#simon riley x reader angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cas-backwards-tie · 1 day

Text

Wonderstruck

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Ex!Reader

Summary: Simon Riley finally takes it upon himself to check up on his childhood best friend and ex lover. He's been torturing himself reminiscing on your relationship and what went wrong for years now. Little does he know... you're in the same boat. Having seen someone today you swore was Simon on your way to work, you too, reflect on the past.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Stalking(?),

Mentions of: Drinking, Smoking, Motorcycle Riding

A/N: I don't know why but I constantly am getting inspired by certain songs, or am reminded of certain characters, and all the lyrics were just screaming childhood best friends to estranged lovers, right person wrong time Simon Riley. Nevertheless, if you'd love to listen to some versions of the song which inspired me, here we are! Line divider credit: @saradika-graphics and I'd also love to thank @penelopepine for helping me with the ending <3

He knew it was a bad idea as soon as it'd crossed his mind, yet somehow he couldn't rid himself of it time and time again. That's how he found himself here; watching you cross the street, he can't help but notice the vintage band t-shirt you have on, frayed at the edges with the little strings of the hem coming undone that you've refused to cut off. In you hands you clutch a new phone, no doubt an upgrade from the last one he'd seen you with- though it's been a while.

As you mindlessly tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he can't help the way his insides churn. You were always effortlessly beautiful; you never had to try for anything. Even now, the way you can walk across the busy cobblestone side streets of London in high heels without seemingly second-guessing yourself, body language still poised on guard and ready in case anyone tries anything, just like he'd taught you.

It's clear from your outfit and the lipstick you’re donning that you're attempting to sway the officials at work. Maybe trying for that promotion you’d always been talking about, but never had the gumption to make today the day. What’s different about today, he wonders. You'd always been a go-getter, and truthfully, it was something Simon admired about you. Even in the moments where he'd resented it the most, the constant pestering and prodding at him in an attempt to get him to move and drag him out of the holes his dug himself into...

Where would he be now if only he listened?

What if you knew better?

He couldn't deny that the thoughts kept him up at night while he was away. Though, admittedly, more often than not it was the string of random memories that he’d get glimpses of during the day. It’d always be at the worst times, too. Two weeks ago in Berlin he’d been clapping Kyle on the back, hoping he’ll get it together as he stumbled out the pub. While Soap had the camaraderie to slug half his mate’s weight over his broad shoulders, Simon found himself unable to help as his eyes were drawn in by a couple a few paces down the block.

“Bollocks!” He’d shouted out in frustration. Double-checking himself, he didn’t have a spare cap on him, and he knew he sure as hell didn’t bring an umbrella on your little last minute ‘trip’. Not that he’d really call walking down to the local Tesco for snacks late one summer evening a trip. ‘It’ll be an adventure! Just think of it like that.’ You’d persuaded him.

“What? Are you going to melt?” He hears you joke. As his brown eyes land on your face when you turn to meet his gaze, a few steps ahead of him down the road, he can’t help the smile that breaks out across his lips upon your laughter. Sure, you may both be a little drunk after spending the evening in and having a drink or two. But it doesn’t change the way he feels about you, if anything, it makes him even more keenly aware of the way you affect him.

“Maybe. Who knows?” He teases in responses, tugging his jacket up and over his head to shield himself from the cool summer rain. Despite the time, now he’ll most likely need a shower when you get home. As he jogs to catch up and bring you under his little makeshift cocoon, you do the unexpected.

It was you, of course… he should’ve known better, always testing him, pushing him. With a gentle drop of the plastic bag full of snacks upon the side of the road you’d been strolling down, he watches as you run into the empty street. The streetlights illuminate you in a hazy orangey-yellow light as you begin to spin and twirl, dancing in the street.

With a shake of his head, he’s left stunned once again by the vast difference of your personalities. Your jeans and t-shirt are starting to get damp and discolored, and there’s a taunting, displeased remark sitting on his tongue just waiting to be made. It’s the utter joyous smile on your face as you tip your head back and relinquish yourself to your fate that leaves him wonderstruck, he thinks.

“Come on, Simon!” You beckon, finally meeting his gaze once again with that familiar carefree, hopeful look behind your irises. With an outstretched hand, he knows he can’t deny you this… and really, there’s something inside him that tells him he doesn’t want to, either.

“It’s her, innit?” He hears his Captain’s voice call over his shoulder. Pulled from his memories, Simon dismisses Price with a nonchalant grunt. As the old man tries to place a hand on his shoulder he dodges it, realizing he’s been watching the couple for longer than he’d thought. With Soap and Gaz almost to the end of the block, Simon sighs before shrugging his shoulders to right his jacket and head off in their direction for backup.

That was a time when your playfulness been more easily taken and accepted without question. No fighting, no push back, resentments… maybe that was it: he’d stopped going with the flow. He’d stopped accepting the punches and started dodging and weaving your advances at fixing things and picking up where he left you. Because while it’s too late now, he’s finally realized it for what it is: he left you in the dark, he’s the one who pushed you away, closed himself off.

That night he’d curled up in the temporary bed he’d been assigned, more memories continued to consume him. The way you’d effortlessly ease his worries on nights he’d come home stressed, feathers ruffled from whatever petty drama went on during the day. Whether it was something the guys said that stuck with him, or something he couldn’t get out of his mind when he came back from deployment. Your kisses always seemed to be the cure, your love… or maybe it was just… you.

“You know furrowing your brows like that will cause wrinkles,” you inform him, reaching out to run gentle fingers over his bunched skin.

A grunt of acknowledgment leaves his lips. “More for me to worry about, hm?” While it’s all he says, his eyes are searching over your composure.

“No,” it leaves your lips without thought, “just something to think about, be mindful of. If you’re not upset, then why furrow them?” Voice quiet in the moonlit apartment, your fingers smooth out his brows gently as you admire him. “I read something the other day about how it’s possible our body informs our mental state. If you’re tensing all the time, it won’t help your stress, Si.”

He simply hums in response, doing nothing to stop you as you ghost your lips over his for a moment before planting a loving chaste kiss to his. While big and wide warm hands find the exposed bit of skin between the hem of your sleeping pants and the shirt you wear, it’s the unexpected cool sensation that elicits a muffled gasp. Your much smaller hands are sneaking up underneath his sweatshirt to explore his abdomen, caressing him like he were made of soft silk. Your lips meet again for a chaste kiss.

Then it’s turning into something more; you have to take it slow, your lips dancing against one another, his hand rubbing your back to let you know it’s alright. As you begin to run out of breath, it’s only when you pull away, lashes fluttering against his skin that you ask him. “You know I’d love you even with wrinkles, right?”

Taken aback, he can’t help but stare. Unsure how to respond or what to do, his lips part in search of words. “Is that so?” He finally questions, hand giving your side a soft squeeze.

“My favorite boy… I love you to the moon and back… scars and all. I always have, and I always will, Simon,” you whisper, ghosting his lips again before planting one on him, “I just hope you know that.”

And at the time, he swore he did. It’s odd, really, and he wouldn’t lie to himself about it either. Simon tried dating after you, he tried hooking up, he tried it all… but it never felt right. As many times as he replays the memory, he can never get past the feeling of home. With you, it felt like home. You never made him feel expendable, or worry of the abandonment he knew would inevitably come.

For years afterward he blamed you, he saw it as your fault that you left, you abandoned him… when, maybe, really it’s finally time he admits it was him. He made it a self-fulfilling prophecy, and there was nothing you could do.

It's on your way home from work that you see them; while waiting for the bus, there's a playground in the park a few meters away. Really, the idea that human nature is predictable is always laughable at first, but only after watching people and stepping back to become an observer you've noticed from time to time that... it's more than true. Even from a distance, the children in the park look happy... but that's not what catches your eye. There's a blonde boy, and a girl, much like yourself when you were younger, playing what you can only assume is something halfway between hide and seek and tag, considering the playground offers more space and obstacles than hiding spots.

Perhaps it's the joyous looks on their little faces, or the way they unabashedly play, carefree and unaware of the adult worries and burdens the world hangs above their heads, just waiting any day to drop upon their shoulders unexpectedly. However, you can't help but reminisce on the ways you'd spent your childhood playing games much like the one the children are playing in the distance with a boy, very similar to the one before you, loving life, content, happy, simply aspiring to be the best at finding your ultimate hiding spot.

The soft squeak of the wheels coming to a halt before you and the mechanical release of air as the doors open brings your attention back to the present. Before you know it, you're on the bus, unconsciously taking a seat along the windows, hoping, just maybe you'll catch a glimpse of them as the bus drives down the road down its route. Though as you pass, the sun is beginning to set in the distance, the children departing the playground their separate ways as dusk begins to take its toll and curfew sets in place. The whole time you'd been focused on yourself, it's entirely possible that your own boy wound up beating you at your own game, finding the best spot and hiding himself away from the rest of the world.

Maybe it's the fact that you could've sworn you'd seen someone that looked almost identical to Simon on your way to work this morning, but memories continue to plague your mind for the first time in months. All the weekends he'd spent over at your house doing aimlessly silly things to fill your time, from science projects, to playing 'warrior' outside, you never felt more alive than the time you two spent together.

"I'll keep ya safe, yeah? Nothin' to worry about," Simon insists, gently guiding you to the side of the vehicle. Despite going out with your friends to the city for dinner, you both were sober. It should be fine, it would be. You'd been with him a million times... how different could it be? He'd run it by you as many times as you'd asked.

You swear it's not a good idea, but you trust him to the ends of the Earth. With a look over your shoulder, his brown eyes are steady, not uncertain in his unwavering gaze as he nods in assurance. Swinging a leg over the seat, you're in front this time. Helmets in place, hands on the clutch and brakes, you make eye contact with Simon once more before he flicks both your visors down. "Ready?" You ask him.

"More than ready, Love," he quips. With a quick shove to the kickstand, balance (with Simon's help of course), and a rev of the engine, you start the motorcycle off slowly. Gloved hands around your waist, he gives you a gentle squeeze.

He was always pushing you out of your comfort zone, that one. It was the first time you'd driven his motorcycle, and while it'd been scary and daunting for the first fifteen minutes, you eventually got used to it and it blossomed into something freeing. You understood then why he likes it, and you'd never been more grateful for someone pushing you out of your bubble. While flashes of all the kisses, caresses, and intimate moments between the two of you start to effervesce, you force yourself to remember the last time you'd seen him.

With a lingering hug, you're hesitant to let him go. Even if you know it's necessary, it's still hard... it always has been. "You'll let me know when you get in, right?" You ask, searching his eyes. They stand out from the black warpaint, his uniform always made him look handsome, even if you couldn't imagine how intimidating seeing his actual attire would be in his enemies position.

A dismissive and irritated grunt meets your ears as he shrugs your hands off. He'd packed quickly, something he's been doing more recently; taking more and more jobs, you've begun worrying for his health, not that he'd talk about it, of course. "If I 'ave time."

While you weren't able to get all the details on this excursion, you did manage to get that it was essentially a 'clean-up' for him. He had to go in and make sure that the hostages they'd had a lead on were all rescued and no one was left behind, no assailants or informants lingering or hiding. You've known that his job is hard on him. Losing people can't be easy, especially when you feel like you could've done things differently and changed the ending to their stories. Yet, you also know that throwing yourself into work the way he's been doing without talking to anyone, simply managing to pass debrief counseling by whatever meter their measuring is... not working. Not anymore, at least.

"You're running from this! You won't even answ-" you shout, gesticulating as you do everything in your power to keep the anger and worry that's tightly wound wrapped up in your gut under control, not to let anymore of it seep out than already has.

"An' you're one to talk?! You don't get to interrogate me," he argues, rounding the couch to get closer. The dark circles under his eyes scream volumes, even if he's unwilling to acknowledge whatever's going on for him. "I deal with that enough in my line o' work. Don't-"

"Simon," you say, tone holding that familiar warning tone.

You'd gotten home safely and were able to change and make something to eat. The feelings haven't left the cavity of your chest, still lingering there, the way he always does. He may be 'Ghost' on the field, yet he still haunts your memories, always making you question whether or not you did the right thing. What if only you'd done more? What if you hadn't pushed him so much? It wasn't always in a bad way, either, in fact, most of the time you'd find yourself chuckling randomly at some inside joke only the two of you share, or something he'd find funny. The stolen sweaters and hoodies you know for a fact long ago washed away his scent. Even if you swear sometimes that you can smell the faint odor of cigarettes he used to smoke. In the city when you're out with the girls you'd find yourself fondly inhaling the smell whenever a stranger would be smoking one nearby.

You'd cursed him: Simon Riley. Yet, the aching inside you he left often made you feel like he there's some sense of closure he never fully gave you. The SAS would tell you that he'd get your letters, even if you stopped writing years ago a little while after the split. You never got a response, and you never really expected one. Simon never really was one for letter writing. It was the only way you felt like you could get that closure, that part of your life done with. Ultimately, it did help you move on in some way.

A sigh tumbles past your lips as you change the channel on the television, unsure what you really feel like watching. A reality comedy show is on, something of a local prank show. It wasn't the best show, really, but it's one you used to watch a lot as a kid, and thus, another reminder of him. This one makes you smile, nonetheless. It's a good memory; nostalgia envelopes you in the way that makes you crave times that felt easier. Just when you wrap yourself in your fuzzy blanket, there's a soft rapt at the door.

Heart accelerating, eyes widening slightly, you slowly rise from the couch. The television volume isn't on loud, and while there may be light coming from it to inform a stranger you're home, that isn't enough to say that you're alone. With slow and cautious steps, you approach the door, careful to check the window near the door from a vantage point you're unseen. It's a man in a black hoodie. Panic sets in and you turn to skillfully head back toward the couch in search of your phone with quiet and quick steps. That's when it strikes you.

With all pretenses abandoned, you rush to the door and fling it open, lips parted in shock and awe. "Simon?" Searching and attempting to scan the partially shielded face, you're able to see tufts of blonde hair lit from the porch light.

"I know you've no reason to-" he starts, hands removing themselves from his hoodie's pocket, "but please let me come in and explain."

"You came back," you whisper. It's more for yourself than him, and whether it's out of bewilderment, intuitive knowing, or a premonition; you were right.

As he takes a step forward and reaches out for you with shaky hands produced from the familiar black pocket of his hoodie, you don't retract. Slow and tentative movements on both ends, he grabs ahold of one hand, thumb consciously skirting back and forth repeatedly in a form of grounding and seeking comfort. "You were right," his deep voice rasps.

Your hand cautiously seeks his cheek beneath the shield of his hood. Fully expecting to meet the spandex material of his balaclava, you're surprised by the warmth of his skin underneath your gentle touch. Wrist pushing against the cotton hood, it gives way, revealing his face. Searching his deep brown eyes for any sign he's genuine... you're met with truth.

With a weak nod you turn, leaving the door to shut softly behind the two of you.

~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #my writing #song fic #taylor swift #cardigan #simon riley x reader angst #angst #angst with a happy ending #simon ghost riley x ex!reader #simon riley x ex!reader #simon riley x cbf!reader #simon ghost riley x cbf!reader #biker!simon riley #song fics

83 notes · View notes

certifiedcodbabygirl · 28 days

Text

Simon Riley crying and praying for the first time in years bc you're hospitalized

(self indulgent as fuck, based off of personal medical history bc it'll be more accurate)

You hadn't ate or drank for 5 days, unable to keep anything down. You thought it was the flu at first. Fevers, puking, extreme fatigue. It didn't seem like anything out of the norm. Except for when your fevers started casing full body convulsions that made you look possessed. Chills and cold sweat turned to groaning and crying, muscles all over cramping and clenching, breathing becoming difficult. You figured it was because you hadn't had the flu in years. How wrong you had been.

Once your puke turned green, which was later found out to be bile from your kidneys, Simon rushed you to the hospital. Unable to stand, he pulled a wheelchair from the entrance and pushed you everywhere. Within 2 hours, the nurses had you admitted and on IV meds. Pain meds, IV Tylenol, and bags of fluid were hooked up to you, rehydrating you being high priority. Your body is in shock, resting heartrate being 140. He sat by your side the entire time, holding your puke bag in one hand, and your hair back in the other. The doctors drew blood, running blood cultures, searching for a more accurate answer.

The night you were admitted, they informed you that your kidneys were so infected that one got injured. The bile that was thrown up was caused but how hard you were puking, pulling it up from your kidneys.

He stayed the night, sleeping in the rocking chair, right next to your bed. He woke up when your fevers came back, holding your hand and telling you how good you're doing, calling in a nurse. The morning that followed, he had to go back to the house to make a bag of your immediate needs, clothes, deodorant, hairbrush, and anything else he could think of. When he came back, a doctor and a couple med students came in with important news.

"We ran blood cultures to see if there was possible an infection in your blood due to your symptoms leaning towards that. They came back positive. We are going to give you antibiotics and run cultures every 12 hours to track if the antibiotics are working" The doctor says as gently as possible.

The room begins to feel like it's spinning. Sepsis has a 68% mortality rate, and knowing how deadly it is, it feels like you're already being buried. Simon looks to you with a confused look, not knowing exactly what that it, but knowing it isn't good.

"I have sepsis?" You ask in a quiet voice, throat constricting.

"Yes" The doctor says softly.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna die" you whisper under your breath, tears forming.

Simon looks to you, eyes widening. 'Not again'

"Wait, the hell is Sepsis?" He demands, but not sounding confident, more scared than anything.

The doctor explains it to him, how it when your blood is infected, how the infection can latch onto your other organs and slowly kill you from the inside out. Once it reaches your brain, it's too late. His grip on your hand tightens. The doctor tries to give hope, but she can only do so much without lying. She leaves to give you privacy.

It's silent, neither of you speaking out of shock. The only noise in the room is the quiet hum of the IV machine and Simon's shaky breathing. Your thumb softly glides back and forth over the back of his hands, trying to ground him.

"Si" you softly call.

It takes hour to get him to loosen up a little. It's only when you manage to keep down a popsicle that he feels like he can breath a little easier. Like maybe you'll be part of the 32% that pull through.

That sliver of hope is crushed that night, being woken up by his arm being slapped repeated by you in a panic. His eyes meet yours, concern instantly written on his face. Your hand is on your chest as short, sharp breaths are the only thing you can manage.

"I,, can't,, breath,," you whisper between breaths, unable to say a sentence in one go.

"Baby it's alright, jus' try to breath wit' me, hm?" he tries to demonstrate slow breathing, mistaking it for a panic attack.

"not a,, panic,, attack,, please,, nurse,," you try to tell him.

He nods in a panic, running out to the nurse station and explaining. They rush in and take your pulse-ox just to see your oxygen percentage is at 86% when it should be above 95%. They try to do the deep breathing again before Simon interrupts them.

"It's not a bloody panic attack, she literally can't breath. Get her oxygen or somethin' before she fuckin' suffocates!"

They put you on oxygen until they can get you an X-ray. The nurses try to chalk it up to a panic attack until in the morning they see you still can't breath. They give you an X-ray and when the results come back, they send the doctor in. She informs you that the nurses gave you too much IV fluid and that caused your organs to swell so much that they pushed up on your lungs, collapsing them by 3/4ths. 1/4th of your lungs are still open and they're going to take you off fluid, start you on exercises to open them back up, and keep you on oxygen.

That's the last straw for Simon. Once you fall asleep for a nap, he heads outside to the bench area and punches a wall. His knuckles split but he barely feels it, ringing in his ears drowning out the surrounding noise. With no one around, he sits on a bend, elbows on knees and face in his hands. His breath picks up as his throat tightens and tears threaten to rip out of him.

"Why would ya let this happen to 'er? Aren't you supposed to be lovin'?" He whispers into the wind, looking up at the sky, "That girl in't like me. She's the fuckin' sunshine in human form and she's on death's bloody doorstep."

Tears cloud his vision, unable to keep it in any longer. He blinks them away, falling onto his clenched fists. Years of praying, to a god he later grew to resent, for him to fix his family. A child kneeling at his bed, begging him to get his family out of his father's grasp. Once he got to his teenage years, his desperation became resentment and anger. His jaw began to clench when his drunken father would spew bible verses at him to condemn him. He realized God wouldn't save him, nor would he when Simon's family was ripped from him.

Yet here he was, back to that same god, desperate that maybe, just maybe, he'd have mercy on him this time. He believed himself a rotten man, even if it was subconscious, unworthy of the angel sent to him. His light, reparations for the mistreatment The Father had destined for him.

"You sent 'er to me, it's gotta be for a reason. You've never listened to my prayers before but just this fuckin' once, please don't ignore me." His voice breaks, openly sobbing with no sound, "You sent 'er to me and now I can't live without 'er. She's fuckin' everythin' to me. Don't take back your gift, please" The end of his sentence slips into a whisper.

He wipes his tears on his sleeve and sniffles hard, trying to erase the evidence of his vulnerability. He stands and walks to the door, looking back at the bench before turning back to the door and walking in. 'Amen'

1K notes · View notes

barbiesmuse · 22 days

Text

ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָsimon riley + fem!reader

summary: in which simon riley decides to message you after a year of no contact!

tags: angst, romance-ish, talk of abusive parents, simon's an asshole, slight age gap (27 - 30!), cursing, very slight body image issues, simon is a wreck, not proofread oopsie! talia talks: this is my first post!! this account is inspired by @audisive, much love to this blog! if this does well a part two will be out soon!

One year. Today officially marks one year since Simon left without any warning. He didn't even leave a note. You were a wreck. No one was able to get in contact with you for a month. Simon was your first everything. You questioned yourself over and over. You often find yourself looking in the mirror. You studied your appearance in the mirror. Was it the way you looked? Was it your age?

It took almost two months for you to even begin working again. It wasn't as if Simon was your world, but he was a very important part of it. After you got yourself back on your feet life was beginning to get better. You moved to a new city, got a new job, found new friends, and left your old self behind. A change of pass, at least that's what you wanted.

No matter how much you wanted to forget the day he left you couldn't. He was always there in the back of your mind. The sound of his voice replaying over and over again. You would catch yourself staring into space, thinking of what life would be like if he was here now. How would he touch you? Simon left a large wound, and you felt as if it wouldn't heal anytime soon. You wondered if would you be engaged or married. Simon left like you were nothing to him, but it was quite the opposite.

Leaving you was the hardest thing Simon had ever done. Simon wasn't one for crying, he despised it. Yet as he took one last look at your once-shared home he felt a singular tear slip down his cheek. The salty liquid traced the curve of his face and slipped into his mouth. The taste of his tears brought him back to himself. Crying? Pathetic.

Simon Riley grew up in a rough house. His father was either absent or drunk. His mother died when Simon was young. He grew up hardened by abuse and war, but when he saw you it all went away. You were the light of his life. He often got lost in the darkness, thoughts of trauma and PTSD clouding his thoughts. You, you were the one thing that stopped him from destroying himself. Now that he didn't have you, he told himself he had nothing to lose.

Simon had stopped going to work, he had stopped eating, and he had stopped speaking. It was as if he wasn't living anymore, like his heart stopped. Simon was staying with his godmother, she was the only constant thing in his life now. He stayed in his room, only coming out once a week to eat. His godmother, Delena worried about him. She had known Simon since he was a child. She watched him grow up, and this was not like him.

Today was the day that marked a year, and you and Simon were both a mess. You wanted nothing more than a warm embrace from Simon. You imagine the creaking in the floorboards was his large boots trudging up the stairs. You imagined he had just come back from deployment, you would smile as he walked into your once-shared room. The sound of your phone “ding!” brought you out of your daydream.

Simon.

As Delena knocked softly on Simon's door she heard the sound of Simon's heavy breathing. Delena didn't wait for confirmation to walk in. She found Simon on his bathroom floor. A bottle of Disaronno lay by his side. His phone was cracked and his balaclava was nowhere to be found. His eyes were red, his lips were chapped, and his hands were shaking. He looked up at Delena with tired glossy eyes. He stayed away for a reason, he was going to ruin you. He wasn't healthy, no part of him was healthy. He was toxic, the only good part about him was you. But he didn't have you anymore.

Simon looked at Delena as she sat down next to him, her back sliding against the wall until she hit the ground. She chuckles softly and his lips curl into a tight grin. “I texted her,” Simon says, he picks up his cracked phone and shows it to his godmother. She gives him a sympathetic look and rubs his back. She knew that you were going to text back. She wished deep down you wouldn't. He had left you, who's to say he won't do it again? But she could never say that to her godson.

“Well, that was very brave of you, Si.” The older woman says. Her hair was a gorgeous silver color. Her nails were painted a dark red. Simon liked the way she carried herself, with class and elegance. Simon, on the other hand, was a mess. She sighed as she realized there was a slight chance he might never get better. Delena wasn't sure if she was okay with that. She was getting too old.

Your breath hitched as you read the text. Simon had texted you? Why? You didn't want to respond, you hated him. He left you, he never called or texted. Not even a letter, so why should you respond to his text? Yet as you open the message, your heart drops.

Simon. I miss you, love.

talia talks: this was fun to write!! part two will be on it's way soon! xoxo!

520 notes · View notes

blingblong55 · 3 months

Text

Happiness-Simon "Ghost" Riley

photo credits: @ave661

Part 1

---- F!Reader, angst, divorce, ex-husband!Simon, dad!Simon, happy ending ----

A/N: I owe it to heal you so...here it is, second/final part

It's been two years. Two years of missing his laugh, the warm blanket he would cover you in, the little whispers when he was sick and you were there to baby him. If you see him pass his new girlfriend, you see yourself kissing him. Does she whisper sweet nothings when he is anxious? Does she make herself a fool just to see him smile? There is happiness after him, yes but there was happiness because of him. Happiness, what a cruel world.

"Where is Daddy taking you?" "Daddy wants to surprise…" your son says her name and each time you hear it, your heart and mind block her. "…so he is taking us to the park," your son is so innocent.

By noon, the girl that you swear you're kind to arrives holding his hand. "Ready, buddy?" Simon asks and carries his son. Why must they look like a perfect family? Did you and him ever look like that?

"Bye mummy!" your son waving as he walks out with his father. "Bye, sweets," you fake that smile.

As the door closes again, there it is, that funny feeling and all you can do is drink wine and look at old photos. That white dress, the same one he swore vows to, the same one you wore as you two danced in an empty kitchen. Sleepwalk by Santo and Johnny played as he whispered how in this life, you were his person. If only then your heart knew the lie those words held.

You tried to move on, but every guy that you talked to or were set up with was compared to him. No smiley face after the text? Simon would do it. The new date didn't hold your hand when crossing the street? Simon made sure to hold it and went past that, Simon parked close to the restaurant, just so your heels wouldn't hurt you.

Dirty dancing in crowded kitchens, whispers during dinner with friends and kisses that felt like renaissance paintings, that is what Simon gave you and now, he gives it to her.

"Marry me, marry me for all I've got and I swear this world is yours, my world and heart are all yours," his desperation presents. "I'll marry you if you marry me," you smile and he laughs. His strong arms wrap around you as he spins you around the room. "Oh my love," he says when he kisses you.

Ten at night, Simon and your son at the door, "We're home!" your son runs to hug you and you smile, hugging him back.

A flashback runs to you.

It's a secret ceremony, two people, one backyard, two rings and two vows. "I always asked myself why me? I met you in a crowded street, a busy lane and there you were. Two years of understanding you, all your problems, all the nightmares, understanding that heart of yours and….here I am. I swear on all I've got that no one will ever replace you, no one can." You wipe tears away as you read. "I have no idea what the future holds, I'm a mess and…you love me. It must be a curse to love me and you bit the apple. You're a mess, I love you and it's a blessing to love you, I'll kiss you to wake you up."

In those pale brown eyes of his, Simon finds tears that run down. "I want to be the girl you always dreamed of and every day, that's what I'll try to be." ---

"Mummy?"

"Huh, oh yeah. How was it?" You ask Simon. "Not long enough," he kisses your cheek as he walks inside. "Where is she?" "Home, I dropped her off." He answers and walks upstairs. Simon Riley, the same man who has you looking for all the poisoned apples, waiting to give that kiss his lips need.

Eleven at night, little one asleep, Simon hugging you goodbye and as he pulls away, you keep him there. "Don't leave, I'm tired of playing strong," you whisper and his heart shatters.

Was this not what you wanted? He forced himself to love someone new and yet, you were there, begging with those eyes of yours for him to listen to the silence of pleas. Those big arms of his, wrapping you in a blanket of home.

"…I broke up with her, that's why she didn't come with us," he confesses and in that moment, that tunnel with the light at the end appears again. "What?" you pull away and he nods. "I can't love her like I do you. I feel like I'm cheatin' on her each time my mind wanders to you. I compare her to you. She doesn't make me laugh, she can't do it."

"Simon-"

"It's not like I dated her for long and she understood, that and she also wants her ex-husband back," he laughs at the irony.

"I'm not asking that you take me back, that all goes back to how it was before but what I am asking is that you give me Friday at 6 pm, dinner at our favourite place, on me." There it is, that smile of his. His dimples show when he sees your eyes go wide.

"I don't know-" "Dinner on Friday, 6 pm and I swear you'll love me until we are old and grey," a young Simon Riley once told you. You were just 23 and he 26. Looking at it now, it's funny how life works. Date nights, always at the same shitty restaurant you both grew to love, always a Friday at 6 pm, always tulips, always a kiss on your hand because he loved how you blushed.

He hated change, he hated how he never saw himself celebrate your 12th anniversary and he hated how he missed you dancing in the kitchen, that white dress on you and how he kissed your body on every anniversary since the first time he called you his wife.

Traditions, those never seem to end.

2 years later, one secret renewal of vows, one backyard, two rings, two vows and three hearts, four if you included that baby girl in your belly.

Simon Joseph Riley and the obvious beauty of his missus R/N Riley. Spring, flowers, the giggles from your son and the warm laughter of your husband and you serving lunch with that big belly of yours. "Boys!" you call out.

He bit the apple, you kissed the poisoned lips and now live in a dream with the perfect little family.

Tags: @insert-some-username-you-like @pricesugarwife @sagebarness @bunnyharp @liyanahelena @ghostslillady @sagebarness @unicorngirly1 @bbyfimmie @alilttlemischiefmaker @aethelwyneleigh27 @pokiona @trgraves-valx1f0r @ryosuku @undercover-smutlover @polios04 @insanitia @thychuvaluswife @josephquinnschesthair @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rvivienner @iruzias @frazie99 @idklols @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita

Join my TagList

518 notes · View notes

xo-cod · 6 months

Note

"you came" "you called" trope with ghost because even though you both aren't dating anymore the love has always remained no matter what ☹

love this trope sm :( this is so rushed but if you'd like a more longer version, let me know :")

you still being the one reverberating around his busy mind, even if it had been months since your breakup. your contact was still saved in his phone, hidden away from the others because it was just for his eyes. a contact he glanced at every so often. wondering just what you were doing, but knowing he didn't have the right to ask for boyfriend privileges were revoked and it simply wasn't his place anymore

but this night, this particular night had been extremely rough on him. and before he had even comprehended his thoughts, his thumbs all but flew across his screen to shakily call your number. gulping down air a few times before his deep baritone voice caresses your senses. how his heart positively ached to hear your tired voice filling his ears

and then he waits, leaning against the table as he handed out in the night sky. the city was bustling with people, alive even in the night. it brought him some comfort, knowing he wasn't so alone even when he felt so. even when he had no one in the world, there was always someone out there

you still having the key to his apartment as you twist the lock, silently entering his home. the air silent yet heavy, words unsaid lingering ahead as you walk on. catching him deep in thought by the window. the same window you both had plenty memories by. his smell, the one you'd miss for months, fill your senses and it takes you everything not to rush into his arms all at once

simon is not one to be easily shocked, he's always aware of his surroundings even when he's unconscious. it comes with the territory, years of being a hardened trained sas soldier has him knowing the next move before the other person could guess. but only you could slip through his fingers, disarming him and making him double guess. it aggravated him even now when he was unable to predict your next move.

"you came" his voice is hoarse, in disbelief. you note the dark circles framing his eyes, his sunken appearance, he certainly had seen better days

"you called" your voice speaks softly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. as if you wouldn't travel to the ends of the earth to be there for him, to pick up the pieces of him that lay on the floor, putting him back together again <3

•••

this also reminds of the "i love you" "it'll pass" line :(( brb writing this rn 🏃‍♀️💨

#asks #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader angst

684 notes · View notes

kib-ble · 1 year

Text

tw: soft mentions of SA

“i got you.. i got you love, don’t worry. i’m bringing you home…” simon whispered, following price and gaz, soap behind him. he held you tight in his arms, your cold, unconscious body. your clothes ripped and bloody. simon could only imagine what they did to you to get information out of you.

soap could read his mind. he saw his worried eyes when they found you tied to a chair, you’re hair matted with blood. your blood. they all knew of the soft spot simon had for you. it was adorable, to say the least. he was protective and loving. he killed anyone in the way to get to you, anyone.

he held you tighter to his chest with any noise he heard. “you’re safe now, lovie. i promise.”

a small kiss landed on your forehead through his mask. it was the thought that counts.

no one in the 141 had the heart to tell him that you couldn’t hear his promises. no one had the heart to tell him that you aren’t going home with him. no one with a beating heart could tell him that yours wasn’t beating anymore..

#simon riley #simon riley angst #simon riley x reader angst #141 x reader #cod mwii x reader #cod mw ghost #simon ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader angst #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley call of duty #kibble writes cod

2K notes · View notes

ethereal-night-fairy · 19 days

Text

Broken Vows and Promises

*Bzzt*

Upon hearing your favourite ringtone your hands quickly snatched the phone on your vanity. Heat rushes to your face, your hands trembling as they open the message you received from your love. Butterflies erupted everywhere while your heart hammered against your ribcage in anticipation. He's arrived home. He's finally home!

Suds🧼: Arrivin at the bar soon hen. Ah can't wait tae see ye. Wear somethin nice. I've something important tae ask ye.

If you thought your heart was hammering before it's practically breaking through your chest now. You put down the phone after replying, finding it very hard to contain your excitement as you squeal with joy. You place your hands over your heart trying to calm down so you can continue getting ready. You were almost done anyways, just needed to apply his favourite lipstick. You were also wearing his favourite dress. A classy backless number, one he often enjoyed groping you through.

It's been far too long since you've seen him. He's been so quiet lately, it made you doubt if he still wanted to be with you. But that was just your insecurity worming its way through your brain. His absence was due to the nature of his missions. You couldn't hold that against him. Not when he was working so hard to keep the world safe. He's been more stressed since he joined a taskforce the year prior. But he's proud how far he's come since joining the military at 16. You were so proud of him too. He was your everything. Your first kiss, your first date, your first time… You gaze lovingly at the promise ring on your ring finger, the one he gifted to you before joining the military. It wasn't the most expensive or extravagant ring in the world but it meant everything to you. You never wanted to part with it.

You reminisce as you gather your essentials, still giddy from excitement. All the beautiful memories of your childhood with him coming back to warm your heart. The bike rides, sneaking into each other's room at night, the Saturday evenings spent at the lake. All beautiful moments you cherished greatly.

You're at the door just about to leave when another notification rings out. You roll your eyes thinking it's Johnny telling you to come soon. Your stomach flustered at the thought of what was about to happen. Your heart felt so full of love you couldn't control your excited jitters. You glance at the promise ring one last time before opening your phone, still giddy with butterflies.

But it isn't Soap unfortunately. It's your friend Freya. She sent a photo attachment. You laugh, she had a tendency to spam you with memes at odd hours of the day. You press on her name expecting to see another stupid work meme…

But that isn't what your eyes are greeted with…

Your throat seizes, air refusing to enter your lungs. Your body immediately loses all its warmth and your left standing there in shock as your heart shatters into a million pieces. It was your Johnny, Your Suds… His hands were on a man's thigh. A very tall bulky man with a mask pulled down slightly. Who was that? Why were they so close? No calm down, there must be a logical explanation. You take in a shaky breath trying to laugh off what you were witnessing. He's probably just had too much to drink.

Two more pings ring out signalling more messages. More images burn into your retina. Images you wish never existed. Images you wished were fabricated. This must be a cruel joke. The more you looked at the images the more you felt the shards of your heart piercing you. What with all the touching? A final notification pings with a flurry of texts that follow a minute later. Your heart sank into the pits of hell…Your Johnny…his lips…his lips were kissing someone else…You don't get much time to look as a plethora of texts push the wretched image away.

You're frozen, unable to think or move…Your body trembles from the ice coursing through you, your blood runs cold from heartache. You're left staring at the phone as messages and messages pour in. But you don't know what to do, where to look or how to feel. You don't even realise when tears start to obstruct your vision. You collapse as a devastated sob shakes you to your core. Why would he do this to you?

You clutch the phone as you bring it to your chest. Your sobs ring out through the apartment as your phone continues to ping but you're too weak, too fragile to respond or look at anything right now. Your mind reels with questions you don't have answers to. Why was this happening? How long? How long has he been cheating on you? Did he ever love you? Was everything a lie? Why now? You continue to cry out trying to alleviate this raw pain.

Your phone begins buzzing, jolting you from your sad thoughts. You look down to hope it's Freya, your saving grace in this awful situation. You wanted her to come hold you. You didn't want to fall apart alone. But no it isn't her…Rather it's his name and it burns your eyes like venom.

Incoming call: Suds🧼

This was inspired by @s-coquette two shot fic called Three's a crowd. Go check out their amazing writing! Thanks for letting me use your fic as inspiration.

357 notes · View notes

ciades · 3 months

Text

ghost fic coming soon! not sure if any of my followers are into this, interact for tags if you are <3

#ghost x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #Simon riley fluff #Simon riley angst #Simon riley x reader angst

182 notes · View notes

xtrafluffyteddy · 4 months

Text

It is what it is

Ghost x deceased! Reader x deceased! Soap

Yeah man I dunno I’m in my feels tonight ig

Ghost was dying that much he knew, who would’ve thought a stray bullet would’ve been the one to take the all powerful Ghost out, but here he is laying on the cold concrete more blood on the floor than in his body and his radio crushed to bits from the way he landed

He started thinking back to everything wrong in his life, losing his loved ones over and over and over till he couldn’t bare to be attached to anyone that is until he met you and Johnny the light in his otherwise dark world, the way you both shone like the sun made him crave that warmth in this moment, but then inevitably he lost the both of you two. First you when an enemy got a quick shot while you were tending to the wounded Ghost wasn’t quick enough then to save you, then Johnny when graves betrayed them and shot Johnny dead on the spot he wasn’t quick enough to save him either.

“Simon” Your voice murmured as he grunted thinking he heard your voice again but that wasn’t possible you’d been dead for years a ghost of his past “oi L.T” he thought he heard Johnny this time, he groans again cursing whatever was happening right now maybe it was the blood loss or the fact he hit his head but just his luck he’d be hallucinating his lovers voices “seems you’ve got yourself in a bit of a bind Simon” your voice coos softly as he feels the soft touch of a cold hand on his masked face “must’ve given the other guy hell didn’t ya si” soaps voice chuckled as he felt a cold hand over his chest where his blood was seeping through his vest

“This isn’t real this isn’t real your dead, your gone, YOUR FUCKING GONE” he grunted grinding his teeth as he fought to stay awake his eyes barely picking up two blurry figures kneeling over him “oh Simon we know that but did you think you were just gonna die alone” you murmur caressing your thumb under his eye “we would’ve ripped apart the world just to be by your side L.T” soap said sadness laced in his voice.

“Is it terrifying” Ghost rasps as he feels the blood filling his throat “No. I don't think so. It's the way it is, you know?” You whisper softly wanting to comfort Ghost before he joined the two of you again “Everything must come to an end, the drip finally stops.” Soap says reached up to help Simon pull off his mask. They knew he was dying but all they could do was wait for the inevitable, you and soap share a somber look having watched over Simon for so long “See you on the other side.” Ghost murmurs weakly as the sides of his vision start becoming blurry and dark “and we’ll be right there waiting for you Simon Riley” both you and soap lean in to place a gentle kiss to each side of Ghosts face only being able to watch as his breathing slowed and his heart finally stopped.

#ghost #ghost x reader #cod mwii #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #cod modern warfare #john mactavish #ghost x reader angst #soap x reader angst #simon Riley x reader angst #johnny mactavish x reader angst

161 notes · View notes

prettyoatmeal · 5 months

Note

pls pls pls pls pls

i need more FWB simon 😭😭

We're Just Friends (FWB!Simon x GN!Reader)

A/N: You need it anon, you got it!! I need to write more hurt/comfort because damn I loved writing this. Post anon is referring to.

GENRE: Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: You and Simon have established a friends-with-benefits relationship. But the boundaries set in place keep getting overstepped. Your brain his confused, Simon's heartstrings are getting pulled back and fourth, and it isn't exactly your fault. Simon's in denial, and that barrier slowly starts to break.

Word Count: 770

Masterlist here!

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

"You seemed awfully touchy with others tonight."

"Simon-"

"I don't like the way they were looking at you."

"Are you jealous?"

He grumbled against your skin, feeling his lips pressing small kisses along the crook of your neck through the fabric of his mask. Pushing you further into the countertop in front of you, his grip on your hips was becoming more possessive by the second.

No matter how many times you would tell him, it seemed like it didn't really matter. You two weren't a couple, you're allowed to do your own thing, even if you weren't really trying to. He had a bit of a habit of becoming too touchy or affectionate to your liking in regards to your arrangement, and now it was especially showing through after a little get-together at his flat.

"Relax, they weren't looking at me in any way. And I'm allowed to explore my options."

"I know.. jus' like you to myself sometimes. That's all."

This was becoming too confusing. For yourself, and for him. You'll push him away, remind him your situation isn't longterm, that you're doing this for him and that if someone comes along then you're allowed to pull out. But you couldn't help but think that maybe there was something more that he wasn't telling you. No matter how many times he'll deny it, it was getting a little obvious.

Too obvious.

The way you unintentionally tugged on his heartstrings over and over again, the effect you had placed on him was getting too much to ignore.

Pulling the infuriating fabric of his mask down and breathing in your scent with a long sigh, it was clear he wasn't going to let you go. Not yet at least. Placing the small porcelain dishes into the sink which you had been holding, you turned the tap on to start cleaning them. May as well make yourself useful if you weren't going to move, the clean smell of his dish washing liquid filling your senses.

But as his face nuzzled further into your soft skin, he couldn't get enough of you, his hands gripping at the flesh of your hips, squeezing your waist and pulling you as flush against him as he could. He didn't like the dish washing liquid drowning you out. He was becoming needy, mumbling a few words which only become muffled against you.

But you already got the feeling you knew what he said.

"Don't-" You warned. But he didn't want to listen, cutting you off.

"Please, lovie," he lifted his face from your neck just enough so you could hear him, "please stay. Just one night, just tonight."

He sounded upset almost, his pleading voice lingering with something more than just neediness.

Normally this would've gone no where, but something was telling you to stay. And you weren't sure if it was yourself, or the forces of nature. You knew that accepting will only play with his heart further. You were cruel for promising him you'll stay. But how could you say no to him sounding so sickeningly desperate.

This was getting unhealthy.

"Fine," you answered him reluctantly, "but just this once."

You were pulled away from the sink, and in a matter of minutes, the make-out session had ensued on his bed. A bed that smelled so comfortingly of him. You expected the usual -sloppy kisses followed by your guts getting rearranged by the behemoth of a man on top of you. But that wasn't his plan.

His lips moved slowly against yours, kissing you in the dimmed lights of his bedroom as if he loved you, and left your heart and head confused.

"Need you," he whispered against your plump lips, "I need you like.. like this." laying next to you, his arms wrapped around you with his head pressing against your chest, "please."

All you did sigh and hold him close. It felt wrong. You hoped this wouldn't also become a habit, burying himself closer to your warmth.

"This wasn't part of our agreement."

Silence. His arms around you tightened.

"You're playing with my head."

Silence again.. but this time it was followed by a muffled grumble into the fabric of the Nirvana shirt he gave you for pyjamas, which was considerably oversized on you. Throughout his protests, you could make out a small whine of 'I'm sorry'.

And with a sigh, you reach over to his bedside table to turn the lamp off, cradling his head closer to you as you placed a small kiss on the top of his head.

"Goodnight, Simon. Sweet dreams."

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

<33 happy November 21st! <3

324 notes · View notes

yuesgirlfriend · 8 months

Text

of birds and honey

part 1

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

summary: the year is 1312, and your fathers knight follows you to the wood.

The great hills surrounding the castle are a patchwork of green and yellows, as they always are during the summer months. Gray skies up ahead do nothing to dampen the mood of the castle; everyone is bustling about, preparing for the feast marking the new battalions arrival, as if their presence signifies something happier than impending war.

She can see them, now, where she is perched atop the highest wall-practiced, without fear- in a way her old governesses would have certainly called unbecoming of a lady. But did not the bible speak of the virtues of a young lady- justice, fortitude, among them?

(It takes great fortitude to learn the secrets she has learned, to climb over steep walls like they were bales of hay, to listen to words she would have heard anyway, had she been born a man. Listening from the eaves and skulking about is an act of justice, not a sin.)

The men, traversing down the trail, look like ants, she thinks- where she sits high above them, balancing on the stone, they look like children's toys. Tiny wooden figures, a small boy's idea of heroes, lined up on the yellow-green patchwork quilt.

When they finally ride over the moat and into the stronghold, they look like any other collection knights she has seen- some cloaked, some helmetless, all shining in the half clouded, setting sun.

That night is boisterous and rowdy, like any other feast. The courtyard is crowded with people- servants, villagers, everyone coming together to eat and drink and be merry. The tables are laden with the finest of foods. The smell of roast goose and heron, wine, and vomit hangs in the night air with the shouts and bawdy songs. The new knights drink and eat and throw things, singing their songs with everyone else. The castle hums with life, every voice and every soul another cell in one great organism.

(The whole time, she sits quietly as a lady should, but listens as a lady shouldn’t. No one notices, and why would they notice the Lord’s waif of a girl, silently eating at his right hand? The servants, the townspeople, even her father speak of her when they think she isn’t listening- she is, to them, as unnaturally quiet as a changeling and as likely to smile as a mourner. Such a shame, my lord, that her birth took your wife, god rest her soul. And for the child to not even be a boy…)

The stories that feast are rambling and, wine drunk, but the message is clear- they are hired soldiers with no Christian names, under orders from the king to protect the stronghold that is her home.

But one stands out. The only one still wearing his painted helmet, and as such doesn’t eat or drink with his companions. Instead, he sits on her fathers left side, speaking in low and gruff tones only when spoken to.

She picks at her food as her ears pick up words like more men and allies and a thousand dead, all spoken in an accent she thinks more suited to a farmer than a soldier.

As the feast begins to die down, dancers lying about drunk, he walks with her Lord father, presumably to show him a weak point in the castle walls.

She follows along, unseen, silent footsteps trailing behind them in the shadows. The knight with the painted helmet is tall and broad when he waves a hand at a wall that, upon closer inspection, does seem weaker than the rest. A chink in the castle’s armor, he says.

The fire dies out, people lay around in drunken heaps, and rats are scurrying for food in corners of the room by the time she retires for the night. Her maid is nowhere to be found- based on the way the Scotsman and her were wrapped around eachother earlier, it is likely best not to go looking for her- so she wanders alone to her quarters, a candle in one hand and a half eaten honey cake in the other.

The halls are dimly lit labrynths, and every footstep she takes makes a wet scuff along the perpetually damp straw covering the chilled stone floors. She does not believe in sneaking about when not needed, and enjoys a reprieve from constant surveillance as she licks honey carelessly from her fingers, focusing more on the sweetness of the honey cake than her surroundings.

And just as she turns the corner to the starcase, a hand shoots out from a shadow and grabs her arm.

Her gasp is muffled by a large hand, gloved. His other hand plucks the candle from her grasp, rests it on the narrow windowsill behind him. She scrapes and thrashes at the silver of his forearm, scrambling to reach for the knife at his side before he speaks.

“Pray, be silent, Lady- I know you are able.”

In response, she bites down on the gloved hand, hard. The man hisses but doesn’t let go, only roughly spins her to face him; and this is when she realizes it is the helmeted knight, eyes and armor shiny in the candlelight.

She shoves at his arms, and he concedes, letting her retreat three steps up the stairs before he takes her by the hand again.

“Release me, sir, or you will not enjoy the consequences,” She hisses. Something furious inside her is growing like a wildfire.

“I meant no offense, but only to warn you, fair lady,” he says, seemingly contrite, but with mirth in his voice. Is he smiling, behind that hideous helmet?

“Warn me?” She rips her hand from his. “Of what? Churlish knights, skulking behind corners?” She turns to go.

“You are one to scold on skulking behind corners, Lady. ” Her feet freeze where they are on the steps.

“Yes.” His voice is rough. “You are not as invisible as you may think- not to those trained to see, Lady. You should exercise more caution, when listenin’ from rafters and castle walls like a little bird.” He tilts his head, eyes trained on her, like a cat looking at a tree it’d like to climb. Or a bird it’d like to claw.

“I have been told you have a lovely mind. It would be a waste to see it dashed on a tower’s stony base.”

For the first time in ages, she forces her eyes to meet anothers. His are dark, redless, with what looks like coal smudged on his eyelids and undereyes. His eyes never falter from her stare, as would be proper. His pale lashes don’t so much as flutter.

She turns and continues walking upstairs- but before she rounds the corner, she looks behind and down to where he stands, at the base of the stairs, licking remnants of honey off his glove.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw ghost #cod mwii x reader #simon riley x reader angst #part 2 coming soon #call of duty #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley headcanons

362 notes · View notes

certifiedcodbabygirl · 13 days

Text

Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #cod simon riley #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader hurt/ comfort #cod hurt/comfort #ghost x reader hurt/ comfort #cod angst #simon riley x reader angst #ghost cod angst

1K notes · View notes

blingblong55 · 4 months

Text

Happiness -Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Photo Credits: @ave661

---- F!Reader, angst, divorce, ex-husband!Simon, dad!Simon ----

A/N: Blaming the talented writers on here that wrote on ex-husband!Simon a while back for this

Ten years, eight of them lived as his wife and four of them as the mother to his child. Now, you and he sit on the stools of the kitchen island, tears in both your eyes as you two come to terms that your marriage is over. No one cheated, no one was toxic but the one thing that they couldn't see coming was that sometimes, love runs out. He and you stopped doing all the cute stuff together, it became stale and dead. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, holding your hand as you look down crying. "I guess it happens," you whisper back. But it shouldn't have. Not to you and not to him.

You were supposed to grow old together, watch your child grow old, measure his height by the door frame, and watch Simon give his advice for when your son gets his first girlfriend. It was a plan, to sit by the fireplace when you'd both enter your fifties, reminisce on the past and laugh at the cringe things you both did when young. "I'll make sure the divorce goes smooth, I'll...find a place and visit every day. I swear to be the best at...co-parenting," he says with care. "I know, Simon," you grip his hand.

It's a bittersweet moment, nearly five years ago, you sat him down in this exact place and held his hand with teary eyes as you told him you were pregnant. "Oh...oh my love, I'm going to be a dad!" The kiss he gave you knowing romance films would never compare to that kiss. Now, as you sit in silence, you can't help but cry a different kind of tears. Ten years of your life spent with him spent loving and getting to know him. They say, that to love is to know someone and you know and love him very well so, that is how you find yourself hugging him. Simon's hold on you is so hard yet filled with sadness and care.

"I love you!" you laugh as you run around the sofa. Simon chasing you and laughing. He had started it, the 'I love you more' competition and when you whispered, 'I love you best' he began to tickle you. "If you say I win, I'll stop tickling you," he laughs. "Never!" your laughter loud as you try and push him off. "Very well then, lovely," he chuckles. After one push, that is where you find yourself running around the home you built with him.

As you walk past the now cold sofa, you picture that night. Picture the mornings, days, afternoons and midnights where he and you kissed, cuddled, shared secrets, tears and laughs. What a sour taste did it bring to you. "I'll always love you," you whisper to the memory. Simon is out the door and on the road, finding someplace to stay for the night. In moments like these, he would seek for you but now, he must learn to be strong without you, something rather hard.

[6 Months later]

A knock on your door as Simon comes to pick up your son. "It's opened!" you call out from the kitchen. His little boy, running to the door and smiling. "Daddy!" the young boy smiles and reaches for him, the image in front of you, melting your heart as you watch father and son share a moment. Your heart aches. Why didn't you fight? Cry and beg for him to think it through? No, but you want him to be happy and if he was unhappy in your marriage then you can't for him to stay or love you.

It's been nine days since the divorce was finalised, you nor he told any of your friends. Kept it all to yourselves and went through grief alone. You drink wine alone in the afternoons now, he watches shit comedy specials alone. And when either of you turns to the side he or you occupied, the feeling comes back. No more shit-talking about the comedian, no more asking for another glass of wine. What if he is someone you'll never move on from? What if you're someone he never mentions?

What if you two were blind and it wasn't that love ran out?

Fuck...why must this hurt.

"R/N, y'alright?" his voice interrupts you.

No, I'm not and I miss you like never before. I miss your kisses, your whispers and your dirty jokes. I miss your mornings, I miss our mornings. Love me, please...please love me.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just trying to remember my schedule today," your voice soft. He nods, "Yeah, well, me and the lad will be out. Call you if needed and call me if you need me." He says before leaving through the door. "Mm-hmm," you play bravely and watch him leave. As you sit on the sofa, you cry. You can't let him leave, not when you have poems, love letters and sweet nothings to tell him. Not when you still want to share your life with him. You walk to the door and go for the handle but hesitate.

What if he moved on? What if he loves another?

[Simon's POV]

I step out, buckle my kid in and as I hear him laugh, I remember his second favourite toy is still in her home. Will she let me back in? Can she?... Now I'm wondering if she ever cared. Why did I fight for her? Why must I let her leave so easily? What if my love finds some man who tries to play house with my son and my girl? No, fuck that it won't happen. As I reach for her front door, I stop. My R/N, why must you feel so far and yet feel so close to me?

Don't be stupid, she probably moved on. It's been six months, surely she is fine. But if she isn't? Then, I can still be the shoulder she leans on, I can be the chest she cries in, "Daddy, let's go!" Fuck, that's right.

On the drive to the park, my mind wanders to her. Her smile, the way she was insecure of the stretch marks but she would fluster when I kissed them. Ten years ago, I met her in this park, kissed her here, walked with her here when she was pregnant and watched our son take his first steps here. Now, I walk with my son but not with her by my side. A woman approaches, me, we talk and soon after I leave. R/N must be home or out. I wonder if she still sings her makeup steps when getting ready.

Does she still remember how I kissed her? How did my body feel against hers? I wonder if she misses me like how I miss her. Does she want to kiss me? Get back together? I hope no other guy wins her heart like I did. I hope no guy knows she loves to be kissed when her favourite song comes up and how she loves it when dirty jokes are told to her in whispers. I hope no guy watches her dance in a dress and adores her, those curves she got when she became a mother, the smile and the laugh when she gets nervous.

I wonder if she knows I know her better than anyone. That my love beats any movie on the screen. I read all her favourite books so she'd think I was cool or that I read them to do the things the characters did and watch her fall for me more. Why didn't I tell her that day that I wasn't falling out of love but rather I was scared she would leave me? Fuck..

"Simon?" her delicate voice. If the heavens could speak, she would be the voice of them. "Sorry, I..." tell her you fool! Tell her you love her, that you miss her lips, her wit, her clumsiness and how she gives you a puppy stare when she can't reach the top shelf. "Yeah...uh, I forgot his...uh...his other toy and he has been asking about it." FUCKING COWARD!

[Your POV]

It was earlier than expected but he brought your son home earlier than usual. "I'll go get it for you," you say and walk upstairs. Meanwhile, he looks at the photos at the entrance. What were once photos of you three are now you and your son. "Here it is," you say as you hand him the toy. "Thanks, love," he mumbles as he leaves once more. Before you can close the door, "Simon?" your voice with hope. "Yes?" he turns around, a faint smile on him. Oh those eyes, his beautiful eyes. "...drive safe..." you want to mentally slap yourself. "Yes, love," he nods and walks back to his car.

To build a home, to walk away and to miss it. Simon Joseph Riley and R/N...formally R/N Riley, now miss home. A home that was found in each other's arms.

Tags:

@liyanahelena @ghostslillady @sagebarness @unicorngirly1 @bbyfimmie @alilttlemischiefmaker @aethelwyneleigh27 @pokiona @trgraves-valx1f0r @ryosuku @undercover-smutlover @polios04 @insanitia @thychuvaluswife @josephquinnschesthair @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rvivienner @iruzias @frazie99 @idklols @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita

Join my TagList

829 notes · View notes

xo-cod · 7 months

Note

angst w simon where he's worried about his civilian gf after an accident caused by her recklessness😢💔

hope you enjoy, it's rushed and probably ooc but i hope you like it :") <33

"how many goddamn times do i have to tell you to watch out for your surroundings y/n??" ghost was seething, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist while the other unlocked the front door.

"how many times do i explain i didn't even see the guy there" you glare but it is quickly replaced by a hiss of pain when you accidentally knock your leg against the wall. he holds you in his arms, taking you to the living room where he is better able to examine your injuries.

under different circumstances, you'd be smitten by his adoration for you that never seems to cease. however right now, the air could've been sliced by the blade strapped to his leg while his eyebrows crease further. his balaclava was thrown on the back of the sofa as his jaw was clenched tightly by your state

"that's the issue. you don't think, you just do. you strut to an unknown area, not once thinking about the dangers that lay right around the bloody corner. what, you think you're immortal or somethin??" his teeth are gritted, gently peeling apart your jeans to see a horrible cut that was bleeding freely down your skin and soaking into the fabric. cutting a bit of fabric, he does his best to wrap it tight to ensure no more blood while making a mental note to take you to the hospital

"alright simon, enough. you've made your displeasure more than clear tonight" you hold your tongue as best as you can but his eyes bore into yours, his normal dark brown irises have now darkened with anger. he stands to his full height, his face pensive as he glances down at you.

"no, don't turn your words on me. you made a mistake tonight, you were the one that recklessly walked into the trap, you're not a damn soldier armed to the brim with weapons! i won't always be there to protect you-" he begins but you cut him off, a light thumping taking place around your temples. all this pain and adrenaline made you want to crawl into bed and sleep for years.

"believe me, i'm paying the price for it. is that what you want to hear?? me to say that i was in the wrong?" you hissed, moving your leg away from his hands. he frowns, tilting his head in that disapproving glance that you're used to seeing him show to the recruits and occasionally his team members. it felt strange seeing it directed to you.

"can you just let it go already, what's happened has happened" you speak coldly and he bites his tongue, throwing the rag he cleaned the remainh blood with on the floor in a rage.

"i can't, fucks sake!" his voice becomes louder but you're not afraid, matching his tone of voice as you ask the next question.

"why not??" "because i love you, damn it! i fuckin love you and seeing you like that... it makes me so angry because i realise that i can't protect you as well as i thought!" his hands clenched tightly around the desk so much so you're sure it's about to break under his grasp, his tone sharp as it rang through your ears

"si..." your voice has dropped significantly, any anger dissipated into concern and worry. but he doesn't listen, instead taking several deep breaths. you can see from the shaking of his hands that he's overworked and scared, worried sick of his mind about this accident.

"don't wait up for me" he brushes past you, quickly wiping his face with the back of his hand while he grabs his balaclava from the couch again. his form is stiff as the skull mask goes over his face, ghost

you hear the door close behind him, the faint smell of his cologne in the air as you sigh softly with your mind overrun by thoughts. you're not used to simon being so worried, this accident rattled his cage and now he was out seeking vengeance for you. you walk lean back against the couch, looking at the time while the seconds ticked slowly. only hoping that he's safe and he comes back soon

#asks #simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n #ghost x y/n #simon riley x reader angst

570 notes · View notes

kib-ble · 1 year

Note

okay so idk if u have requests open pr not but HEAR ME OUT(ignore this if it makes u uncomfortable): SO YOU KNOW HOW SERVICE DOGS USE PRESSURE TO CALM PEOPLE DOWN? by like putting their heads on peoples laps, ect. SO IMAGINE LIKE KONIG OR GHOST (i think this works with anyone tbh) having like a panic attack of nightmare and then insert reader who is just rlly calm and just comes up and higs them yk LIKE ANGST TO FLUFF HEHEH

AHHHH THATS SO CUTE OMG

IM JUST GONNA DO SHORT SCENARIOS CAUSE I DOTN HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN TO WRITE LONG STORIES RN

I DO TAKE REQUESTS BUT I CANT PROMISE ILL DO EVERYONE OF THEM I GET

(i tried to follow your request as much as possible, i hope you enjoy!!)

slight tw: detail panic attacks

simon “ghost” riley:

simon was used to waking up with nightmares, but nothing this bad. his breath was caught in his throat. his mind was racing, his hands sweaty, and the room felt like it was spinning. and worst of all, you were gone.

you had woke up a few minutes before simons panic attacks went to work and got a cup of water. you heard the bed silently creak from your bedroom, which meant simon was awake.

his brain felt like mush, he couldn’t hear anything or see anything but his nightmare over and over again. this is so much worse than the other panic attacks, he realized. as soon as you walked into the room, you knew what was happening. watching simon claw at the bed sheets, his head pointed towards his lap, his body twitching like he was hiccuping. you walked to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms softly around his shoulders, holding him close. your hand rubbing his back softly.

his face was mushed into your chest, gripping your shirt. he felt air slowly enter his lungs. his hiccup-like movements stopped and calmed down after a few minutes. you fingers tangled in his short hair. his arms soon wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap.

your hands cupped his face, semi-forcing him to look at you. the small hallway light shown through the doorway, lighting up his tear stained face. your thumb wiped his tears, a small smile showing on his, then your face. it was a smile that showed his love to you, no words needed.

konig:

after meeting you, konig’s anxiety had lessened. but his nightmares still increased with every mission he went on. he knew what would happen when he joined the military, of course, and he still took the chances.

his nightmares always used you to fuel them. you were always a victim, which was something that scared the shit out of konig. he tossed and turned till he woke up, his hands covering his face. his tears continued to flow down his face.

the silent shuffling next to him brought him out of his thoughts. konig turned his head to look at you, your sleeping frame. you looked so peaceful, so alive. his hand reached out to touch your face. his finger traced your nose, to your jawline, and then to move your hair out of your face. your eyes slowly opened at the contact, immediately looking into his sad eyes. you hand cupped his face as his did to you.

“are you okay?” your voice came out very small. he nodded, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. he felt calmer in your awakened presence. “turn around…”

konigs back face you and your arms wrapped around his waist. your face smushed against his back. you could feel konig hold your arms, tracing his fingers along them softly.

when you felt him stop, you knew he was asleep. you pressed a small kiss to his neck and closed your eyes to fall asleep, hoping to still wake up with your arms wrapped him in the morning.

#kibble writes cod #cod mwii x reader #könig x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader angst #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod konig #cod ghost #cod mw2

1K notes · View notes

ethereal-night-fairy · 4 months

Text

Heavenly saviour

This short fic was inspired by this artwork.

What if we had a reverse Knight Au where the reader is female knights similar to valkyries in the Thor movies. And Ghost gets to be the pretty prince who's been unfairly kept and tortured only to be saved by his darling. (Tbh I have no idea who's kidnapped ghost but I just want to see him be saved by a female knight)

I know I said female knight but I wrote this as gender neutral to include everyone who wants to play the saviour for ghost.

Prince!Ghost x GN Knight!reader

Masterlist

Words: 1k

Warnings: MDNI, gore, blood, torture, trauma, love at first sight, pining if you squint.

The dungeon is cold, dark and decrepit. The smell of mold and iron was suffocating. But he had no other choice but to breath it. Thankfully the darkness shrouded his mangeled body. Hiding it from his own view for the time being. But the mutilated images persisted in his mind. Simon heaved the air collapsing in his lungs. They had left him hung and from his ribs, red crimson liquid pooling at his feet. The hook so meanly embedded into his tender flesh. He was no better than a pig hung after slaughter. Though his captors weren't as kind to put him out of his misery. He wouldn't be surprised if it was his father who had sold him to these people for some cheap entertainment. The kingdom was on the brink of collapse anyway, the fucker was probably hoarding as much money as he could. Nor him or his brother could do anything to protect anyone from their fathers wrath. He vowed if he got out of here alive he'd do anything in his power to save his people and family from demise.

His muscles screamed from being pulled and stretched unnaturally. His vision blurry from the pain and stray tears. His pale body scarred beyond recognition. Red hot slashes decorating his supple flesh. His breathing becoming laboured as he whispers his mother's name thinking this was the end.

In his delirium he thinks he hears distant screams followed by shouting. Heavy footsteps by the dozen clambered down like thunder over his head. Their boasterous movement rung out through the manor vibrating down to the dungeon. Had someone come save him? Had God sent him a saviour? Had salvation finally come? If he could scream he would have screamed and shouted until his vocal chords tore but he was fatigued and barely able to keep his head up. If this truly was a hallucination he wishes to see his mother caressing his cheek before he passes. If he truly wasn't forsaken, God would grant him this small request before his last breath.

The screams died down, maybe it was all in his head after all. It was hard to tell if anything was real anymore. Maybe he was already dead and this was his purgatory. All he could see was the congealed blood at his feet. The same blood painted his skin an awful shade of red. He heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Ones he would often dread. So he waits patiently for whoever had decided to put him out of his misery.

When the crash comes he desperately opens his eyes to look at the broken entrance to the cellar. Trying to figure out if it was a friend or foe. There you stood in all your glory. The light coming from the lit staircase bounced off your armor creating a celestial glow around you. The tears in his eyes caused the light to distort making it look like the heavens had blessed his knight with golden wings.

He watched you walk towards him with confident steps. Your expression ghastly, a bloody sword clutched in your hand. He couldn't quite make out your features; he was too delirious at this point. But you look like an angel; here to enact divine justice. Everything felt fuzzy and shapeless the closer you got. Like he was floating away.

But that changed the second you touched his mutilated skin. You brought him crashing down to reality. Like Icarus plummeting to his demise, the only difference was you were here to catch him. Every nerve ending springs alive to throw him back in the cycle of his never ending pain. Your words are soft and soothing as you try to get him to settle. He wished he could make out your features properly. Wished he could burn your image into his mind. But fresh tears obstructed his view. Gasps and groans spill from his cut face when you pry away the hook that's lodged between his ribs, taking the brunt of his weight.

You lower his body to the ground as you tell you've got him now. That you'll take care of everything from here. He shows you a smile so kind and sweet you wondered how anyone had the heart to harm him. Though It didn't matter anymore they were all dead now. Laying in pools of their own blood when you had chopped them down like the animals they were. You watch the prince go in and out of consciousness as you tie rags to his most open wounds.

“Captain! King Price has sent word! The castle has been captured! All occupants were killed before the arrival of our army. Reports say the previous King went on a murder rampage before fleeing with a small entourage. Prince Simon wasn't found among the dead bodies!”, one of you soldiers comes down to report to you waiting at the entrance of the cellar. Your body obscuring his view of the person you were tending too. You take the handkerchief off on your arm as you go to tie it around the prince's face making sure not to obstruct his ragged breathing in any way.

“Go now tell the King all noble houses have been dealt with…Prince Simon wasn't found among any of the bodies”, the soldier leaves immediately at your words as you lift the Prince's body in your arms. Ready to carry him to safety. You'll report the truth to the King later. But there was no way you'd let this poor prince suffer any more humiliation than he had already experienced.

His brother and mother didn't deserve to die the way they did. And you'd do your utmost to make sure you'll protect the prince, like he had protected you when you were only but a mere peasant. His smile never changed, not even after all the torment he faced. Even though they had tried to carve it out of him; no bruise or scar could ever take away from his radiance.

This was a new era for him. One in which you plan to be his sword. To be his shield, to be his…just his. He could use you however he sees fit. You will stand by him regardless; come hell or high water.

206 notes · View notes