#Rose Riley 1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rowarn · 5 months

Text

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed.

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off.

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself. Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of.

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in.

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting.

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you.

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously.

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator.

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that.

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now.

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it.

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone.

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation.

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out.

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed.

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that.

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders.

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom.

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent.

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape.

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed.

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14.

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine.

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered.

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you.

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well.

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual.

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver.

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called.

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious.

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that.

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away.

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around.

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them.

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving.

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned.

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet.

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar.

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together.

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky.

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself.

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better.

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching.

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication.

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit.

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself.

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall.

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate.

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore.

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready.

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life.

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not.

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar.

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar.

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread.

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with.

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you.

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work.

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted.

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly.

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be.

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell.

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell.

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name.

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them.

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray.

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes.

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation.

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads.

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong.

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face.

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face.

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state.

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them.

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply.

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious.

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker.

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone.

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open.

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again.

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out.

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one.

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it.

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon.

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table.

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door.

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath.

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time.

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back.

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling.

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you.

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips.

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap.

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table.

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street.

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots.

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep.

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated.

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad.

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands.

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off?

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.”

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself.

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known.

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave.

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response.

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained.

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom.

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements.

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly.

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance.

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young.

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother.

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked.

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that.

You never brought it up again.

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since.

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen.

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup.

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat.

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands.

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself.

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light.

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work.

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?”

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon.

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms.

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him.

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor.

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch.

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen.

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond.

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved.

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking.

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things.

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big.

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built.

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue.

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred.

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back.

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing.

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them.

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken.

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut.

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up.

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily – maybe you were more tired than you thought.

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk.

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it.

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly.

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you.

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan.

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place.

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes.

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that.

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him.

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed.

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day.

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass.

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry.

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all.

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you.

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder.

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much.

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever.

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse.

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger.

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there.

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you.

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life.

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately.

You wish that he loved you.

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep.

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you.

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight.

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you.

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him.

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry.

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts.

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it.

Then you do it again. And again. And again.

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek.

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise.

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness.

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room.

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing.

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping.

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave.

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him.

God, you hate him.

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway.

He wanders further into the room before pausing.

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you.

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, ��I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy.

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like.

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red.

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you.

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out.

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious.

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him.

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now.

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable.

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too.

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room.

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself.

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck.

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that.

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door.

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it.

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit.

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares.

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you.

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him.

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls.

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you.

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise.

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness.

You cry all the time. Day and night.

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him.

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid.

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on.

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome.

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again.

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore.

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month.

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear.

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to.

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope.

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar.

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is.

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back.

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it.

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.”

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking.

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself.

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in.

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel.

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day.

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold.

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time.

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left.

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet.

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself.

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope.

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep.

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do.

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake.

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever.

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it.

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open.

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else.

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway.

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat.

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room.

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him.

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was.

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go.

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed.

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go.

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds.

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach.

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap.

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed.

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it.

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat.

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged.

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done.

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen.

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well.

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls.

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone.

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread.

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over.

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even.

His words ring out through your head like a bell.

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash.

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts.

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again.

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time.

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away.

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now.

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on.

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.”

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it.

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer.

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is.

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees.

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly.

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes.

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you.

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself.

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place.

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more.

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response.

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again.

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air.

You love him, you really do.

But you’re still so angry at him.

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly.

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?”

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto.

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?”

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated, sad and utterly confused.

You wished he would stop leaving.

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait.

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has.

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep.

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague.

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

5K notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 1 year

Text

Masterlist:

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

📙gn!reader📗f!reader

———————————————————————

Multi-chapter works/Mini Series

Living with Ghosts (9/9)📗

The new Lieutenant (3/3): Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3📗

Be gentle, man! (2/2): Part 1 / Part 2📗

Lazy Sunday with Simon (2/2): Part 1 / Part 2📙

The hot seat (2/2): Part 1 / Part 2📗 (fanart by @hanjyukutamago)

The Log Cabin (3/3)📙 (fanart by @23652 and 3D render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot)

Oneshots/Drabbles/Requests etc. (sorted: new to old)

Mary Mart📗

First Solo Mission📙

Go away Mr. Reaper📗

Bravo Unit has barracks?!📗

New Year’s Resolutions📗

Operation “Santa”📙

Ghost’s secret collection📙

Taking the piss out of Ghost📙

Ghost is jealous📗

Non-verbal communication📙

The captain’s birthday cake📙

The after effects of alcohol📙

This or That📗 (Render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot)

Sensing something is wrong with you📙

Weighted Blanket📙

Killing Bugs 📙

Assembling Furniture📙

Seeking comfort in the command tent📙

Pickle jar troubles📗

The wedding📗 (fanart by @hanjyukutamago & render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot)

Career fair📙

Hangry📙

Nice haircut📗

Heat Exhaustion📙

Elevator chat 📙

Chest candy📙

Happy birthday, Lieutenant📙

Penny for your thoughts📙

Ghost forgets reader’s birthday📙

Peppa the dog📙

Ghost teaching you how to ride a bike📙

No fun allowed📙

Take a deep breath📙

Team-building exercise📗

Moving in together📙

One for one📙

Taser training📙

Snack Attack📙

Somebody’s something📙

Soldier down📙

Paper cranes📙

Get well soon, Captain!📗

Interrogation shenanigans📙

Lift and learn📗

Invincible📙

Easter Bunny📙 (fanart by @hanjyukutamago)

One bed📗

Taking initiative📗

April Fools📙

Succession prompt📙

Promise me📙

No, soldier, no📙

Your opinion isn’t part of the recipe, Sergeant📙

Here’s a rose, now piss off📗

Ghost and the kitten📙

Aggressive mimicry📗

Ghost showering (imagine)📙

You spy with your little eye…📙

Campfire kisses📗 (render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot)

Meal, Under-the-Stars📗

An unlikely duo📙

Temptation📗

Eyes on the road📙

Nice shot📗

Simon’s armchair📙

What a lovely way to burn📙

The smile behind the mask📙

Pull my hair📗

Where’s my pen, Lt.?📗

Mirror📙

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader

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notthefirstfallenangel · 7 months

Text

Memories IV

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, amnesia

Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.

Words: 3.6k

A/N: Hey there! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I know the fandom has been going through a tough time lately, and I just wanted to remind you to take care of yourself, especially your mental health. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. Stay strong! ❤️

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

The blood-red sun sank slowly below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the world. The sky was a tapestry of oranges and purples, fading into blue and black as night began to creep in. You stood at the entrance of your home, feeling strange tingles in your chest as you paused on the threshold. Simon was behind you, his tall frame blocking out what little light remained outside and casting a long shadow across the front hall.

“Welcome home,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You stood there, unable to move. You felt like your limbs were made of lead and rooted to the spot. Your mind was a tempest of emotions; you were grateful to be free from the hospital walls, but deep down, terror lurked. Nervous anticipation rose inside as you feared what truth lay ahead about yourself that could shatter the delicate mirrors of your own reflection.

Simon seemed to sense your hesitation and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You alright, love?” he asked, concern in his voice.

You nodded slowly, staring into his dark eyes, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him. Simon had been by your side every step of the way, watching as you slowly pieced your life back together. He had been there for every physical therapy session, every doctor’s appointment, every setback and triumph.

He had remained a constant in your life, a source of strength and support when you needed it most.

You slowly turned to face him as Simon’s hand remained on your shoulder. You looked up at his face, illuminated by the dim light coming from the living room, and took in his sharp features. His jawline was chiselled, and his eyes were piercing, exuding a sense of confidence and ease that you found reassuring. You felt a sudden urge to lean in and kiss him, to feel his lips on yours and forget about the world outside. But instead, you stepped back and shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“I’m okay, thank you. It’s just strange... being back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon nodded in understanding, his hand still on your shoulder, and gestured for you to follow him into the living room. You walked past him, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own, and took in your surroundings.

After months in the sterile hospital room, everything felt surreal now that you finally got to come home. The world outside looked different as if it had changed in some way while you were confined to the hospital bed. You felt a sense of trepidation as you took in the sights and sounds of the city around you. It was all so overwhelming, so unfamiliar. You didn’t know how to navigate this new world without your memories. But as you stepped inside the house, a sense of comfort washed over you. The scent of lavender furniture polish wafted from within the house, helping to ease the tension in your body.

Simon placed your bags down with a thud like an anchor being dropped from his shoulders. He seemed to sense your unease and gently steered you towards the living room. The familiar surroundings filled you with warmth and peace, and for a brief moment, everything felt just right.

The living room was bathed in soft light, its walls lined with framed photos and paintings, some of which seemed vaguely familiar. You began to explore them, feeling an odd mixture of surprise and recognition as your gaze swept across each face in turn. Some were of Simon and you together, others were friends you had no recollection of. Yet still, something about them made your heart feel warm.

As you studied the photographs, Simon watched quietly as if waiting for you to come to some realisation. But the memories remained just beyond your reach. You could almost taste the bittersweet nostalgia on your lips, yet nothing solid materialised.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you let your fingers brush over the frames, tracing the outlines of the people in the photographs as if trying to remember them.

You stopped at one picture, a group photo of Simon, you, and several others at what appeared to be a night of celebrations. Everyone was smiling and laughing, their faces filled with joy. You looked at each person in the photo, trying to place them in your memory, but nothing came to mind.

“Who are they?” you asked, pointing to the group in the photograph.

Simon came over to stand beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “These are your teammates— our teammates. The ones who’ve got your back in the field and in the mess. They’re family.”

You shook your head, “I don’t remember them,” you said with a hint of frustration.

Simon placed a hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. “It’s, uh, it’s alright, love. You’ll remember soon enough. Take your time. It’ll come to you, alright? So no need to be too anxious.”

But will I really? You wondered silently to yourself.

With a sigh, you turned away from the wall and towards Simon with an uncertain smile.

You noticed that he had changed out of his usual hoodie and was wearing a black leather jacket with a white shirt, looking more put-together than usual, as if he was trying to impress you. The tattoos on his forearm peeked out from under the sleeves of his jacket, adding to his edgy persona.

He frantically spent the day before scrubbing and scouring the house until it shone in perfect preparation for your long-awaited arrival. He felt like a nervous teenager on his first date, desperate to make a good impression. But he knew that this was different. This was about making you feel at home, helping you regain a sense of familiarity in a world that had become so foreign.

You turned to look at another photo, this time of Simon and you with a dog. The memories suddenly came flooding back, and your eyes lit up as you remembered the dog’s name.

“That’s Riley!” you exclaimed, feeling a slight sense of victory in finally remembering something.

“Riley! Here, boy!” you called.

But there was no barking, no sound of paws running across the floor. The house was eerily silent, save for the sound of your own breathing.

Simon’s expression turned grave as he looked at you, his hand still resting on your back.

“No, that, uh...Love,” Simon he said softly.” He... He passed, somethin’ like years ago.”

Your heart sank at Simon’s words, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You felt a sense of overwhelming loss, as if a part of you had died with the dog. You tried to remember the last time you had seen Riley. Still, the memory was elusive, like a dream that faded upon waking.

Simon saw the tears in your eyes and stepped forward to wrap you in a tight hug. You breathed him in, the smell of his cologne mixed with something else, something comforting like home.

You attempt to grasp at Riley’s memory, but your mind is foggy, and all you can recall is a faint trace of his affection. The anguish seizes you as you try to imagine the days spent together, playing fetch in the park and snuggling up on the couch, but all that remains are empty spots in your heart and mind. Burying your face in Simon’s chest, a harsh truth crashed down on you: You couldn’t even grieve properly because you didn’t remember the moments that connected you and Riley.

Simon’s stomach churned with guilt as he watched you suffer the same agony of Riley’s loss all over again. He had been so busy trying to make everything perfect for your return that he failed to factor in how hard it would be for you to come to terms with what had been taken away. Yet, despite the sorrow and regret, a glimmer of optimism flickered in his chest that perhaps you’d find the strength to remember even more. But for now, Simon knew you needed space and time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

As the two of you stood there in silence, lost in your thoughts, Simon’s grip on you tightened, and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and it calmed the storm raging inside you.

When Simon finally pulled away, he gave you a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t wanna spring that on you.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the loss. “It’s okay,” you said. It wasn’t.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No, not now,”

Simon nodded, his gaze softening. “Alright... listen ‘ere, love. You have been eatin’ those crappy hospital meals. You wanna get something new in your body and your system, yeah?” he said gently as his fingers brushed against yours in a comforting gesture.” I’ll cook somethin’ proper. You’re gonna love it.”

You nodded in agreement, not having the energy to argue. It had been a while since you’d had a home-cooked meal, and the hospital food left a lot to be desired. You followed Simon into the kitchen, taking in the warm, cozy space. It was small but had everything you needed, including a small dining table and chairs. The countertops were cluttered with various kitchen appliances and utensils, but everything was clean and tidy.

Simon rummaged through the fridge and pantry, his eyes scanning the shelves for something to cook.

As he gathered the ingredients for a simple pasta dish, you watched him move around the kitchen with ease. There was something about the way he moved, with such grace and purpose, that made you feel drawn to him. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless in his pursuit of whatever he wanted.

You noticed how his muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he chopped vegetables, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of attraction in your chest. You almost felt guilty for feeling this way about a man you didn’t remember. You knew you two were engaged, but it felt strange to be drawn to someone you had no recollection of. Being with Simon felt familiar, like coming home even though you couldn’t remember why. It was as if your body recognised him before your mind did.

The hospital breakdown was a pivotal moment in your relationship, and it seemed you two had struck a deal.

And yet, even though your memory didn’t seem any clearer, there was still a sense that your outlook had changed.

You seemed more vulnerable, more reliant on him for comfort and guidance. The barriers and walls you used to keep him away with were crumbling, and the two of you were starting to form a real connection.

This is progress, Simon told himself, hopefully. This is an improvement.

Simon felt both terrified and excited by this newfound closeness. He was scared to get too close too soon, scared of the pain of rejection if your memory did return and you chose not to stay with him. But at the same time, he could feel himself falling even deeper in love with every passing moment.

He wanted to give you some space, but his heart ached for yours.

You wished there was some way to go back in time and remember who you used to be together—but there just wasn’t. You didn’t know how to be the person Simon remembered, and that scared you. You wanted more than anything to make him happy, but it felt like no matter what you did or said, it wouldn’t be enough for him.

After dinner, he showed you the bedroom. The room was simple but elegant, with a queen-sized bed in the centre and a large window overlooking the backyard. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the bedding was white and fluffy, inviting you to sink in and drift off to sleep.

“I...I don’t want to take your bed.”

Simon smiled warmly at you. “It’s our bed, alright?” he said, his hand reaching out to take yours. “I ain’t gonna fight you over who needs to sleep where. I have a couch; lemme sleep on it.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said, looking up at him with a small smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping on the couch?”

Simon shook his head, his hand still holding yours. “Look, love. We’re both tired here. I want to take care of ya and make sure you’re comfortable. So, you don’t gotta fight, and I ain’t gonna be arguing, or I’m gonna have to tie you down, and force a sleep mask over your eyes, yeah?”

“Okay, Okay,” you laughed. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Simon leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Alright, you rest up. I’ll see ya in the morning,” he said before turning to leave the room.

You watched him go, feeling a sense of longing wash over you. You wished you could remember what it was like to be with him, to feel his touch and his love.

Laying in bed, the day’s events replayed in your mind like a movie reel. The memory of Riley’s passing still weighed heavily on your heart. Still, there was something else tugging at the edges of your consciousness. It was like watching a horror movie with the sound turned down low; you could sense fear and trepidation from the dimly lit scenes playing out before you, but you couldn’t make out any details.

Your heart raced as you tried to piece together the fragments of this unknown memory, but it slipped away as quickly as it came, leaving you even more frightened than before.

You tried to sleep, but deep in your chest, you felt the beginnings of fear build. You turned over and over again in bed, growing more agitated by the minute. The shadows on the wall from the lamp beside it stretched out like malevolent spirits that wanted nothing more than for you to be afraid. Nothing to see here, they would say as they writhed and clawed at you with their formless hands, almost touching you before receding back into the darkness. Your feet move slowly through the darkness. The floor is cold under your feet as you step lightly through this unfamiliar place that once was your house.

“Damn it,” you said, the fear in your voice palpable in the silent room. You reached for the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and flooding the room with light. The shadows scattered, leaving nothing but the familiar sight of the bedroom. You took deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart.

It was just a nightmare, you told yourself. It’s just a silly, irrational fear.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Something was lurking in your subconscious that you couldn’t quite grasp but knew was there. Something that made your skin crawl and your heart race.

You got out of bed, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your feet move slowly through the darkness, the floor creaking beneath your weight. You move towards the door, your hand reaching out to grasp the doorknob. As you turn it, the door swings open with a low groan, revealing the dark hallway beyond.

Your heart thunders as you take the first step into the hallway. The darkness seems to encroach on you, swallowing up the light from the bedroom. You take another step forward, your eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. You could hear the light snoring coming from Simon on the couch, but it didn’t bring you any comfort.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking in the darkness waiting for you.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the darkness consuming everything in its path. You felt like you were walking through a nightmare, one that you couldn’t escape from. You tried to call out for Simon, but your voice was hoarse and barely audible.

Suddenly, you heard a sound from down the hallway. It was faint, but it was there. A soft whisper, calling out your name.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t see anything, but you could feel a presence in the darkness. You could feel its breath on your neck, its fingers brushing against your skin.

You turned around and ran towards the couch where Simon was sleeping when you saw a figure emerge from the shadows. It was a woman, her face twisted in a grotesque grin.

You could feel your feet sinking into the ground as if the floor was swallowing you whole.

You tried to scream, but the darkness choked your voice. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were sure it would burst out of your ribcage. And then, suddenly, the darkness lifted, like a veil being lifted from your eyes.

Just a dream, a nightmare that left you gasping for breath as you sat in bed. Your heart still raced, and your skin was slick with sweat.

You looked around the room, relieved to see that it was just a dream. But the feeling of terror lingered, its tendrils wrapping around your heart and refusing to let go.

You slid out of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The air was thick with a sense of dread, and you needed to shake it off.

You moved quietly to the living room, past the vase of flowers on the table, their petals soft and pliable beneath your fingers.

Simon lay asleep on the couch near the window, bathed in moonlight that filtered through the blinds. You approached him, hovering over his still form like a guardian angel. The outline of his face was sharp yet softened by shadows; you could see the rise and fall of his chest under the comforter he had kicked off while sleeping. As you considered waking him, his eyes fluttered open.

“you good?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep and concern.

You jumped, startled by his sudden awakening.

“Oh, I’m... nothing,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I just couldn’t sleep and wanted to come out here for a bit.”

Simon frowned, his eyes dark with concern.

“C’mere,” he said, lifting the edge of the comforter. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea, but the weight of loneliness was too much to bear. As you nestled closer, his arms wound around you, and the press of his chest at your back reassured you that everything would be alright. His breath on the nape of your neck mingled with the scent of lavender fabric softener, and his heartbeat against your spine slowed to match your own. His touch calmed your racing mind until all that remained were the gentle brushstrokes of his fingertips along your arm.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle in the darkened room.

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with your fears, but then decided to tell him. “I had a nightmare,” you said softly, feeling embarrassed.

“You want to-?”

“No,” you stopped him. You didn’t want to talk about it, not wanting to relive the terror of the nightmare.

He didn’t push it. “Okay... If you have that nightmare again, I’ll kick that thing’s arse, I will. Now, close your eyes. You need your sleep, darlin’.” his voice was low and soothing.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his protectiveness and felt a sense of security as he pulled you closer to him.

“Sweet dreams, okay? And close those eyes of yours, dear,” he murmured, kissing your head.

You smiled, and soon, with the warmth of his body next to yours, you fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of a shushed argument coming from the front door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented.

You got up from the couch and walked towards the front door, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. As you got closer, you could hear the muffled voices growing louder.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should interfere, but curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you pushed the door open, and sunlight streamed through the opening, flooding the dark living room.

“Go away. Now.” Simon said, his voice ringing with anger, “I swear to bloody god, I’ll break your fakin’ nose.”

He was a silhouette in the murky morning light, feet planted firmly as he stood before an unfamiliar figure. His shoulders were tense, and a single bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His face was concealed by the usual black balaclava that melded seamlessly into his dark clothing.

The other man seemed taken aback by Simon’s outburst. Still, he quickly regained his composure and stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim light.

“C’mon, I just want to see ‘er”.

The Scottish lilt pierced through the thick silence like a knife, sending a shiver down your spine.

Like an electric shock, you felt a sudden jolt of energy as images of the past suddenly emerged from the fog of amnesia. Images, sounds, and conversations flooded your mind as fragments of memories all clicked into place, and you remembered him.

“Soap?”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie @originaldeerhottub @cr4shposts @caramlizedtomatoes @ilovehyperfixating @ghostlythots @dotcie

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #task force 141 #ghost cod #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader

409 notes · View notes

daisies-daydreams · 1 year

Note

Hello, I love your work and I wanted to request one. Were the reader is on a mission with 141+könig. And ghost gets jealous because könig likes her. But ghost wants her all to himself so he makes sure her scream his name. Where everyone can hear who she's belongs to. (Hopefully this makes sense and thank you for taking the time to read my request).❤️

I Wanna Be Yours (Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader) Pt. 1

Pairing: Simon Riley (Ghost) x F!Reader Category: Smut (18+) Warnings: Swearing, Jealous!König, Jealous!/Possessive!Ghost, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex (You Know the Drill), Creampie, Implied Voyeurism Word Count: 3.9k+

A/N: Hello! 🤗 Thank you so much for your request! I've been thinking of writing more jealous!COD for a while. I apologize this took me longer than normal to write. Reader’s call sign is "Teddy".

Song Rec: I Wanna Be Yours (Arctic Monkeys)

Part 2 (18+)

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Dusk hung over the small Norwegian safehouse, a blanket of snow resting over the crests of the valley. You, Ghost, Soap and a collaborative operator with 141, König, were lounging in the living area. The lieutenant's body ached, his muscles beaten and raw with bruises. Ghost grunted as he stretched out his sore limbs and cracked his neck. He smiled when he watched your jaw drop.

"Damn, Lt. Got a Rice Crispy stuck in there?" you teased. Ghost's shoulders raised with a silent laugh.

"You're quite the cheeky little thing, you know that?" he huffed as he pointed at you. You sighed.

"Only for you," you swooned while batting your lashes dramatically. Soap grinned knowingly while König observed you carefully. Ghost eyed the giant man. Though polite and often reserved, the lieutenant couldn't help but notice the Austrian’s eyes lingering on you from time to time. The thought made his skin crawl ever so slightly. You stood up and popped your back before walking into the small kitchenette area.

"I don't know about you all, but I'm in the mood for some hot chocolate. You boys want some?" you asked, your voice sweet and dripping with honey.

"Always," Soap said.

“Yes,” Ghost replied.

“Ja, danke,” König said with a nod. Ghost and König glanced at each other, then back at you. Soap rose from his chair, a grunt escaping from him as his hand gripped his ribs.

"Be right back. Need to see a man about a dog," he said. Your laugh reverberated across the walls as you flicked on the stove.

"Thanks for giving us that vital information," you chuckled.

"Anytime!" Soap called back. He eyed Ghost before making his way to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Ghost turned his attention back to you. König’s made use of his long legs and came to your side as soon as Ghost rose from his seat. The lieutenant heard a clear 'pop' when he clenched his jaw. You grinned as König grabbed the hot chocolate powder and handed it to you. His fingers slipped over yours carefully.

“Thank you,” you smiled. König nodded, scratching the back of his head.

“Of course, Katzchen,” he cooed. Ghost felt the sting hit him again, the venom seeping straight into his bones. He caught König glaring at him, the silence saying everything.

“Back off”

You hummed as you filled the kettle with water then placed it on the stove. Ghost sighed, his eyes never leaving König’s massive form as he made his way into the kitchen. He opened another cabinet.

“Looking for something, Lt.?” you asked. His eyes flicked over to you.

“I just like my hot chocolate with milk. Thought they'd have the powdered kind here," he replied before shutting the cabinet door with a shrug. You nodded. The water inside the kettle began to hum and bubble.

“I think it's better with milk, too,” you agreed. Ghost smiled beneath his mask. König stepped closer, looming over you.

“I enjoy it that way as well,” he added. He and Ghost locked eyes again, holding their stare as you were focused on trying to get the cups from the cabinet above you. Ghost stepped forward, cutting the other man off. His hand braced your upper back as he reached up, grabbing four cups. You blushed as he brought them down onto the counter.

“Thank you,” you said softly, averting his gaze. Ghost nodded, his rough hand still glued to your back.

“Welcome, Teddy,” he lilted, making sure to place a gentle emphasis on your call sign. He grinned beneath his mask as he looked up at the towering man. König seemed more tense, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He slowly slid his hand off of you, letting it trail down before slipping his palm off your hip. Their eyes never left each other as you continued to hum.

"It sure is a cold night," König commented. You nodded. Ghost raised a brow. "I'm glad you're helping us warm up a little, Katzchen," the man continued. Your smile faltered slightly, taken aback by his words.

"Oh, it's not big deal," you waved. Ghost felt all of his muscles tense as König leaned down to your ear, whispering loudly enough for him to hear.

"Would it be alright if I helped you warm up some more after this?" he muttered. The kettle began to steam and whistle, the noise piercing through the kitchen. Ghost's eyes widened, as did yours. Your mouth snapped open, face flushing deeply as you failed to form words. Ghost suddenly found his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back to his chest.

"That's enough," he snarled. The door to the bathroom swung open. Soap stepped out and raising his brows when all three heads turned sharply towards him.

"Did I come at a bad time?" he asked half-jokingly. You closed your mouth before turning back to the kettle, setting it down on a mat. Ghost's hand slipped away from your shoulder as he eyed the towering man near him. König raised his chin up before slipping towards you.

“I apologize for my forwardness, Schatz," he murmured.

"Bullshit," Ghost hissed internally. Your shoulders tightened as you poured and mixed the drinks. Your lips remained sealed as he cleared his throat.

"I suppose the stress from today is getting to my head," he shrugged. Your eyes scanned him carefully as you set the spoon aside.

"It's alright, Kö. I think that mission did a number on all of us," you stated. He nodded, taking two of the cups into his large hands.

"Here, let me help,” he soothed. You smiled.

“You won't hear any complaints from me,” you shrugged. König purred before making his way to the table. You trotted behind him, leaving Ghost to follow you. Soap was already seated at the table, drumming on the nicked, wooden surface. His eyes brightened when you handed him a cup.

“Ah, somethin’ to distract me from these old, aching bones,” Soap hummed before blowing on his drink.

“You’re not that old,” you teased. Soap scoffed.

“What do you mean by 'that', hm?” he quipped. Both of you narrowed your eyes before snickering. Ghost raised his mask above his lips and lifted the rim of the cup to his mouth. He caught you eyeing him as he swallowed the drink slowly. All of you made small talk, though he kept his eye on König from time to time. Your drinks were slowly drained as the sun finally dipped past the horizon, a quiet darkness settling over the frigid valley.

“Did you guys take a shower yet?” you asked. Ghost hummed as he pulled his mask back down. König scratched his chin.

“I don't believe we have,” he sighed. Both of the men were unflinchingly resolved to remain in their chairs. You looked back and forth between them.

“Well don’t trip over each other,” you snorted. Ghost would’ve chuckled, but his heart felt like it was sinking into the hot pit of his stomach. König slightly shook the table with how furiously he was bouncing his leg. The silence was deafening, tension so thick one could cut it with a knife. Ghost cracked his neck again, his fists tightening on the table. König ceased bouncing his leg. The lieutenant felt a small burst of triumph when the other man slowly rose to his feet.

“I’ll be back,” the man murmured lowly, his hand brushing across your shoulder as he passed by. Ghost gripped his cup, nearly crushing it in his hand. Soap yawned, stopping himself before he stretched his arms above his head.

“Well, as fun as this evening's been, I think I’ll turn in for the night,” the Scotsman sighed. He said goodnight to both of you before walking down the hall. A heavy silence settled in the kitchen. You cleared your throat.

“I guess I’ll head to bed, too,” you said. Ghost nodded, helping you wash and dry the empty cups. He slid the last one back into the cabinet, closing it quickly. Your eyes were soft and cheeks dusted with pink as he looked down at you. He cocked his head to the side.

“You okay, kid?” Ghost asked. You parted your lips then closed them. His breath hitched as you came closer. You were silent, eyes averting his steady gaze. He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “It’s alright. You can-“ he was cut off when you swiftly lifted his mask and smashed your lips onto his. He grunted, his hands falling to your hips as he leaned into the kiss. Your eyes popped open before you backed away, your hands pressing against his chest. Your entire face was beet red as you opened your mouth.

“Shit. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t-“ It was his turn to cut you off, his mouth swallowing yours in a tender embrace. You moaned softly, letting him dip his head to deepen the kiss. Your mouths melted together, time stopping as you held each other close. You gasped for air when both of you pulled back. His chest rose and fell, heart threatening to burst. He cupped your cheek with his hand as he leaned to your ear.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, yeah?” he whispered.

You nodded wholeheartedly, taking Ghost's gloved hand. He chuckled as you led him into your bare room. You nearly jumped when Ghost quickly slammed and locked the door. His head was spinning, heart thrumming as he turned back to you. You stood nearby, shifting your thighs together as you looked up at him with blown pupils. His cock twitched as he watched you writhe with heated arousal. He exhaled through his nose as he stepped forward, cupping your chin beneath his hand. He stroked your soft face before closing his eyes and diving down.

Your lips interlaced as you hooked your arms around his thick neck. His dog tags jangled as he sighed. Ghost’s hands came down to your waist, his palms resting on your hips. You gasped when he licked small, warm strokes near your mouth. He felt you smile as you parted your lips. He groaned as he plunged his tongue into your sweet mouth, the taste of sweet chocolate still strong on both of your tongues. Your tongue danced with his as you backed up, taking him with you. Your back gently landed on the wall. It felt like an eternity before Ghost pulled away. The crisp air filled his lungs as he gazed at you half-lidded. You smiled up at him, your hands smoothing over his shoulders.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he muttered. Your eyes widened.

“Really?” you blinked. He nodded, his lips wet with a mixture of your saliva and his. You jumped up and captured his lips again. His cock strained in his pants as you practically devoured his lips. Ghost loved how large your pupils were as you looked up at him.

“Me too,” you confessed with a wide, coquettish grin. He swallowed a lump in his throat, not knowing how much longer he’d last.

“Teddy-(Y/N),” he faltered. You held your breath, your breasts pushed out before him. His words were at the cusp of his lips, just there. He sucked in a deep breath. “Fuck, I just...” Ghost finally snapped, pinning you to the wall. You gasped, your hands gripping his taut muscles as he pressed open mouth kisses to your neck, his hands trailing up and down your sides. You squealed when his thigh fell between your legs. Ghost grunted as you bucked your hips upward, moaning at the friction.

“I’m yours, Ghost. I wanna be yours,” you keened as his tongue lathed across your neck. Ghost bit over your pulse before pulling his leg back.

“Call me Simon,” he husked lowly. You nodded, brows knitted together as his hands slid beneath your shirt. He squeezed your plush tits, making you sigh.

“Simon,” you breathed. Goosebumps broke out across his skin when his name left your soft lips. Ghost hummed as he kneaded your breasts, his lips back to sucking dark spots across your pulse. You leaned into his touch, your thighs clenching together as he massaged your chest. He suddenly pulled away, his heart pounding in his ribcage.

“What’s wrong?” you frowned. Ghost licked his lips, his mind drowning in a thick pool of arousal. You squeaked as he grabbed your hips, squeezing them harshly.

"I just...fuck," he growled, his hips jutting forward. Ghost was never one who was renowned for verbally expressing his every whim. Your cheeks were nearly blood red as a guttural moan erupted from your throat. "I just can't hold back anymore, lovie," Ghost spoke, his lips dancing over your ear as he rutted into your clothed eat. You gasped and gripped his shoulders. "You don't have to if you don't want, but-" You leaned up and bit his bottom lip. He grunted as you rolled your hips into his hard length. His fingers dug into your waist as he met your pace.

"I wouldn't want anything more right now," you keened. He groaned as he grabbed your lips with his, his tongue back to exploring your sweet mouth. He felt your pulse race as he guided you towards the bed. You backed away, a glint in your eye as you rolled your shirt over your head. He drooled at the sight of your tits bouncing down. He snatched your wrists just as you grabbed the top of your pants.

"May I?" he asked. You bit your lip and nodded, gazing down at him with drunk, half-lidded eyes. He dipped his head down, capturing one of your breasts in between his puckering lips. You mewled as he took one of your nipples between his teeth. Ghost loved how you arched your back when his other hand came up to tweak your free nipple. He lapped at your areola, flicking it with his warm tongue.

Your hand came up, bracing the back of his head. He groaned as he tugged at your pants and panties. You wiggled your hips, helping him pull them down before stepping out of them. Ghost continued to suckle on your plump breast while you fell back onto the bed, carrying him with you. He smiled, his mouth coming off your tit with a wet 'pop'.

“You doin' okay, love?” Ghost asked. You licked your lips.

"Y-Yes," you sucked in a sharp breath as he didn't wait a millisecond before switching over to your other mound. You whined as you raised your hips, bucking them into nothing. He made a small noise before caressing his hand down your abdomen, landing just above your pussy.

"If you need me to stop, just tell me," Ghost said quickly. You nodded, raising your hips. He kissed your tit before dipping two of his fingers over your hole. The dark-eyed man looked back to you, waiting to see any signs of discomfort.

“Please, Simon,” you gasped.

Ghost began to press kisses and bites across the valley of your breast while he experimentally swirled his calloused thumb around your button. You cried and quickly covered your mouth when he drew slow, tight circles around your clit. He tilted his head up when he heard your muffled moans.

“Don’t hide from me, (Y/N),” he growled. You nodded, swallowing a lump in your throat.

“Y-Yes sir,” you gasped out. He smirked at the military etiquette that slipped past your lips.

“Good girl,” Ghost hummed before placing a deep kiss over your clit. The moans and pants that fell from your mouth was the most beautiful solo Ghost had ever heard. He swirled his tongue around your nipple as he plunged his two digits into your soaked entrance. His cock throbbed painfully as he spread you open with a loud squelch. Your legs clamped down on his arm as his thumb drew small, tight circles around your button.

“Fuck, Simon,” you mewled as you pinched your hard nipples. He felt you shake as you locked eyes, his mouth suckling on your tit tenderly as he thrusted his fingers at a slow pace. Your sweet nectar dripped down his digits, coating the inside of his palm.

“Pussy already feels so good-fuck, can’t believe what I’ve been missing out on,” Ghost murmured as he curled his fingers upward. You whined, hands flying around his neck as you smashed your lips together in a sloppy kiss. Your hands clumsily found purchase at the base of his neck, gripping at the material of his balaclava. He did mind the sting of his hair being pulled one bit, savoring the sounds of your gushing pussy, the feeling of your walls clinging onto him for dear life.

“K-Keep going,” you hiccupped. Ghost groaned as he flicked and circled your clit more feverishly, his fingers pistoning into your cunt. Your brows furrowed as you fell back, your fists coming down to grip the sheets. Just as he felt your cunt tighten around his finger, he slipped it out. Your head snapped up, confusion and frustration laced in your features.

“Simon?” you asked. Ghost shuffled back, wiping his face of your arousal. You raised yourself to sit up on your forearms, watching him as he stripped. Your eyes looked like they were about to pop out of your head as his dick sprang free. He chuckled, pumping his cock in his white-knuckled fist as he climbed on top of you. He sighed, admiring the way your hair fanned across your face, highlighting your beauty.

“Can't wait to spread you open, love,” Ghost drawled as he spread your legs, admiring his wet handiwork. You bit your lip and wiggled beneath him.

“Please, fuck me. Use me,” you whined, drool dribbling past your lips. He grunted, hands rubbing your inner thighs.

“Don't worry: I will. But first, I need to ask a favor of you,” he whispered as he lined himself up to your aching hole. You sighed, waiting for his answer. Your hands flew up and grabbed his shoulders as he began to sheath himself inside, his tip kissing your entrance. You gasped as he gently grabbed your face, lowering his face so your eyes met perfectly. “I need you to scream my name when you cum on my cock,” he rumbled. You nodded, lips squishing before he let his hand travel down to rest near your shoulder.

"But, what about-" He pressed his thumbs to your lips. You looked at him through half-lidded eyes as he rubbed at your plush mouth. You opened it slightly, allowing him to press the pad of his digit on your tongue.

"Nevermind the boys-I just want to hear you," Ghost lilted. You nodded before he slipped his thumb back out, letting it fall onto your clit. Ghost smiled calmly as he pressed his forehead to yours. He was mesmerized by the way your jaw went slack as he breached past your entrance, your pussy squelching as he inched himself inside of you.

"So fuckin' tight," he growled. Your mouth was shaped into a perfect "O", a high-pitched moan erupting from your lungs and cascading through the room. He couldn’t help but groan at the way his head kissed your cervix as he bottomed out inside you.

“Oh God,” you cried, hot tears pouring down your cheeks. He allowed you to adjust for a moment.

“You hurtin’, sweet thing?” he murmured softly. You shook your head.

“N-No, feels so good-so full,” you sighed. He grinned, loving how you were falling apart beneath him.

“God, you're so perfect. Pussy wrapped around me so tight” Ghost grunted as he gave a few shallow thrusts. You moaned, thrashing your head with his miniscule movements that drowned you in a pool of bliss. He groaned before he slowly pulled out, the tense, warm hug of your cunt slipping away. His spine felt like jelly as he slowly sank back into your wet cavern. Ghost's free hand came to rest by the side of your head, his cock twitching inside your walls as he drove into your gushing heat. Despite wanting to pound you into the mattress, he wanted to take his time with you, to make sure you would be covered head to toe with a mind-numbing euphoria. You whined as he rubbed your slick bundle of nerve. Ghost huffed when your gummy pussy clamped down on his cock.

“So pretty, sweet thing,” he cooed, his languid thrusts growing more rapid as he pistoned his cock into you. You arched your back, your walls fluttering around him. Ghost could’ve sworn he heard heavy footsteps outside the door, but he didn’t care, too pussy drunk to even give it a passing thought.

“Simon,” his name fell from your lips like a mantra as your hole opened up for him. The headboard of the bed banged against the wall as he grabbed your legs in a tight grip. You wailed as he pounded into you, his girth stretching your hole wide open. Ghost’s pupils were blown as he watched his cock slip in and out of you, your arousal coating his veiny length and dripping onto the sheets.

“Come on, baby. Come on,” Ghost snarled as he slammed his dick into your cunt, the head of his cock grazing your g-spot with every eager thrust. Your moans began to grow into a grand crescendo. The knot inside of him was winding tighter and tighter.

"Cum for me-cum for your lieutenant," he growled with a hard snap of his hips. You squeezed his shoulders roughly as your eyelids flew open.

“SIMON!” you howled as you threw your head back, your pussy violently convulsing around his thick length. He watched in awe as you unraveled beneath him, your face etched with pleasure as you contracted over and over again. You silently shook as he rode you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he gritted his teeth as he felt your walls getting turned to mush. You gripped his muscles.

“Inside!” you cried. It was only a few more thrusts before Ghost’s body became rigid. You gasped as he filled you with his load, his hot, thick cum painting your swollen cervix. His orgasm cascaded over him like an all consuming fire, burning him to the core. Ghost gasped for air as he steadied himself. You looked just as fucked out as he was- eyes blown and face red with the afterglow. Your pussy squelched as he slowly pulled his cock from your slick walls. He pecked your lips.

"How you feelin', lovie?" Ghost asked. You blinked up at him tiredly, your legs stretching out comfortably.

"Good, so good," you breathed. He chuckled, gently pecking your nose, then cheeks, then lips again.

"Good. Did so well for me-takin' all of me like I knew you would," he praised. Your face flushed at his words. He looked around for his t-shirt. Ghost wiped the cum and arousal that spilled from your leaking hole, his other hand massaging circles into your leg. You sighed as your eyelids fell down. He cocked his head to the side, smiling warmly. Ghost went to stand up, but your hand fell onto his wrist.

“Stay, please,” you requested softly. His heart melted at your sleepy, gentle voice. His lips found purchase on your temple.

"Just gonna turn off the light. ‘M not going anywhere," he reassured. You nodded and gave a small grin. Ghost flipped the switch off before turning back around, finding you fast asleep. He chuckled quietly, crawling beneath the covers and pulling you into his chest. You nuzzled into his rugged, scarred body, sighing in your sleep. He kissed the top of your head before he closed his eyes. Ghost couldn't help but smirk, knowing how your loud moans and the sound of your wet sex rattled the walls.

There's no way König would be sleeping tonight.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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lucid-loves · 3 months

Text

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 7

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 4.8k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction.

Chapter Synopsis: It’s time to tag the targets with trackers during breakfast service. You and Price make an unsettling discovery regarding the weapon shipment. Meanwhile, Ghost has been taking every opportunity to touch you and drive you nuts, making it hard to organize your feelings for him. The only way to get him to understand is to finally confess your feelings to him.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

The landscape across Europe flashed by as the train sped along the track. The hills and trees in the distance began to become brighter as the sun rose above the horizon. The countryside of Europe was gorgeous. Olive-green grass, rich orange and yellow trees, all over hills that rolled like waves. You’ve seen this scene before from one of your solo missions. You’ve forgotten just how beautiful it could be outside your cabin.

As the sun began to rise higher in the sky, painting it with comfortable pinks and purples, train attendants began to open the dining car for breakfast as well as take orders for those that wanted to dine in their room. As passengers began to leave, Ghost, Price, and you sprung into action. Not before Ghost took your hand while Price wasn’t looking though. You turned wondering what he could possibly want at this moment. You didn’t have a lot of time before the train attendants would come back to deliver food to passengers.

Simon just raised your hand to his mask, kissing it through the fabric. His eyes met yours, giving you a sincere look. Blonde strands of his already tousled hair fell towards his forehead as he looked down at you. His voice lowered to a whisper, not wanting anyone but you to hear his next words. “Be safe, kitten.”

A harsh blush swept over your cheeks, your heart tripping over itself at the nickname. His sincere look turned mischievous as he noticed the red starting to take over your cheeks. You pulled your hand away harshly and turned back to catch up with Price. How dare he! Giving you a nickname like that all of a sudden! Was he trying to fucking kill you!

For once, you were speechless. He really caught you off guard this time. And Simon reveled silently with this victory. The game clearly wasn’t over yet.

Ghost headed towards the dining car, quickly spotting the target men up ahead heading in the same direction. You and Price went back towards the luggage car in the opposite direction. The observant captain noticed your blush and suddenly sour expression, but he didn’t bring it up. He just figured that you and his lieutenant were still going at it like an old, married couple.

As quietly and slyly as you two could, you snuck into the luggage cart and closed the door behind you. You leaned against the side of the door, out of the way of the small window that allowed people to take a quick peek in. Standing as a lookout, you waited for John to find the weapons. That unfortunately meant going through a lot of suitcases. Hopefully, you two would get lucky and find it within the first few cases.

“Shit, all of these bags look the same.” The captain commented in frustration after opening a few suitcases. You looked over for a brief moment, scanning the massive piles of luggage for any hint of the targeted one.

“Try to look for one with a sticker or a tag. Anything that would help the men make sure they don’t take the wrong bags by mistake.” You advised, your gaze falling back towards looking out the window once again.

Price picked up the pace, looking through bag after bag before spotting a few pieces of luggage with the identical stickers. Urzikstan flag stickers. If the luggage was flagged and searched during the trip, the weapons would be assumed to come from there. The thought of Farah facing another trial of proving her and her people’s innocence made him simmer with rage. However, the mission must proceed.

“Found them.” He announced, quickly opening up the cases to place the trackers. What he saw inside, though, made him pause. He wasn’t looking at guns. Guns that he has grown familiar with over so many years of using them. Instead, he was looking at separate pieces. Ones that resembled hard plastic. Matte, dark gray, and void of any familiar markings to indicate their brand.

“What the hell am I look at?” He pondered out loud, catching your attention. After checking if the coast was clear, you came over and examined his findings. You picked up a couple pieces of the plastic, assembling them together in your mind like a puzzle. Your expression grew grim as you realized what they were.

“They’re gun parts to assemble ghost guns.” You deduced, having seen stories about this making their way through the news a while back. It was a good thing that you always kept up with the news, no matter where it was from or what it was about.

Price wasn’t following. He rarely had time to sit down and catch himself up on news stories. He relied on his base to update him on what was happening with the world. Stories were quick to change too as public interest switched all the time. Price was in the dark, and he shouldn’t be. “What the fuck is a ghost gun?”

You took the trackers from him and began tagging the inside of the luggage, feeling all the parts brush past your hand. The suitcase seemed bottomless with gun parts. “Ghost guns are guns assembled with gun parts, but the parts are untraceable and usually unnoticeable since the parts aren’t traditional parts. These are 3D printed parts. They can be made completely in the comfort of one’s own home. Some states are trying to crack down on the creation of these guns, but as you have probably guessed based on my earlier statement, they are incredibly hard to track down and trace back. It’s not exactly illegal to buy ghost gun kits too.”

John couldn’t believe that he missed this piece of essential news. He couldn’t believe that no one told him about it. It seemed like a huge problem to look out for that shouldn’t have been swept under the rug. He was pissed. “So in addition to using the catacombs, this is how Makarov has been moving weapons without getting caught. Fucking hell.”

“Try not to sweat it too much, John. This news piece didn’t last even a week. Besides, this problem has been deemed to be a police problem, not a military one. Cases of this have always been coming from civilian homes. Until now, that is. Yes, your government should have done something as soon as this seemed like an issue. They were negligent. But, that’s not on you.” You tried to explain.

Price understood why you hated the military and government so much now. Before, he recognized that there were some problems that needed to be addressed within the system. There was a lot of red tape, a lot of traditions, and a lot of pressure. Still, he would defend it, proud to be serving a country that ultimately wanted to make the world more at peace. Now though, he couldn’t get past this neglect. This mistake that should have been nipped in the bud on a federal level. That combined with Shepherd being a traitor and getting away with it for so long, it made Price feel furious. Almost hopeless.

They needed to take Makarov down and get back home as soon as possible. He needed to try to fix this mess.

Once the trackers were in place, John radioed his men back in the car. His voice was heavy with fury. “Test the trackers now.”

“Signal is coming through clearly, Captain. You sound rough, though. Everything okay?” Gaz respondes, concern clear in his tone.

“We’ll explain the situation later.”

On Ghost’s end, he heard the brief conversation through his earpiece. The dining cart was pretty full considering that guests had the option to eat in their own roomette. The smell of fresh eggs, bacon, sausage, pasties, and coffee had his stomach rumbling. In order to stay inconspicuous, Gaz and Soap were ordered to reject any train staff that stopped by to provide them service. He was going to attempt to kill two birds with one stone here. Place the trackers on the men and order breakfast to their roomette once the tasks are done.

A waiter approached him, asking what he would like in Italian before realizing that English was needed. Simon told him that he was going to enjoy a fresh cup of tea in the dining cart, but the rest of breakfast would be sent back. As he relayed the large order that was sure to fill everyone’s stomachs, his eyes watched Makarov’s men sitting in a booth. They haven’t noticed him. In fact, they seemed completely wrapped up in their own conversation, laughing and smiling over hot coffee.

The waiter gestured for him to take any seat he wanted while he waited. Simon took the booth right behind his targets. He listened carefully, trying to pick out an opportunity to plant the trackers. A cup of black tea was delivered to his table along with a copy of the day’s newspaper. He didn’t ask for one, but everyone else that dined alone seemed to be reading one.

The black tea was perfect, the flavor balanced perfectly between the tea leaves and hot water. Not too bitter, not too bland. Steeped to perfection. As much as he wanted to just relax and enjoy his cup, he had a job to do first.

Ghost took small sips, timing his drinking with the men in front of him. He had to be patient for this, something he learned from you. When the waiter came back over to notify him that breakfast was on its way, Simon took his time finishing off his tea. Finally, the men stood up to leave, just now finishing their meal. That was his cue to finish the job.

Simon was swift, catching up to them and bumping in between them as if he was in a rush. During his passing, he did some sleight of hand, attaching the trackers right on the bottom back of their jackets. Hopefully, they won't notice it anytime soon. The men shouted at him, offended that he would push them to get through. He just turned slightly and gave quick apologies, keeping up with his appearance of being in a rush.

Once he gained enough distance, he spoke into his earpiece. “Heading back now. The trackers are planted.”

“Loud and clear, Lt. Those trackers are shining like a beacon on my screen. Good work.” Soap praised.

When Ghost entered the roomette once again, his eyes immediately met yours. You sat alone in your row. Price, Gaz, and Soap sat opposite of you. Price wore the same exact expression you wore. Heavy. Dark. He took the empty space next to you, preparing himself for the worst. “I take it that whatever happened in the luggage cart wasn’t great.”

Price looked at you and you looked at him, both wondering if the other wanted to be the one to break the news. Finally, Price spoke up, using his captain's voice to disguise his true feelings of anger. “We found the right luggage and tagged them with the trackers. However, inside were not standard weapons that we are used to. Inside the luggage were 3D printed gun parts. Ghost guns, as Hex identified. The parts were made using 3D printers, meaning that they can’t be traced, registered, or tracked. Not without extreme difficulty. The parts are useless on their own, but when put together, then they function as normal, deadly weapons. Just like real gun parts.”

“Wait, so there is no brand? No markings at all?” Soap questioned, trying to wrap his head around the concept. He was kept in the dark about this issue too. They all were.

This time, you spoke up. “Completely clean. At a glance, they can actually look like toys. There are no serial numbers, no background checks, nothing. Makarov hasn’t just been buying his weapons. He’s been making them.”

Kyle took a shaky breath, the concept stunning him. Still, he wanted to take action. “Is there anything we can do about this? Besides killing Makarov?”

You shrugged, not really having a concrete answer for that question. “Confiscate the parts and present them as evidence to support stricter laws on them. That’s about all that can be done. This is a federal government problem. We should focus on ours in the meantime. There’s a lot on the line with each new discovery.”

The team went quiet, digesting the information. A knock on their door lightened the mood however, breakfast finally arriving. A cart with a white tablecloth over it presented a variety of choices. You waited for the men to serve themselves, watching them take heaping piles of eggs, breakfast meats, toast, and fruit. They needed a lot more food than you did. Still, they made sure to leave plenty left for you as well.

Simon watched you eat from the corner of his eye, wondering if you were able to have such a spread back home. You had mentioned how you ensured that your kitchen was stocked before back on the road trip. It still must’ve been difficult obtaining certain things on a regular basis. Eggs only lasted for so long. So did milk.

A new instinct came over him. He felt the need to feed you. To ensure that you were able to eat all and any of the foods you wanted. Especially the kinds that you couldn’t have often. On the sly, he began sneaking more food onto your plate. A scoop of eggs here. A strip of bacon there. He refilled your juice as well. Only when his teammates weren’t paying attention.

You, on the other hand, caught on quick as lightning. It wasn’t hard to notice how after you finished what was on your plate, another small pile would be sitting in its place. This was different from how he paid attention to you before. It felt like he was treating you like his girlfriend. It made your heart race and your stomach flip. You recalled how he called you “kitten” earlier too, the memory still making you feel like your cheeks would catch on fire with how warm they would get.

It wasn’t helping you make sure that your feelings for him were kept in check. You had to start rejecting him. Starting with the food he kept trying to feed you.

When you finished your fruit, Simon began putting a few more pieces onto your plate. As soon as they slipped from his fork, you moved them back over to his plate instead. The large basket of pastries in front of you both blocked the view of the rest of the men, having no idea that you two were engaging in your own little food fight.

Ghost pulled up his mask and frowned behind it, giving you the hint that he was done eating. You gave him a look that said that you were done eating too. However, he ignored it and put the fruit back on your plate, gesturing for you to take a few more bites. In retaliation, you took up your plate to put it on top of his empty one. Simon glared at you, cursing your stubbornness in his mind. Slowly, he lifted the plate back up and set it down in front of you, not breaking his eye contact.

Before you could push the plate away again, his hand landed on your thigh, giving it a squeeze. You yelped, jumping up in your seat. You knee hit the table, causing the items on top of it to clatter. Now, all eyes were on you. God, you wanted to ring his fucking neck.

You cleared your throat, cheeks starting to turn red from embarrassment. “Sorry, sudden cramp. I’m heading to the bathroom.”

Ghost was practically pushed out of the booth to make room for you to leave. Once you had enough space, you slipped by and left the roomette. Brows quirked at Simon, wondering what the hell that just was. He shrugged, pretending that he didn’t know what the problem was. “Beats me. I’m gonna go order some more tea for the table.”

In the small train bathroom, you splashed your face with cold water to cool down the blood rush. You could swear that you still felt the heat of his hand on your thigh. The pressure of his squeeze too. Was this what falling in love was like? Craziness? You felt like he was driving you mad.

Trying to calm down, you took some deep breaths. The sound of the water rushing out of the faucet helped. Gave you something to focus on for a moment.

That moment was gone as soon as you heard familiar, heavy footsteps outside the door. You cracked it open just a peek, just in time to see Ghost waltzing by without a care in the world. Without even thinking, you grabbed him by the back of his jacket and pulled him into the bathroom with you. The door was closed and locked behind you, hoping no one would come in to see why you were blowing up.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?! What the hell was that shit?!” You seethed through clenched teeth.

Ghost, getting over his momentary stun from being pulled, shook his head. “I didn’t think you would jump.”

You laid on the sarcasm thick. “Oh! You didn’t know that you grabbing my fucking thigh would make me jump. Hell, it’s not like my reflexes aim to kill anyone who suddenly grabs me. Your fucking bad, am I right, Simon?”

“Christ, I fucking get it! I’m sorry, okay, kitten?” He begrudgingly apologized, seeing just how upset you were about this.

“And that’s the other fucking problem! Kitten?! Fucking, kitten?! Are you trying to fucking kill me? Are you trying to make me fucking kill you?! You said that we would take things slow!” You raved, your swearing out of control at this point. Somehow, Simon still found it strikingly sexy.

“I am taking it slow.” He argued, taking a step closer to you, attempting to reach out to touch you like he wanted.

You scoffed and smacked his hand away. “You call that fucking slow? Simon, there is so much happening right now! You haven’t given me space to-”

Shit, you almost spilled the beans. You quickly shut your mouth, locking your lips tight with your secret. No way. No way in hell were you going to confess like that by accident.

Ghost noticed how you cut yourself off, his curiosity about what you were going to say taking over his prerogative. What secret were you hiding from him now? “Finish that sentence.”

“Pass.” You simply said, backing up away from him, your body starting to go into a panic. The fact that you could see most of his face as clear as day wasn’t doing wonders for you either. You actually wanted to kiss him, run your fingers through his hair, and nibble on his lips. A shutter passed through you at the thought.

His movements were quick, knowing that if he wasn’t fast, you could potentially escape him. Stepping forward, he pinned you against the wall, an arm slipped behind your back with the hand touching your waist. The other hand took your wrists and pinned them above your head. His deep timbre voice nearly had your knees buckling. “That wasn’t a question. That was an order, kitten.”

You gave him a combative glare, refusing to break your stand on this. As you shook his head in refusal, his face inched closer. “Please, Hex. Don’t make me break my promise again.”

“I. . .” You hesitated. Was now really the best time to confess? Probably not. It was actually probably the worst time. The way he begged and threatened you for it, however, was hard to resist. Even if your morbid curiosity made you wonder just what he would do to you if you kept your mouth shut.

He gave you a moment, the warms of your skin seeping into his. Ghost just couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, no matter how hard he tried. It was like he had become addicted to you. Your touch, your attention, your voice, everything. He couldn’t get enough.

Finally, you broke. You just couldn’t take the way Simon’s blue eyes drowned you for an answer. “You haven’t given me the space to sort out my feelings.”

“Feelings?” His grip loosened, allowing you to take your arms to cross over your chest, feeling protective of yourself. Your nails dug into your skin as anxiety began to hold you tight. You couldn’t take his wide-eyed shock either.

To be fair, this was an answer that he didn’t expect to hear from you.

“Feelings.” He repeated, still hardly believing that that’s what you had said. His heart pounded in his chest.

You pushed him back by his chest, creating more space. That made his stomach drop like a bowling ball as he stepped back. Simon watched you nervously rubbed your arms. You gave a nervous laugh. “Jesus, what am I? A fucking teenager?”

“Hex-” He tried to call out for you, wanting to provide some comfort to your anxiety. However, you cut him off.

“Stop. Let me speak, Simon. You drive me fucking nuts. You know how to push my buttons, get my fire going, get my blood boiling. And yet, I still find myself thinking about you even when I don’t want to. I want to push you away as far as I can and pull you close to me at the same time. I love and hate how you tease me, how you kissed me, how you wanted me.” You confessed earnestly, your words coming out like a storm.

You’ve never confessed to anyone like this before. Not even in high school. Sure, you had small crushes here and there. You knew they would never go anywhere, though. You’ve always stomped them out before crushes turned into anything more. With Simon, it was different. It was like you were caught in barbed wire. You were tangled up in him. You loved it, yet you didn’t want your heart to get broken.

Feeling physical attraction wasn’t the same as emotional attraction.

“Simon, I’m afraid that I’m falling for you. I can’t have you breaking my heart. So, you need to tell me now if this is just a fling for you. Tell me that you don’t feel anything but physical attraction. That once our mission is over, you will go back to your world. I will go back to mine. We will never see each other again.” Your voice cracked as you steeled yourself for rejection.

The words broke Ghost’s heart. All this time, you believed that he was just toying with you. Just like you, however, he was both trying to get closer and keep just enough distance so you wouldn’t break his heart. As much as you two fought, you two were so much alike. From this new perspective that Simon has discovered, he was able to really understand you. God damn it, why didn’t he realize this sooner? He already fell for you. Hard. The way he wants to treat you, the way he wants to touch you, the way he never wants to say goodbye wasn’t something he would do with just a fling. It was something he would do with a lover.

“Hex. . . I can’t say any of those things.” He began taking small steps to approach you again. Simon could hear his heartbeat in his ears. It’s been forever since he’s fallen for someone. His previous love was nothing compared to how he felt about you. There was a gut feeling he had that you were a keeper.

Your mind protested his advance, still trying to preserve your feelings. Your heart, on the other hand, went wild. In the end, it was the heart that won. His hands cupped your cheeks, gaining your line of sight once again. “It’s okay, Hex. I got ahead of myself. I started treating you how I wanted you before telling you. All out of order.”

You waited for him to say more, holding your breath as you did so. Was this really what you thought it was? No way this could be real. Just a few weeks ago, you were alone in the world. No one but Kate on the rare occasion. The plan was to stay alone, do solo missions here and there if Kate needed it, and die alone. Simon put a wrench in all of it.

“I’ve fallen for you, Hex. Probably did when I first saw you. You’re not alone anymore.” He reassured. At the same time, he was telling himself those words. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had you now.

While his own confession made you want to dance with joy, you still felt a pain in your chest. There was something that you couldn’t ignore. “That’s great and all, but what happens when I have to return to my world? Being unknown? I don’t exist. I can’t just return to the land of the living like I’ve been there the whole time. I-”

He stopped your rambling with a kiss. A deep, passionate, slow one that made your brain have an error. You didn’t even notice him pulling down his face mask before with how rampant your head ran. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, just be mine, okay?”

You released a deep sigh as you nodded in agreement. You could hardly believe it. Simon had fallen for you. You had fallen for him. No wonder he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. “Fine. Just. . . easy with the touching and the nickname, yeah? I about damn near lost my fucking mind.”

He chuckled, pulling his mask back up. “Can’t make any promises about that, kitten. I’ll try to stay patient with taking the touching further than previously agreed on. You’ve probably noticed, though, that you also drive me crazy.”

Returning to your usual self, you scoffed and smirked. “Keep it in your pants, Simon. I can’t help that I’m irresistible apparently.”

“You keep it in your pants. I know you want to touch me too.” He argued teasingly, taking your hands and putting them on this muscular chest. Once they were placed, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. It felt like your hands were on fire as they made contact with his chest. The chest that you have been wanting to put your hands on since seeing it bare the other night. He could feel the fire from your touch too.

“Simon.” You warned, your tone having some bite to it. However, he was used to your venom by now. He was growing immune. Now, your threatening tone just made him feel aroused.

He gave a low laugh at your glare, hugging you tighter and trying to ignore the growing tightness of his pants. You really got him going in the smallest of ways. “Relax, Hex. Just a hug.”

“You’re getting hard!” You pointed out, feeling his erection press against you. As much as you protested his arousal, you would be lying if you weren’t feeling it too. Just feeling him pressed against you had your skin tingling and your sex getting wet.

Finally, he let you go, your skin already feeling cold once he pulled away. You could see his eyes smiling, feeling quite proud of himself instead of embarrassed. Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him in order to leave the bathroom. “You’re fucking impossible, you know that?”

He followed you out. Thankfully, no one has been waiting to use the bathroom right outside. His tone was still low and sensual as he retorted. “You love it.”

There was still some time before arrival. Even more time before the mission would be over. Fuck, how were you going to resist Ghost’s antics now?

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thewulf · 1 year

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Works and Requests

Oh man I knew this day would come, I finally have to make seprate masterlists for some fandoms, this main post is too massive now! Masterlist's below the cut <3

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greatlydelirious · 1 year

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𝐃𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐊𝐢𝐭��𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

wordcount: 6.1k words

summary: The night that death granted you mercy you swore to never let yourself become vulnerable again. That was until you started to be haunted by a man who knew your feelings all too well.

warnings: smut, mask stays on, slight breeding kink, angst, injury, mentions of past trauma, super fluffy, established relationships, (Ghost is highkey obsessed with you)

“Who’s your crew?” Laswell asks while sighing, exasperated by Price’s persistence. He swipes up the stack of files she got for him before going through them.

“Sergeant Garrick.”

“Kyle?” she recalls.

“They call him ‘Gaz’. He never said anything.” Laswell looks over the front of the file before he pulls out another. “John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper- demolitions. Goes by ‘Soap’.” Once again Price hands it to Laswell.

“Why?”

“That’s classified.” Price’s tone is even before he moves on chuckling. “There he is… Simon Riley.” When he places this one down, Laswell’s eyebrows knit, “There’s no picture.”

“Never.”

He softly whistles before saying your name, “… but she only answers to ‘Rose’.”

“Rose? That’s a delicate name.” Laswell arches a brow when Price lets out a dry laugh.

“Anything but.” Price taps the photo attached to the folder. The woman was mean mugging the camera with a hardened expression that made even him shudder and was the envy of any of the men who joined her ranks.

“Now the rest…” Price swipes the files back while staring down the CIA station chief across from him. “That’s need to know. Unless we got a deal.”

Laswell stares back at him equally stoic, “What are you calling this task force?”

A light smirk plays on Price’s lips, “1-4-1.”

Sweat percolates from every inch of your skin as you make your way to your designated post. The heavy fatigues and protective gear that use to bother you now act as a comforting weight. A reminder of where you are and the mission you are about to accomplish with your team. Not some sissy team, but Task Force 141; a special operations task force military unit that housed the best and… wildest.

Wildest was far more apt than the word brightest to describe the band of seasoned soldiers Captain Price brought together. He recruited you from the United States military special force known as 75th Ranger Regiment. Anyone who has met someone you fought alongside knew the female killing machine that holds the moniker “Rose”.

At first, you wanted to decline Price’s proposition to join. You’d worked under the command of General Shepherd before during your time with the U.S. Army Rangers, but you were still hesitant. After surviving unspeakable horrors in Afghanistan, you became far too deep in your itch to maim and kill.

Not only did you need the structure being a part of a force gave you, but the thrill. When your old captain tried to give you a base job after recovering from severe injuries you went berserk. Hell, you were even moments away from joining the French Foreign Legion. Of course, Price caught wind of this and promised to put you to work. Luckily for him, he kept up his promise.

You are a specially trained fucking soldier; not a rookie, not a gun polisher, but a sharpshooter that rivaled the likes of Simon “Ghost” Riley. The statement might sound crass, but you didn’t have the luxury to lapse in confidence. Every corner you turn, every order you follow, and every shot you take must be concise and without a shred of hesitation. This wasn’t fun and games, it was life and death.

Well… maybe it’s a little bit of fun sometimes.

Scuffling noises and grunts fill the coms until they abruptly cease.

“Rose, do you copy?”

Silence.

“Answer me, Rose. Do. You. Copy.” Now the question turned into gritted demands. Each word leaves a sharper bite than the last.

Silence is the only answer yet again. Before Ghost can crush the radio in his steely grip, static meets his ears.

Grunting you push the now limp body on your chest to the ground. “Copy Lt.” Blood audibly squelches as you reclaim your knife. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Wiping the trusty blade on your pant leg you chuckle at a joke in your head, “What has two arms, two legs, and ten holes?

Soap can be heard groaning. You are just as bad as Ghost when it comes to so-called “army humor”. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin-“ Someone clicks their mic to cut off Soap’s grumbling.

“What?” A gravelly voice that gives you goosebumps plays along.

“The guy I just stabbed.”

“Ten holes huh?”

“Men have nine, thought he could use an extra one in the neck.”

“You’re bloody sick.”

“No, I’m quite blood free right now and I don’t have a stuffy nose. Thanks for your concern.”

A deep huff cuts through the coms and you recognize it as Ghost’s version of a laugh. Triumph fills you with being the one to elicit that rare sound. Thankfully, no one else was around to catch the subtle blush rising on your cheeks.

Focus, Rose.

“What do you call a Russian sniper from the Soviet Army who never misses his target?” Ghost asks you right after you finish clearing the hallway that held the stairway leading to the roof of the building.

“Go on.” You encourage as you start to make your ascent.

“The most skilled marxman in the military.” Now that had to be the most military dad joke you’ve ever heard.

“Please tell me you’re at your spot Rose.” Soap once again groans and for a second he regrets every decision that got him stuck with the two of you.

With an amused lilt in your voice, you push open a metal door, cold night air giving a second of reprieve against your hot skin. “Fortunately for you and unfortunately for me, affirmative.”

Taking a deep breath, you crouch before setting your M21 EBR sniper rifle on the edge of the roof and maneuvering the ACOG Scope attached. The semi-automatic rifle has extremely low recoil and you liked its dual use for medium and longer ranges. Other soldiers had a hard time with the scope’s slight sway, but you tamed the gun how one would a horse; using a subtle, soft touch to steer it in the right direction.

Electricity thrums through you as you anticipate what is about to take place. You adjust your scope until you’re finally focused on the building across the street. Standing behind one of the windows was your target, Nabeel Bashar, drinking and laughing with other men in the room.

Nabeel Bashar is a close associate of Hassan Zyani and one of the lower-ranked leaders in the terrorist organization Al-Qatala. Although he’s not important enough to give you information you don’t already have, his death is important enough to make an impact.

That’s it Nabeel. Move one more inch to the left and I got you.

Your leather gloves slightly squeak as you adjust the grip on your sniper rifle. The gun is an extension of yourself, and it’s about to send a message to Hassan. After a few minutes that feel like hours, the man steps perfectly into your line of sight.

“Rose to Bravo 0-6. I’m in position and have a clear shot.”

“Hold your position until Ghost gives the order.”

“Copy.”

Captain Price’s command sits at the forefront of your mind as your anticipation grows. You might have an itchy trigger finger, but you’re too seasoned to pull it prematurely. Years of training and discipline that started when you were a child kept you steadfast in waiting.

To say your father was proud of you was an understatement. As a U.S. Army Vietnam Veteran, he was a stickler for raising tough kids. Sprain something? Walk it off. Lose at a sport? Try harder. His motto is, “When all else fails, your mind is the only thing that can save you.” Advice that not only helped save your life but was engrained in your bones.

Over the years and during your time in Afghanistan, you accrued accomplishments and honorary medals that you thought of as just “chest candy,” but your father gladly took them to display in his living room to show off to his fishing buddies. Based on the way he constantly brags about you; you are most definitely his favorite.

So much so that he has more than once grilled you endlessly about the man you told your mother about. Simply calling him a man didn’t do enough justice though. Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t just an apparition, but a carnal animal outside and inside the bedroom. Unforgivingly rough as he gets to what he wants while thrumming with a deathly power that practically begs for someone to challenge him.

Unsurprising to everyone, that’s what you did when you joined Task Force 141. The tales of the heartless Lieutenant with the seemingly permanent skull-patterned balaclava never scared you. If anything, it made you want to test your sparring skills with him. When you finally convinced him to practice with you and he managed to pin you down after an hour, he was far more than impressed. Intrigued, surprised, and aroused captured the essence of how he felt.

Ghost admires your brutality. You never hesitate, never give anyone the inkling that you’ll be an easy target. Some would say the element of surprise could work in your favor, but you like a rough fight. If you’re not feeling the aching reminder of it the next day, you don’t feel like you won. That philosophy may be dangerous, but that’s what Ghost loves about you.

Yet what he covets the most is the vulnerability you gave him the pleasure of witnessing. Everyone got to see the bloodthirsty soldier, but he got to see the resilient woman who soaked in her complex emotions behind closed doors. A woman who liked his stern voice and uncharacteristically soft touches.

You always melted in his hands like a kitten snuggling close for warmth. At times the rumbled moans that came straight from your chest even sounded like purrs. Ghost craved that soothing sound. A rare sign of mindless comfort from his “pretty rose.”

“Red Rose” was the full cover name you were given. You were as fresh as a rose when you joined the 75th Ranger Regiment, the only experience under your belt being from your short time in the army. During those beginning years of your career it was just “Rose”, but it became far too tame to describe the person you are now.

Anytime you clean sweep a room that had more than enough men to overpower you, Gaz said you “painted the roses red”. Are you a part of Task Force 141 if you didn’t have a sense of dark humor?

Like any rose, thorns covered the outside of you, not a protective shield, but a visible threat that you will bite back when handled. It wasn’t a secret what was done to you; as unspeakable as it may be. Not only did your mind plague you with vivid memories in the middle of the night, but it manifested physically as well.

Deep scars that left phantom pains in their wake littered your body. No matter how hard you itched or rubbed the pangs hit you with a vengeance. They were etched reminders of not only the pains of living but the miracle of survival. You were deeply respected for surviving what you went through, but it morphed into fear when you continued to be a part of the force.

Some people let the venom of the past take them down, but others will use the searing pain as motivation to push forward. You’re the latter.

Despite your hardened exterior and savage nature amidst combat, you get along with your team swimmingly. Yes, you snap, bark, and bite, but like any good Doberman when someone shows you they are trustworthy, you are fiercely loyal. And by this point, 141 felt more like home than anywhere else. They treated you like any other man on the team and would take a bullet for you without hesitation.

The only thing that was akin to what you feel like, is a Doberman shaking with the excitement for its next command. All you needed was that one word. Once you get that command the metaphorical leash can be dropped so the beast can attack.

“Shoot.”

In a millisecond your finger pulls the trigger. Glass shattering mixed with the whistling shot is like music to your ears, a symphony of justice executing its judgment. You watch as Nabeel Bashar falls limply to the ground, the hole in his head forming a crimson puddle underneath him. Pulling away from your rifle you grab your radio, “Nabeel’s down. Enemy K.I.A.”

One down.

“Clean shot, Rose.” Price praises through the coms. “Now let’s get you-“

Yelling erupting below makes your focus turn to the street. Stationed soldiers yell in a language you don’t understand while rushing into the building you’re in.

Shit.

You manage to duck when bullets ricochet off the concrete next to you, making dust spread in the air. “I’m under fire and they’re making their way inside.” You have to practically scream to be heard over the sudden gunfire. The cadence of your voice held not even a semblance of a quiver as you barked the information. You’ve stared at the face of death before; you can do it again.

“You will do it again.” Ghost’s voice pops in your head almost in a warning. The last time you were trapped in a situation like this you had the infamous man alongside you. Except then you had a nasty stab wound to your side and Ghost had even nastier gunshot wounds to the thigh and shoulder.

Enemies are everywhere. Stray bullets whizz past your head as you make it into the empty house with half of Ghost’s weight against your hip. The plan didn’t go awry, but totally nuclear. Now you both are left surrounded and injured. Concerningly so based on the dark stain your partner was leaving on the floor. He tried to help you barricade the room, but the moment he started to tip to the ground you helped him sit down. No matter how bullheaded he is, he can only withstand so much blood loss.

Ghost’s head slowly starts to fall forward as he sits against the wall. The chopper is on its way and the only body you planned to haul with you was a breathing one. Thick fabric meets your palm as you slap Ghost awake. Even though he is sluggish, he captures your wrist before you can step back. When you try to tug out of his grip, he only squeezes harder.

You opt to instead crouch in front of him, eyes blazing, “If you leave me now, I’ll come after you.”

When he simply blinks at you, you move your face until it’s inches away from his masked one. “Do you hear me, you bloody bastard? I mean it.”

A wet chuckle leaves the man below you, “Bloody, eh? I’ve rubbed off on yah already?”

“Make it through this and you can rub off on me all you want.” Now Ghost truly laughs despite himself. Despite the pain. Jokes made the hurt go away, mental or physical, but what really made the bleeding man tick was the way your eyes twinkled with promise. You truly do mean it.

Slippery fingers intertwine as Ghost holds your other hand as well. Despite the danger and the blood, there was something so intimate about his touch.

“Deal.”

That was the night you officially fell in love with Simon “Ghost” Riley.

“Backup is on its way now. Stand your ground, Rose.” Price’s words are meant to be comforting, but they only make you curse.

You know the team is set up in houses nearby, but these men are coming in fast. The sound of heavy footsteps pounding against metal steps further confirms your thought. Rolling your shoulders, you let a cold smile spread across your face.

Game on.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Ghost couldn’t help but breathe out the words when he finally makes it to you. He’s never mowed down enemies so fast. Any person who got in his way was given a swift death, and apparently, so did any in yours.

You’re a vision in red. Blood and entrails cling to your body as you stand in the middle of the wreckage. Fingers still twitched around the blades in both your hands, sniper rifle long forgotten somewhere. When your bullets ran out you opted to use it as a baton, cracking enemies until it got lost during a scuffle. Bodies are strewn across the rooftop like it was nothing. Like it was normal for someone to have the capabilities to fight all these men by themself; let alone a woman half their size.

Ghost has never seen anything more breathtaking. The gore only illuminates the primal energy that surged through you, through him. Every instinct urges him to run to you, feel you, and claim you just as you are now.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

With a shaky laugh, you sheath your weapons, not looking away from the man in front of you. The air is fraught with tension not stemming from the surprise attack. “Sorry, you missed the party, sir. I hope you can forgive me.” Your voice practically keens with a desire only Ghost can quell.

“Sir”, a formality laced with sin that unfurls from your tongue to snake into his ears. The sound of it coming from you so desperately, so needy, for him, calls to every fiber of Ghost’s being. You take without recourse every day; lives, commands, jests, anything you could while leaving nothing in return. Until it came to him. That three-letter title was you giving your power over to Ghost. An exchange of trust that never ceased to rock him to his core.

A grunt is given to you in response. A silent warning that said, “If you keep it up with that, I can’t be held accountable for what happens next.”

You knew that verbatim since the last time he grunted like that and you continued to push his limits, you were left with such a bad limp the next day that Captain Price made you go to medical for a check-up since he was convinced you were injured. Technically with how bad you were aching, it did qualify as an injury, but the dull throb between your legs indicated it was the good kind.

Before Ghost can make a step forward, Soap and Gaz run up in quick succession. They stop short just as Ghost did as they also take in the sight. Dark eyes continue to stay transfixed on you. Almost like you were the only person in the whole city.

Although, after a couple of minutes of three pairs of eyes ogling you, you decide you had enough for one day. Exasperated, you reach for your radio, “All clear Captain.”

By the time the team makes it to the safe house, you are utterly drained. Everything aches. The thick layer of sticky human splatter covering your form begins to gnaw at your senses. The lights feel too bright, the air too hot, and the atmosphere too quiet.

You tug off the pounds of clunky armor and gear, tossing it on an open countertop like the others. For a moment you just stare at the items. The dismantling got the surface mucked with dirty substances. Not only that but your hands, arms, and the sweat rolling down your forehead makes it spread even more.

Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. The mantra leaves you frozen, not knowing what to do, not knowing what else to say.

Someone pats you firmly on the shoulder, “I’ll take care of it, eh? Go clean up. Lord knows you deserve it.”

You can’t distinguish the voice of who’s talking when your feet begin to move at the command before your mind can register it. Normally you didn’t become this frazzled so soon, but you haven’t had time to be alone for weeks now. No time to scream into a pillow or cry in your room or feel his touch.

Every high has a crash, and you are free-falling. Fast.

Soap lets out a sigh of concern before grabbing a rag to start getting to work. He doesn’t say anything when he sees a dark shadow larger than your own follow you down the hallway.

When the bathroom door closes seemingly by itself you don’t hesitate. Nails scratch your skin as you practically tear off the clothes clinging to you. When you hear the fabric of your shirt rip you don’t care. You don’t have the wherewithal to even try. Yanking back the curtain, you blindly search for the handle. When water starts pouring down you practically jump into the shower.

You arch your head back into the stream of water. Clear, turns red, then turns black with the mixture of blood and soot as it sinks into the drain, taking your adrenaline with it. Limbs quake and memories flood uninvited into your brain. To escape the onslaught of emotions you close your eyes and try to focus on the sounds around you. Water is dripping, slipping, and sliding in your mouth. Water that was meant to soothe, but once smothered you and used as a tool to make you talk, to make you break.

Large hands encompass the sides of your head and pull you from the stream internally ripping you apart. Only then do you hear the sobs spilling from your mouth. Your eyes fly open and are confronted with misty blue ones surrounded by pitch blackness, equally searching and equally pained. Pained not only for you but for the fact that he knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows how the past is twisting your guts until the only thing your body wants to do is destroy or be destroyed.

“Focus, angel.”

The words come out in a deep yet soft command. A shiver travels across your skin and an ache settles in your heart. Ghost is here with you. You aren’t in that place anymore. Your hands cling so desperately around his wrists as if he would drift away at any moment. Like he’s the answer to your salvation.

In actuality, you’re his.

With a harsh tug, hungry lips slam into yours. You hadn’t noticed that his balaclava was pushed up, but you couldn’t be more relieved to truly feel him. The kiss is as possessive as it is sloppy. Tongues don’t dance but spar as Ghost uses his grip on your head to keep you locked in place. Not that you would ever dream about pulling away.

He tastes of metal, grit, and something addictively sweet. He’s like one of those candies in sketchy wrapping, but when you pop it in your mouth it’s the best thing to ever grace your tastebuds. Moaning you back up against the cold shower wall to make room for the large man. His lips only move to start descending on your neck. Lips and teeth and tongue tease with a fiery passion that make you gasp at each little assault of his mouth on your skin.

Something hard presses against your slick stomach as Ghost blankets your body with his own. He towers over you not only in stature but width. Your body is perfectly hidden in front of his own like a human shield. The pure notion of what he can do to you makes heat pool in your core.

Your sudden reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. They seldom do.

A thick finger instantly meets your folds, sliding through the wet sensitive flesh in agonizingly slow pets. Ghost lets out a satisfied grunt at how willing and wet you already are for him. He pushes the digit inside your pussy with ease. You desperately grab his biceps to keep yourself from melting into a puddle at his touch.

“Please.” The wobbled plead comes out like a mewling kitten. When you say it so sweetly how could he ever deny you? When a second finger joins the first the delightful stretch that follows makes your nails dig into his taut skin. Ghost doesn’t pause as he begins to fuck you with deep, slow thrusts. Fingers curve to hit the spongy sweet spot inside your pussy that has you clenching around him like a vice.

The hardness against your stomach twitches at the sound, feel, and look of you. So devastatingly perfect, devastatingly his.

In your haze, you look down at where his body meets yours. Each stroke of his fingers makes you dizzy, but all you can focus on is his cock. The tip is ruby red as it throbs and leaks with precum with the anticipation to take you.

“Simon.” His head snaps up to search your face. The name comes out in a whisper as your eyes say a thousand more words you can’t possibly string together in a coherent sentence.

His lips ghost the shell of your ear, “My strong girl did so well today. She deserves my cock don’t yah think?” You feebly nod, unable to make any sounds except for pathetic moans. Strong hands lift your legs so they’re dangling atop his muscular thighs. He’s like a makeshift seat as he keeps your back pressed against the wall to keep you propped up for him. Now the head of his cock is resting between the lips of your sex.

Breath eludes you as you watch Ghost look at where your bodies are joined. He gently rocks against your pussy, rubbing your clit with each slow stroke. The new position leaves you no room to buck against him. You’re completely left at his mercy.

“…so fuckin’ pretty.” The admiring words rumble from his chest as he finally pushes inside. It’s almost too much. His cock never fails to split you open to the point that you think you might rip in half. He’s too hard, too long, too thick, too big. Yet you can’t help but whine when he stops moving after only half of his cock is nestled in your pussy.

Ghost shoves his face in your neck and you can feel his body trembling, not from physical exertion, but from the force he was using to control himself. Teeth nip and scrape at the tender flesh above your collarbone as he begins to slowly push more of himself into your quivering pussy. In silent submission, you crane your neck further to give him better access to your pulse point.

You don’t want Ghost to hold back. You want the delicious pain that comes from him tearing you apart because you know he’ll always sew you back together again.

“Fuck me, bite me, take me, please.”

“Copy.” Ghost’s tone is deceptively playful and you swear you feel him smirk against your neck.

Cheeky bastard.

Any semblance of lightheartedness quickly disappears when he slams the rest of his cock inside you. Instead of biting, he sucks the spot his teeth were previously teasing. Ghost’s hands settle on your ass to pull you on and off his cock in tandem with his thrusts. He’s everywhere all at once and all you can do is desperately moan at the contact you’ve starved for.

The pace starts deep and languid before rapidly turning rough and downright feral. Gravelly groans tumble from the usually composed man as your tight walls cling to him at every pull of his cock. You’re almost too tight and he’s almost too big. Almost.

“That’s it... take my cock, angel.” Your bottom lip trembles when Ghost moves to rest his forehead against yours while continuing to fuck into you hard enough to bruise. The soft skin at his pelvis abuses your clit to the point of overstimulation with the onslaught of movement. It’s so intense that you’re sure you’ll fall apart by the next jut of his hips, but he never gives you more than you can handle. Ghost is the only person you’ve trusted with your body in many years; and for that, he’ll be forever grateful.

His eyes never leave yours as he takes in every little emotion swirling in their depths. Before you were on the brink of darkness, now all he sees is lust and a four-letter word that would be his undoing.

Once you almost died and went to hell. Now you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven. Euphoria made you docile and pliable, a mewling, dizzy, sweet mess that only made Ghost fuck you harder. The sounds he’s making are like brimstone and ash as he fucks his fallen angel.

“Angel” was an especially fond nickname Ghost gave you at the beginning of your relationship. One he saved for your most intimate moments together. To him, you’re a celestial being; too good to be with the likes of him. He sees your drive to do good, to protect people from the torment you’d endured. Outsiders may see a bloodthirsty soldier, but he saw you for who you really are. A woman who strived to do good, to protect people from horrors unimaginable. Even if it meant sacrificing herself. Although Ghost may not be as noble, he is as driven. He’ll be your patron saint, your protector till the end of days; but even then, he’ll be too selfish to let you go. Ghost would cut down Gods and travel through hell and back for you. Anything for his angel.

A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out. You’re so close you can feel the electricity crackling between the two of you. But neither of you cared for things that came easy. In an instant Ghost pulls out of you and flips you around with the grace of a seasoned fighter. The spray of water hits the sides of your bodies as you’re bent with your front against the shower wall.

Your forearms support your weight as you slam your palms into the wall in a poor attempt for leverage. Each aching muscle in your legs shakes from the pressure of standing on your tiptoes to reach closer to Ghost’s hips. Emptiness gives way to fullness when your pussy is once again invaded by his cock. His front molds into your back like you are made for him. You fit so perfectly tight against him, around him, pushing and squeezing as your velvet walls flutter to accommodate him.

Fingers slip between your own in an act so tender it betrays the rough slap of his hips against you. Truly an enigma even you had yet to completely figure out. But with your fast-approaching climax, you didn’t have the room to dwell on the concept. You can tell Ghost is close too; his thrusts are growing sloppy and his fingers that are intertwined with yours squeeze in a white-knuckled grip to attempt to ground himself.

His hands slip from yours to find purchase on your hip with one hand while the other snakes around to descend on your clit. Even lost in desire his movements are precise and expert in how they derive pleasure from you.

“Do you want me to fill you up, angel? Make you mine?” Ghost’s voice is distorted by growls and full-blown lust. Your emphatic moans and confirmations blend only to heighten as he slams into you and rolls your sensitive bud just right. Ghost’s ministrations, cock, voice, words, and noises all blend together in perfect symphony as you reach your rapture.

His grip on you is like steel as you meet each of Ghost’s thrusts. Your heart thumps like a hummingbird and sparks feel as though they’re lighting under your skin. A loud groan reverberates next to your ear as heat blooms in your core. You’re so tight in the throes of your own orgasm, milking Ghost for everything he’s got.

Ghost continues to push his cum inside you, thrusting in deep, hard strokes to secure it in and make it stick. The insatiable need to make you his in a permanent way motivates the overstimulating pounding. His fingers knead the flesh at your hips, coaxing you to stay open for him.

Only when your whimpers waver and turn whiny does he reluctantly slow his movements before coming to a complete stop. Ghost pulls you from the wall so he can lean you against his chest, cock still buried deep inside you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest would lull you to sleep if you weren’t acutely aware of your surroundings again. You don’t know how much time has passed, but when Ghost pulls out of you, you shiver from the newfound emptiness.

When you start to adjust your limbs, you feel that the skin on your fingertips is pruned, indicating that you’ve overstayed your welcome. You turn around in Ghost’s grip so you can properly gaze up at him (even if you still have to crane your neck). Your hands absentmindedly rub the muscles in his chest that rumbles like a dragon. Truly an unwavering force in every sense of the word. Unfortunately for both of you, you couldn’t stay like this forever.

“We have to get out sometime, big guy.” Grunting, Ghost grabs your hand before pulling it to his lips, kissing your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of them. Satiated blue eyes look at you with an emotion that makes you swallow thickly. He was going to be the death of you.

Wordlessly, Ghost reaches around to finally stop the stream of water before scooping you into his arms. A part of you wanted to protest that you could move on your own, but you wouldn’t ever deprive his need to feel you. You wince as Ghost helps you out of the shower. At first, you think it’s from the ache between your thighs, but the pain stems from somewhere lower.

In an instant, you’re plopped on the bathroom counter. “Didn’t care to tell me about this?” Ghost elevates your right leg with an edge of anger in his voice. Not at you per se, but the fact that you’re injured. A streak of red is trailing down your outer thigh with the other droplets of water to the floor. The gash isn’t concerningly deep, but after your exertions, the area was irritated from being neglected.

“I’ve been so caught up I didn’t even feel the damn thing.” The knife wound must have occurred when you were fighting off those men on the rooftop. Everything happened so fast since you came to the safe house that you didn’t take the time to look over yourself.

When a white-hot bolt of pain hits your gut, you’re reminded of your oversight again. You sure as hell can feel it now though. Sighing, Ghost makes quick work of cleaning and wrapping your wound with items from his bag. Of course, he brought it into the bathroom with him. The man is never unprepared.

“Wish you gave me the chance to kill those bastards, love.” The comment only makes you laugh. Leave it to Ghost to think of vengeance right after fucking your brains out.

You admire his concentration in silence. Before you met him you always “licked your own wounds” after every mission you went on, never having someone care so intimately about you to tend to your injuries themself. Now you had Ghost’s expert hands piecing you back together. Despite your pride, you cherish that those hands, invisibly coated in so many people’s blood, takes extra precaution while cleaning up yours. At this moment you feel nothing but lingering bliss and something you thought you’d never feel again… love.

Lightly twisting your leg, Ghost looks over his handiwork with a satisfied grunt. Thick fingers start to card through your wet strands of hair before moving down to cup your cheeks. His thumbs draw small circles on your skin in a manner so soothing it made butterflies awaken in your stomach.

“Do you think they heard us?” They had to of heard, but you knew that they would make themselves think they didn’t. If one of them even uttered a single syllable about it Ghost would pop their head off like a cherry stem.

“That’s the goal.” A wicked blush flames your cheeks as you playfully swat his chest.

Possessive bastard.

Sighing, you hop off the counter and grab your undergarments. Can’t delay facing the team any longer. The comfortable silence continues to stretch as you both get re-dressed. Thankfully Ghost hands you a spare shirt since you tore yours before getting in the shower. It all feels strangely domestic, especially when putting where you are into consideration. But home is where the heart is, and Ghost has yours in the palm of his hand.

Strong arms pull you to a hard chest once you’re fully dressed. A ghost of a smile plays on your lover’s lips and the sight makes you smile in return. Ghost leaves you with one last searing kiss before pulling his balaclava back down and exiting the bathroom.

Amidst war, death, and a lingering past you were able to fight your demons and find love. And as fate would have it, you love the angel of death himself.

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

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