him to his knees as he cries in agony. She places her hands on his face, watching the skin burn and melt before her eyes. His blood-curdling screams echo through the woods. She digs her fingertips into his eye sockets and burns his eyes right out of his face. His loud screaming ceases after several moments as his entire body lights in flames. The smell of burning flesh hits her nose as his body rolls down the porch steps.

Lydia looks down at her dead little sister’s face and brushes the hair out of her face. The tears in her eyes sizzle away as the fire takes over her body. In that moment, Lydia Jones channeled every memory, every punch, kick, broken bone, and sleepless night into her heart. The fury in her blood fueled the fire. Her eyes stuck on Riley’s face, as heatwaves blast through the air, growing stronger by the second. Lydia stares up at the sun as it set, the power flowing directly into her. She falls to the ground, screaming, her body releasing all its anguish in a single moment.

---

“Jesus Christ,” Maeve gasps as she steps out of the car, surveying the scorched earth that had lasted for ten miles leading up to the town. Nothing but ash remained of the small town, not a soul, nor a building to be seen. She looks over at Homelander, who holds his hands behind his back as he takes in the destruction.

“This used to be a forest?” Maeve asks.

“Yep,” he responds. “Whatever caused this took out the entire town and everything in it.”

“Fuck,” Maeve curses.

“I’ll canvas the area,” he says before blasting into the sky.

Homelander soars over the wreckage in search of ground zero. If he could find where the blast occurred, he might be able to find what caused it. He searches for several minutes before coming up to a massive hole in the ground. The area is surrounded by flames. He is barely able to make out a woman curled up in the center of it all. He frowns and lands on the ground, the wind extinguishing the fire instantly. He moves over to the hole and tilts his head, staring at the girl who had her arms wrapped around her legs, as she stares off into space. Her completely naked skin danced with blue flames. She was covered in blood, dirt, and ash.

“Miss?” he asks.

As if being snapped out of whatever trance she was in, the girl looks up at him, and her eyes widen in shock. She looks around in confusion and covers her chest. “Homelander?”

Homelander's eyes widen in surprise when the woman looks up at him, recognition in her gaze. He quickly composes himself, his expression shifting back to his usual cool demeanor. Even in the midst of all the destruction, he can't help but be struck by her beauty, the way her body is painted with blue flames and the way she looks up at him with those wide eyes.

"Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?"

“What’s going on?” she asks, clearly still in shock.

He steps closer, his eyes raking over her form as he takes in her battered and injured state. He kneels down beside her, ignoring the way the flames around her dance and flicker.

"We're not sure yet," he answers, his voice low and steady. "There was

"We're not sure yet," he answers, his voice low and steady. "There was some sort of explosion or something that destroyed this town and everything in its path."

“What?” she asks, holding her hands to her head. The flames on her skin extinguish, and she shakes her head several times as tears fall down her cheeks.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Lydia.”

“Lydia, I’m Homelander, and I’m here to help you. But first, I need you to tell me what happened here.”

“I did this.”

His eyebrows rise in surprise at her confession, his eyes narrowing as he studies her. He doesn't respond right away, instead taking a moment to soak in the information.

"You... did this?" he asks, his voice incredulous. "You caused all this destruction?"

“I’m a monster,” she sobs.

He kneels down in front of her, his gaze softening slightly as he takes in her distress. He reaches out, his hand hovering over her shoulder but not quite touching her. Then, he wraps his cape around her naked body, and she clutches onto it.

"You're not a monster," he says softly. "Just tell me what happened. What made you do this?"

“My... my dad, he hurt me, and the police—they came, and fuck,” she says, beginning to hyperventilate, “they killed my sister.”

His expression darkens as he listens to her words, his jaw clenching in anger at the thought of her being hurt and her sister being killed. He moves closer to her, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder, offering what little comfort he can.

"It's alright," he says, his voice low and steady. "Take deep breaths. You need to calm down."

“I just snapped. I didn’t know what I was doing!” she says breathlessly, closing her eyes and holding onto her head. “I’m a monster.”

He continues to hold onto her shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. He speaks softly, his tone both reassuring and commanding.

"No, you're not a monster. You're just a girl who was pushed too far. It's not your fault you lost control. You didn't know what you were doing."

He falls silent, studying her closely, his thoughts racing. He can see her pain and guilt, the way it's tearing her apart. Something about her just makes him want to comfort her, to protect her.

She looks up at him with wide, teary eyes.

He looks into her eyes, his expression softening further. There's something about her that just pulls at his heartstrings, and he can't quite explain it. He moves his hand from her shoulder, gently brushing away a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"Shh," he says, his voice still gentle but firm. "It's alright. You're alright. I'm here."

“Kill me,” she whispers. “I deserve to die for what I’ve done.”

His eyes widen in shock at her words. He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him, his expression a mix of anger and concern.

"Don't say that," he says, his voice sharp and demanding. "You don't deserve to die. You made a mistake, but it doesn't define you."

“How can you say that? Look at what I’ve done!” she says. “I’m alone. I have nobody!”

He clenches his jaw, his grip on her chin tightening slightly. He can see the pain and despair in her eyes, and a part of him aches to take it all away. He doesn't back down, his voice firm and unwavering.

"You're not alone," he says, his voice softer now. "You have me."

She looks up at him again in shock.

He looks back at her, his expression softened slightly. He can see the surprise in her eyes, like she didn't expect him to disagree with her. He lets go of her chin, but his hand remains on her shoulder, offering comfort.

"You're not a monster," he repeats. "You're just a girl who's been through hell. You don't deserve to die; you deserve a chance to make things right."

“How?”

He pauses for a moment, his hand still on her shoulder, his gaze fixed on hers. He contemplates her question, his mind racing as he tries to come up with an answer that will provide her some modicum of comfort and reassurance. He takes a deep breath, his voice steady as he responds.

"You've got powers," he says. "Powers you don't fully understand or control. But that doesn't make you a monster. It just makes you dangerous. And danger can be harnessed and channeled."

“I don’t understand. You’re not taking me to jail?” she asks.

His lips curve into a wry smile at her question. The thought of taking her to jail hadn't even crossed his mind. He could feel the power radiating off her, the raw energy that she possessed. And the more he looked at her, the more he wanted to keep her close.

"No," he answers. "I'm not taking you to jail. You need help, not punishment."

“Why are you doing this for me?”

He pauses for a moment, his hand still resting on her shoulder. He looks at her intently, his expression serious as he contemplates his answer. He wasn't sure why he was doing this for her, why he was offering her comfort and protection. It was just a feeling deep in his gut, something that he couldn't ignore. He takes a deep breath and answers.

“I can't just leave you here to fend for yourself. You need help, and I want to help you."

His gaze falls to her head, his eyes narrowing when he notices the blood and the bruise on her cheek. Concern flashes in his eyes as he steps closer, gently lifting her chin to get a better look. He runs his thumb over the bruise, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man of his size and power.

"You're hurt," he says, his voice gravelly as he examines the wound. "You need to be checked out."

“I’m fine,” she says, gripping the cape and holding it to make sure her body is covered as she attempts to stand. She grunts in pain and falls back down, her hand falling to her abdomen.

Without hesitating, he moves closer, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her gently to her feet. He steadies her, keeping a firm grip on her as he feels how soft, curvy, and fragile she is in comparison to him. He looks down at her abdomen, noticing the way her hand moves to it, and he frowns in concern at the pain he sees etched onto her face.

"You're not fine," he says, his voice firm and commanding. "You're hurt. Let me look at it."

“Sir—” she wants to stop him, embarrassed that she is naked in front of him, but he keeps his gaze strictly on the wound.

He ignores her protest, his focus solely on the wound on her abdomen. His movements are gentle yet firm as he carefully untangles his cape from her grasp, giving him a better view of the injury. He doesn't look at her naked body, his gaze fixed solely on the wound and the surrounding area.

"Hold still," he instructs, his voice gruff but gentle. "Let me see how badly you're hurt."

“I was shot,” she admits.

His eyes widen slightly at her admission, anger and concern flashing in his gaze. He looks more closely at the wound, his hands gently moving her body to get a better view. He can see the signs of a bullet wound, and his jaw clenches in anger at the thought of someone hurting her.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks, his voice tight as he surveys the injury. "You would have bled out if I hadn't found you."

“Because I deserve it,” she says as her head spins. She grips onto his bicep for support as she whimpers in pain.

He looks into her eyes, his expression hardening at her words. He shakes his head, both in disbelief and determination.

"No, you don't," he says, his voice firm. "You don't deserve to be hurt or to be left here to suffer."

He gently sweeps her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. His grip is firm but careful, and he makes sure to support her injured abdomen as he lifts her.

"I'm not going to leave you," he says, his voice unwavering. "I'm going to take care of you. You're not alone anymore."

He feels her body go limp in his arms, and urgency fills him. He holds her tighter, his heart racing as he looks down at her. He can see her eyes roll back in her head, and he knows he needs to act fast.

"Hey," he says, his voice stern yet laced with concern. "Stay with me. Talk to me. Don't pass out on me, you hear me?"

He holds her tightly in his arms as he flies towards the hospital, his mind racing with worry and determination. He can feel her body growing weaker in his arms, and he's desperate to find medical help for her.

When he lands, he sees Maeve waiting for him, her expression concerned. He strides towards her, keeping the girl securely in his arms as he speaks quickly.

"She was shot," he says to Maeve. "She's losing too much blood. We need to get her inside, now."

“If she dies, you all die,” he warns as he sets her on the bed. He makes sure to keep her covered in his cape to prevent any of the men from looking at her body.

He looms over the doctors, his presence intimidating as they scramble to perform surgery on the girl. His eyes never leave the operating room, watching intently as they begin to work on her. He can feel the tension in the air, the fear and anxiety oozing off the doctors. He’s tense, his mind racing with worry and determination. He had never felt this protective over someone before, yet with this girl he just couldn't help himself. He's invested in her survival, and he'll do whatever it takes to make sure she pulls through.

“It was her, wasn’t it?” Maeve asks as she walks in, crossing her arms.

He looks over at Maeve, his gaze still focused on the operating room. He nods once, his expression serious as he responds. “Yes,” he says, his voice low and steady. “It was her. She did this.”

“I’ve never seen power like that before. She leveled ten miles of land and incinerated 6,000 people,” Maeve says.

He looks back at the operating room, the reality of her powers sinking in. He had seen the destruction she caused, the sheer scale of it all, and he had no doubt that she was capable of so much more. “I know,” he says, his voice gruff. “I saw the damage she caused. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before. The potential she has…”

“No,” Maeve says. “You can’t actually be considering bringing her back with us?”

He looks at Maeve, his gaze intense. He can sense her disapproval, her concern at the idea of bringing the girl back with them. But his mind is made up. “I am,” he says firmly, his voice steady and resolute. “She needs help. She's powerful beyond belief, and she needs someone to guide her. I can't just leave her here.”

“Since when do you care about others? You don’t know this girl, why would you want a liability with us at Vought? What happens when she does this again?”

He bites back a growl, his irritation rising at Maeve's challenge. He turns to face her, his expression hard as he responds. “She's different,” he says, his voice edged with impatience. “She's powerful and dangerous. And as for the liability, I'll make sure she doesn't do anything like this again. I'll make sure she stays under control.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

He glares at her, his eyes narrow as he contemplates her question. He's not used to being questioned like this, but he knows he needs to answer her, needs to convince her that he has a plan. “I'll train her,” he says, his voice confident yet firm. “I'll teach her how to control her powers, how to channel them instead of letting them control her. I'll be the one who guides her, mentors her. She won't be a liability, she'll be an asset.”

Maeve laughs and crosses her arms. He clenches his jaw, irritation bleeding into his voice as he shoots Maeve a sharp glare. “What's so funny?” he snaps.

“You met the girl two hours ago and you’ve already made your claim,” she smirks.

He grits his teeth, his irritation rising at her cocky attitude. But he knows he can't afford to let his emotions get the better of him, not here, not now. “Yes, I met her,” he says, his voice strained. “And yes, I've made my claim. She's under my protection, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she's safe and in control of her powers. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will do whatever it takes,” Maeve smiles. “She’s pretty. Guess you have a thing for redheads.”

He bristles at her comment, his irritation growing as he glares at her. But he can't deny the pang of truth in her words. There was something about this girl, something that drew him to her. Maybe it was her red hair, maybe it was the fire in her eyes. But whatever it was, he wasn’t willing to admit it, not to her anyway. “Watch your mouth,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous. “This isn't about that.”

“Okay, good. Guess Deep will have a shot then. God knows he’ll be obsessed with her.”

His eyes narrow in anger at the mention of the Deep. The thought of the octopus lover ogling the girl sent a wave of possessiveness through him. He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep his anger in check. “Deep will stay away from her,” he growls. “He won't touch her, he won’t even look at her.”

Maeve smiles at him and places a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve never seen you like this before. It’s a good look on you—caring about someone.”

He feels her hand on his shoulder, his irritation fading slightly at her words. He can tell there's a hint of genuine concern in her voice, and it catches him off guard. He takes a deep breath, trying to reign in his emotions. “Don't get used to it,” he mutters, avoiding eye contact with her. “I'm just...concerned for her well-being, that's all.”

“Right, of course,” Maeve smiles. “So what’s mystery girl’s name?”

“Lydia,” he smiles to himself.

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