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ghostandsoap · 1 year

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Every Scar Has a Story

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Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader

Tags: Post-Smut (I’ll owe y’all one LOL). Domestic Ghost. Referenced child abuse. Past child abuse.

Word Count: 3.0k

“What are you thinking about then?”

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A content sigh fell from Simon’s lips as he collapsed back onto the pillows on his bed.

His grip on your waist loosened which allowed you to unstraddle him and join him on the mattress. He grinned at you as your naked body piled onto his. If he could relive this moment forever, he’d never complain. He could feel the rapid thumps of your heartbeat against his chest – a sign that you were pumped full of energy and adrenaline. The flat of one of his large hands trailed up and down the length of your back, a gentle motion as a way of relaxing you back to normal.

He had never experienced a moment more serene than the post-orgasm high. It was one he adored, and one that he loved to witness you in the middle of.

“You alright, love?” He took deep breaths in an attempt to settle his own body.

It was such a simple question, and one that he asked every time you made love. Simon knew that he wasn’t always the gentlest person on the planet, and he never wanted to unintentionally be too rough with you.

“Mmhm,” You hummed, looking up at him through glazed (yet satisfied) eyes. “Perfect.”

That look.

It absolutely drove him wild in the best of ways. It sent a flush of warmth and desire over him every single time without fail. Simon couldn’t understand how someone as flawless and wonderful as you could ever even think of seeing him as worthy.

He rolled you over to crash next to him, a smile appearing on his face when you giggled. He wrapped an arm around you to pull you in as close as possible, loving every second of having you pressed up against him. The two of you had “gone to bed” almost three hours ago, around 11:00 p.m. or so. You had fallen asleep within a few minutes, but Ghost (who had always struggled when it came to sleeping) stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to your slow breathing as you slept.

Ghost had gotten used to sleepless nights over the course of his life. It was when his mind was the busiest…when his mind was the loudest. He was patient on nights like this, the ones where he couldn’t mellow out enough to get some decent rest. As long as you were comfortable and safe, he could lie awake for as long as he needed to. But when you started to stir around 1:45 a.m., he couldn’t help but take the opportunity.

It had happened a couple of times over the course of your relationship. Waking up just enough in the middle of the night to have sex and then both of you (or one of you, depending on the day) falling back asleep. He had nudged you awake when you had rustled in bed next to him, pestering you awake to kiss you as his sign of arousal. He didn’t feel too bad about waking you up. It’s not like you had ever complained about it.

“You gonna go back to sleep?” Simon asked, secretly hoping you’d stay awake with him, but not wanting you to if you wanted the rest.

“Only if you are.”

“I don’t think that’s happening tonight, lovely.” He kissed your forehead.

“Can’t sleep?” You questioned.

“No,” He answered. “But I’m okay. Not tired.”

Simon had impeccable energy. He didn’t need sleep more often than not. It was impressive to most, envied by some. But he knew that most people wouldn’t want that trait if they knew that it was a survival skill that he had perfected over the years.

Sleeping meant being unaware. Being unaware meant being vulnerable to the world. Being vulnerable meant opening a door to danger. Simon had learned long ago that keeping that door closed was safest.

“I’m not tired either.” You sighed.

“You will be,” He returned. “Don’t wait up just for me.”

“I want to though.”

Simon’s heart did a leap. There was something so incredibly comforting about the thought of you doing something with or for him just because you wanted to.

Time at home was…bittersweet for Simon. He didn’t exactly love when he was sent home before going back out into the field again. He understood that it was necessary, not to mention mandatory. He knew that he needed some time at home, away from the hustle and bustle of Task Force 141. It was the only way to ensure that he could continue to go out with his team when they needed him. Simon Riley might’ve been a freak of nature, but even he needed his breaks.

Getting sent home meant a lot of quiet time for Simon. In years past, returning to his home front meant returning to an empty home with no one to share his space with. At certain points in his life, he would even admit that he preferred it that way. Simon wasn’t graced with complete self-isolation very often. His career didn’t exactly allow that.

But as he got older (and maybe even just a little bit softer on the inside), the more and more he realized that flying solo isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

It was even harder to come home when he knew that meant being separated from you.

The first time that you and Simon were sent home to your respective stomping grounds, he severely underestimated the effect it would have on him. It was a short leave, shorter than the typical time that you were usually sent home for. He could manage a few months, no problem. Before he knew it, the two of you would be deployed back on a mission and it would be like no time had passed at all. Besides, he knew the two of you could text and call at any time. It wouldn’t be that different.

Oh, but how wrong he was.

Almost four weeks into the three month leave, Simon was practically begging you to come see him. He had found that his apartment felt unbearably lonely, and not being able to see you whenever he wanted to was torture. He felt anxious that he couldn’t be with you in person. He didn’t care how he had to get you there, but he needed to get it done. Sure enough, you were on his doorstep two days after he called you in a near meltdown, with enough belongings packed to get you through the rest of the three month period.

Simon’s mood had drastically improved following your arrival. As a matter of fact, he didn’t realize just how worse off he was without you. Fast forward to one month after your arrival, and with one more month left before the two of you were set to return, Simon had definitely gotten used to having you around.

“What do you think Johnny’s doing right now?” Simon suddenly asked, which made you raise a brow.

“I don’t know,” You laughed. “Why do you ask?”

“He does some odd stuff on leave. I was wondering what kind of stories we’ll get to hear when we go back.” Simon clarified.

“Who knows. It’s Soap,” You snorted. “I’m not exactly thinking about Soap at the moment.”

“Oh, yeah?” He purred, his fingers running through your hair. “What are you thinking about then?”

“You.”

Simon twitched when he felt the feather-like touch of your index fingertip trailing along the bone of his collar. It tickled him, and he hadn’t been expecting it. You were lovingly caressing him, staring at him with adoration. Simon had gotten used to you doing frivolous things like that. It freaked him out in the beginning, because he wasn’t used to someone doing an act of affection just because they felt like it.

You were following along the path of the scar that was on his collarbone. It was about three inches wide or so, and even though it had faded over time, it was still clear even in the barely lit bedroom.

“What is this one from?” You asked, propping up on your elbow to get a better look at it.

This one.

Simon almost laughed at the wording of your question. He wondered how many people were able to say that to their significant other. “This one” referred to the fact that he had multiple scars from multiple different injuries. It wasn’t conventional, but he found it amusing considering that you were in the same boat. A dangerous career meant dangerous encounters. It was impossible not to have some scars here and there.

“I think that one was when I got stabbed by the Russian last fall,” He said. “Remember him?”

Simon also found it funny that he wasn’t even totally certain if that was how he earned that one. When someone had as many as he did, the reasons behind them sometimes blended together.

“Oh, yeah. He was a big dude.” You shuddered.

Simon chuckled. That was putting it lightly. He watched as you scanned over his frame, trying to locate another one that you were (or maybe weren’t familiar with).

In so many ways, you enjoyed his company as well. Seeing Simon in such a casual setting was new for you. It was refreshing to know that he really was like everyone else. He enjoyed watching sports games, ordering takeout, and spending a lazy day at home just like you did.

Not to mention the major elephant in the room, Simon didn’t wear the mask at home.

This was the longest extended period of time that you had seen him without the mask. Here and there he had put his balaclava on, but for the most part – he had been maskless. Of course you had seen him without a mask before this – but only twice. The first time had been a complete accident, and the second had been intentional in Simon’s first show of trust to you in private.

Even though his bedroom’s only source of light was currently coming from the streets below and outside of his apartment, you could see his face as clear as ever. He was so beautifully handsome. It was amazing to you that there were so few people that knew what he looked like. You knew better than to comment on that. He never gave more than a vanilla answer to any kind of statement regarding the mask.

But that didn’t stop you from trying.

“You’re so cute without the mask.” You hummed, finding a small scar just between his nose and the apple of his left cheek.

“Oh, don’t start with all that.” He groaned, but the pink flush in his cheeks let you know that he liked it just a teeny bit.

“Come on,” You whined. “What about this one? Did you take a knife tip to the face in a struggle?”

“That’s from the first time shaving on my own, darling,” He almost laughed. “How else would I have a scar on my face?”

“What do you mean?” You quirked your head.

“I wear the mask, my lovely. Not exactly easy to take damage to the face.”

You supposed that did make sense, and you didn’t dwell on it long.

“This one is from the fire in that shack in Mexico, right?” You pointed towards a burn scar on the skin of his right bicep.

“Yeah, because the shape is similar to the scar you have on your forearm.” He remarked.

Instinctively, you raised your right forearm to compare the two scars. Sure enough, they were nearly the same shape and size.

“Well…mine is from a hot curling iron,” You snorted. “That’s the one that sticks out to you? Not the scar from metal shrapnel in my knee or from when I got shot in the side in France?”

“It’s the one I remember best because it looks just like mine.” He explained.

‘You know, they say soulmates have matching scars.’ Something that Simon had said to you once in passing. You had taken it as a joke, but Simon couldn’t have been more serious.

“They’re hardly the same.” You smiled.

“A burn is a burn.” He shrugged.

It was a bit of a weird game, he would admit. The two of you did this every so often, comparing scars and reminiscing on how you got them. In a way, it was therapeutic. It also reminded you to be thankful that it wasn’t the injury that made you meet your demise.

You and Simon both shared scars from stab wounds, gunshot wounds, burns, and cuts of varying degrees. It came with the territory, and it was almost like trophy collecting at this point. The two of you had grown accustomed to them, and most of the time you didn’t even notice them anymore.

Simon never minded letting you ogle over him in an attempt to find a mark that you hadn’t noticed before. He found it endearing, perhaps a little unfair because he knew there wasn’t a single part of you that he hadn’t noticed already.

Simon felt you examine his torso and legs, scanning over him carefully for another scar to ask about. Not a part of him went unsearched (including his face, where he greedily stole kisses when you got close). You studied his shoulders, biceps (spending a little extra time there – it had always been your favorite part of him), and elbows all the way down to his forearms.

He didn’t think much of it. Not until he felt your fingers dance over a certain scar that sent his blood from rushing warm to ice cold. A million signals traveled through his system at once – a defense mechanism of sorts.

“What’s this one?” You touched over a mark on his forearm that was much more distinctive than the rest.

It wasn’t remarkably large. It was about the size of a dime, maybe a tad smaller. But its shape wasn’t like anything you had ever seen on yourself or anybody for that matter. It was just barely risen above the skin, and based on the goosebumps that had appeared on his arm – you knew this one was special.

“That one is…older.” He spoke, his voice lower and much more guarded.

You removed your fingers from it because even though he didn’t say it, you could tell that he didn’t like you touching it. The few times that you had accidentally hit a sore spot for him, he put this quick wall up. Identifying it had become easy for you. Pressing forward usually didn’t seem like the best idea, but ignoring it wasn’t very helpful either.

“Older…?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He nodded, voice neutral and deep. “My father smoked.”

Your eyes took another glance at it, using context clues to put the pieces together. What you knew of his father (and you would confess that it was very little) painted him to be the most evil, sinister person to ever walk the planet. Simon had divulged small details here and there, a childhood story every now and again. Needless to say, you knew that his father (and his younger days in general) were not the highlights of his life.

“Oh,” You swallowed, a queasy feeling overtaking your stomach. “I’m sorry.”

Simon’s dark brown eyes met your downcast ones at the sound of your voice being so retracted and soft. Simon could read you like a book. He didn’t want you feeling guilty for asking questions that you had no way of knowing the answer to. You were the last person that he wanted to be uncomfortable at his expense.

“Hey,” He shifted to also sit up on his elbow. “Not your fault. You didn’t know.”

What was ironic was that cigarette burn was the most minor damage left behind by his father. It was something that he could forget…and most of the time he did. The physical injuries were a blip. It was the other stuff – the more hurtful, intense, and…psychological stuff that took the hardest toll on him.

“What happened? When he…burned you?” You continued cautiously.

Simon didn’t blame you for asking questions. If it were the other way around and he knew that someone had hurt you, he’d want to know everything too. But the fact of the matter was that it was buried so far deep in his past that he hardly felt any real reason to dwell on it. Maybe it was his way of deflecting, avoiding old feelings that he never quite came to terms with.

“Darling, I…it’s not personal, I just…” He sighed, unsure of how to gently turn your question down. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

You gave an understanding nod, knowing that line wasn’t ready to be crossed.

“I just feel like I always bring up bad memories for you.” You nearly whispered.

“You don’t. Most of the time I bring it up on my own,” He assured you. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you sure?” You squeaked.

He gave a genuine smile, one that was usually hidden by a skull-adorned fabric.

“Positive,” He pulled you back into his side. “After all, why focus on the past when you could focus on the future?”

“And what do you have in mind, Lieutenant?” You snickered.

He rolled over, hovering over you and trapping you between himself and the mattress.

“Something I think you’ll really go for, Gecko.”

“Mm. Using my call sign? Must be really important.” You went on.

“Something like that.” He kissed you then, keeping you from asking any more questions on that subject.

Simon knew that with time, he’d be more willing to talk about his father. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you with that information. Quite the opposite, actually. But in a certain way, not talking about it made Simon feel like it wasn’t real. If he never brought it up, then he could keep it in the past – where it belonged. He didn’t want his past to define his future, and keeping his past alive wasn’t of any interest to him.

He wasn’t lying when he said he’d rather focus on the future. He was so much more in tune with you and continuing what you had than anything else in his life. He liked the Ghost and Gecko dynamic, and he was forever grateful for the utter joy it had brought to him. Most importantly, he was forever thankful for the love being shown to him that he had missed out on.

The love that you had shown him.

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bunnyreaper · 6 months

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guy fawkes/bonfire night with the 141

(mild nsfw/18+, mostly fluffy though)

as the resident demolitions expert, you best believe johnny has that shit on lock. he refuses to go to an organised display because he just knows he can do way better. his job gives him the expertise and access to anything he might need (and ghost secretly helps him assemble anything else if they need to skirt the law just a lil)

he ends up with a massive cache of intricately rigged up fireworks all perfectly timed--johnny had been planning it on and off for half the year, working on preparing for all of october and pulling late nights leading up to november 5th.

he bonds/flirts with you by begging you to help him a little with the set up. of course you don't really know enough to help, but you hold things for him, give him encouragement and listen to his excited rambles after you make sure to ask questions to get him going.

when the big night finally comes, he's setting off remote detonators with glee, pulling you into his body as the two of you watch the display. you get lost watching the sparkle in his eyes--both his passion and the flurry of sparkling explosions.

the sex that night is even more frantic than usual, johnny filled with excitable energy after watching all the blasts.

simon is in charge of the bonfire and is very territorial about it. starts collecting huge amounts of wood early on and setting it all up in the field behind the barracks. the whole thing is stacked PERFECTLY, structurally sound as fuck and to go up in a barrage of flames.

he'd love to make "guys" to set up on the bonfire, leaning into his goofy side. some of them have masks just like him, some of them have printed out faces as your enemies, one of them has hastily sewn in features that look a LOT like soap... but simon swears it's just coincidence when the scot loses his mind looking at it.

he's happy you have to quietly tag along as he sets up, and occasionally indulges you in chat as the two of you carry piles of wood back and forth. of course he keeps jokes for the occasion in his back pocket.

on the night he lights the fire, steps back and admires his work as he hugs you from behind, cradling you as he rests his head on the top of yours and the two of you listen to the crackle of flames as they lick up the sides of the structure. as the night goes on, his hands start to wander over your body and his lips find their way to your neck, making you burn hotter than the fire did.

john is on general dad duty ensuring safety, but more importantly he's pn hot chocolate duty. his recipe is a special one (and yes there's a bit of whiskey in there of course) passed on from his mother and his grandmother.

he's insistent on everyone having a thermos filled with it, to keep you warm and to enjoy the start of winter properly. of course while handing out the flasks he tells stories of bonfires he saw as a kid.

he invited you along with him while he worked in the kitchen, allowing you to be the only one to know about his secret addition to the drink (you'd giggled and encouraged him to add more, as well as making him do a shot as he prepared the other drinks).

the two of you had a blast shoving the whipped cream can into the thermos to fill it up with the topping--and price had definitely squirted some on your face.

he also put you in one if his oversized jackets, wrapped a scarf around you and made sure you were covered in layers of clothes and hats and gloves. he didnt want you getting cold even for a split second. the coat smells just like him as he leads you out into the field hand in hand, his other holding a bag with your hot chocolate filled thermos' in.

when you make it back to your room after all the festivities, he makes sure to warm you up properly, pinning you to the bed making you feel drunker than the whiskey-filled beverage did.

kyle takes point on setting up a cozy space for you all, but especially for you. he knows exactly what he has in mind to make the night just perfect for you. he sets up a little lean-to or two, lays down a picnic spread and fills it with all the warmest and comfiest blankets and cushions for you to lounge on. he strings dimmed fairy lights across the top, lays some lanterns around the outside and creates the most enchanting little set up imaginable.

he does it all because he knows it'll make your night, your month, your year. yes the guys will be there two but this is all for you, because he knows something so pretty and aesthetic and cozy will make your heart so happy.

he makes sure to help you snap photos of the comfy space, making sure the memory is never forgotten, but mentions that he has one final thing before you all get comfortable and wrapped up in the blankets.

he has a stack of sparklers waiting for you, as he knows they're one of your favourite parts of the occasion. two two of you take cute photos with the sparklers, with kyle showing you how to make the trail show up by giving the shot a long exposure time, of course the two of you draw hearts together.

later on when you're cuddled up, maybe his hand sneaks under the blanket and finds your clit, making sure you really see sparks.

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf 141 x reader #bunny writes

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babygirl-riley · 8 months

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Office Times

You were bored after finishing your paperwork from the last mission. So you paid a visit to your boyfriend to relieve some “paperwork” for him.

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

A/N: I saw a post by @adaelines asking for someone to do a story about cockwarming paperwork scenario with our boi Ghost. Here is a poll to either make this into a series or another one. So go vote!

Warnings: SMUT, cockwarming, dominate!simon, domainate!ghost, piv, mask kink, voice kink, choking kink, rough sex,, pinning, swearing

simon x reader guide

Ghostly Ruins series

You signed the last part of paperwork that was stack on your desk. Making sure everything was correct and read to be turned in to the Captain tomorrow. The mission was easy, capture and take, grab the target take them back to base and interrogate. Both checked and checked, now was the paperwork part of it, which you hated.

However, your boyfriend Ghost, made a deal that once you both finished that there would be some gift for you. Which drove you to it quick, you knew what that meant, you knew exactly what it meant. Usually it would mean basically non stop of sex. With missions like this one, there is pent up emotions and stress that both of you let go of.

So now you were here, sitting in his lap, your pants and panties thrown across the room, his cock inside you. You got him hard by sucking his cock under the desk, as Soap talked to him about next steps. When he left he glared at you before pulling you up and ripping your clothes off. When you would move, he would grip your hips stilling you. Grunting before continuing his paperwork. You whined wanting more movement. More everything. “Sim…”

He gripped you throat still having his other hand on your hip. “You have to stay still, punishing you isn’t what I was intending tonight,” he whispered squeezing a bit more. “Sit pretty and let me finish.”

You nodded hastily and felt his hand leave your throat as you heard scribbling. “I could have you finish in other ways.” You whispered nipping his clothed ear.

He growled. Growled. Shifting his hips making you whine and grin from the movement. “I’m givin you one more warning before that pretty cunt will be pounded.” He hissed passing one of the sheets of paper to the other pile.

You moaned from irritation, you seriously were desperate to get some sort of friction. You stared over your shoulder to see the last part of paperwork. Your pulse jumped, feeling the excitement, your pussy fluttering. Simon moaned loudly. “Fucking hell baby,” Right when he was done putting the paper to the side. He picked you up from your ass to place you on the desk. He slid his cock out to slam into you. “Such a needy minx.”

You gasped at the sudden thrusts he was doing. Slamming harder and harder, making the desk squeak a bit. “I…I needed…ugh.” You stuttered gripping his tattooed arm. It was all too much finally getting what you been wanting.

Simon chuckled as he slammed harder and his pace becoming faster. “Fucking can’t talk huh? Been…fuck…been wanting my fat cock.”

You nodded your head gasping for air, repeating his name. He gripped your throat and leaned down towards your face. “Open love,” You opened your mouth as you watched him pull his mask up to slowly spit into your mouth. You could taste the cigarette he had not too long ago, mixed with the coffee. You moaned as you swallowed. “Fuck y/n.” He moved his hips into you before pulling out and flipping you over.

You giggled as he slapped your ass a couple of times. You wiggled your hips to taunt him. Simon growled before slapping again. “Ya gonna be the fucking death of me lovie.”

Before you could say anything he shoved his cock right back in. You gasped as you gripped the end of the desk. You gasped dipping your head down to the desk. “F-Fuck.” You mumbled feeling his cock mold into your tight pussy.

Simon grunted gripping you hips more, for sure going to have marks. He was still for a moment before slowly backing his hips to slam right into you. You whined as he repeated the process, he let out short grunts. “Not listening lovie-mph-gives you slower place yeah?” He mumbled continuing to do the agonizing slow pace.

You nodded you head. “Please Simon.” You begged panting want more, you wanted him to fuck you so hard that you couldn’t walk. “‘M sorry.” You babbled at that point trying to slam you ass into his pelvis so you could get more.

Simon chuckled reaching down to grab your neck, pulling you up to his chest. “Yeah? You’re sorry?”

You looked behind your shoulder staring at him in his brown eyes. They were bearing into yours, full of lust. You pussy clenched seeing his 5 o clock shadow, his lips parted. His mask only up to his nose. “Yes please pleasepleaseplease baby I need…”

Simon’s hand gripped tighter, as your eyes rolled and your pussy clenched around him. He moaned behind you as he licked your neck and biting it. He stopped his movements. “‘ight since you begged so nicely.”

Next thing you knew it he pins your arms behind you back and pushes you back into the desk. Setting a brutal pace, you could hear the desk being scrapped a bit on the floor. You moaned as the pain from your arms started to have that lovely dull. Simon kissed your back as he kept going. “My love…fuck begging for my cock…Ah that’s right let everyone hear who you belong to.” he whispers against your ear, taking a nip at it.

The sounds that came from your pussy and his cock was beautiful noise. Both of your juices mixing together as you both chased your highs. You starting to pant more and the groans became louder. “I’m-Fuck I’m close.” You moaned.

His fingers went to your clit, letting go of your arms. “I’m close as well lovie. Cum all over me.” He grunted, picking up more of the pace.

You could see stars, you swore that your soul left your body as the band snapped within you. You pussy convulsing around his cock, making him whimper. “Fuck…Fuckfuckfuck.” He moaned loudly before pushing his cock all the way in.

You felt his cum paint your walls. You sighed feeling both yours and his drip down your thighs. He laid against your back, kissing your shoulder blades until his cock was soft. You both hissed as he pulled out putting his pants back on.

You stayed there for a moment before standing up, you could feel your muscles sore already. Grabbing your clothes Simon gently grabbed your wrist. “Sit lovie, I’ll take care of ya.”

#Spotify #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #call of duty mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut

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granddaughterogg · 3 months

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You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned.

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard.

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers.

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm.

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling.

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight.

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked."

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute."

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards.

"Did you just say that I look like shit?"

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time.

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath.

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant.

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size.

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush.

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins:

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices."

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle.

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled.

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

#ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost modern warfare #ghost simon riley #reader x ghost #simon ghost riley smut #ghost is a fuckboy #the mask stays on #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader

239 notes · View notes

writingoddess1125 · 6 months

Text

Jealous Much

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FemReader

SPICY ❤️‍🔥 GOOD SPICY SAUSAGE

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Hard Sex, Not really but just in case Domcon, Unprotected sex. Fingering fem receiving.

Please support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

It had all started out so innocently...

Being the head doctor at such a large Base you were stationed at ment you delt with many people- A revolving door of bodies coming in to be treated by your skilled hands, but it seemed that people often got the wrong idea when it came to you and your job.

That and you were a pretty cute.

The evening had started out well, You were about to finish your shift and call it a evening to get started on the pile of paperwork on your desk, Their wasnt a lot on staff tonight anyway and most teams out on missions- As you prepared to start your pager went off and you groaned, looking directly at the device on your hip and went to your treatment room next door to your office. Seeing in the large room was non other TF 141, the group often darkening your door with their antics.

"Ah my Best Customers I see- What can I help you with?" You say cheerfully, always prideful in your bedside manner.

"He got blown off the back of the truck-" Soap said calmly gesturing to Gaz who looked- well like he'd been blown off a truck and into sand-

"Oh, Well let's get you cleaned up and checked out" You say softly, helping him from the vest and shirt to check the damage. Fortunately most of the injuries were superficial and the vest look the brunt of the hits.

Gaz stared at you starry eyed, watching how you patched him up and moved with grace around him- That and the slightly tighter scrubs didn't hurt his imagination. He'd had his eye on you for a while, every since he had seen you weeks prior.

"Thank you (Y/L/N)- You know I got to ask what kind of food do you like?" He asked, his lips turning up in a smile. Your hands freezing for a moment as you raised a man.

"Pardon?"

"Food. I'd like to know what you like, a Thank you dinner if you will" He said, The team surprised by the Balls of Kyle to openly and infront of them all ask you out.

"I'm flattered but no- I don't go out like that" You say innocently, Kyle deflating as you finished patching him up.

"What about a few drinks at the pub-"

"Gaz-" Ghost all but hissed, snapping the poor man back to reality with a pout. You chuckle at this and pat the poor man's shoulder, thanking him for the offer but refusing non the less.

Dismissing yourself politely to go and get started on the paperwork.

"Damn You did't have a chance Kyle- I've heard stories that her legs are welded shut. People trying to get at her for years" Soap said with a sad sigh to his clearly love struck friend, however in their conversation they didn't see Ghost eyes practically glowing in silent rage as he watched them leave.

In your office you sighed, feeling quite embarrassed by Gaz so upfrontly asking you out to dinner. It was sweet but you knew it would only cause trouble- the sound of your office door locking snapped you from your mind, looking up in a panic you stop the large figure standing in your office. Ghost.

"Simon? What are you-" He waved off your words as he walked over to your desk, Warmth blooming on your face as he grabbed you a bit roughly from your seat and forced you across the desk.

"S-Si I'm still at work you cant-" You were cut off as he pressed his fingers harshly against your clothed core, rubbing circles over the thin blue fabric.

"I know- How many times have they looked at you like that?" He growled, you could practically hear the jealousy rolling from his tongue as he spoke. You whimper as you feel his free hand slide down you scrubs and panties in one motion.

"Thought about you bent over this very desk"

His fingers slid into you easily began to move slowly, almost teasingly inside you to stretch you out. "Not knowing youre mine, aren't you?" Simon asked, his voice low and on edge.

"Yes Sir~"

You replied, barely able to breathe from the intensity of his touch. "Good girl" He said, pulling his fingers out and smacking your ass hard enough that it stung.

Standing close behind you, rubbing his cock against your now sore ass. You felt him push into you, Inch by inch slowly and wjth care as if he wanted you to feel every bit kf it, Bottoming out quickly with a huff. Slowly he began to move slow at first, but each thrust getting harder than the last.

"Oh fuck-!" You whimper out legs shaking as you have to bite back a loud cry of bliss. The soilder thrusts faster and harder into your aching cunt, his fingers digging into your bare hips, his breath coming in short pants.

"That's it, Good Girl" He growls out.

He pulls his hand away from your red hip and grips the back of your neck, holding you still whilst he pounds into you. You feel the muscles in your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm builds and the grip from Simon damn near makes your head fuzzy. You could feel the heat building inside you, and knew you were so close to cumming so quickly. But Simon didn't stop. He pushed himself deeper into you, harder and faster as he felt you walls flutter around him.

He began to hiss, grunting your name in your ear as his hips desperately shuttered against yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the room along with your wimpering desperate sweet moans.

You mindlessly blabbering out his name as like prayers, his hand quickly flying from your neck and covered your lips to keep you quiet, smirking at feeking you tighten by the action.

"That's it~"

He grunted against your ear, rolling his hips in just the perfect way that he knew you liked, feeling your legs shake as you screamed out against his hand in bliss, cumming all over his cock. The man only able to give a few weakened thrust into you as his own hips shook.

Feeling Simon bury himself deeply into you- Deeper then you'd ever felt before as he moaned in your ear and came, Warmth filling you as you whimpered against his gloved hand. Simon panted hard above you, pulling his hand away finally from your face he carefully pulled out of you, You giving a soft whine as he did so.

You laid there, panting hard as the crashes of your orgasm made your legs weak as you leaned over the desk for dear life, the cool wood like heaven on your scorched skin.

You felt gentle kisses up your neck as Simon pulled your panties back up and smoothed your scrubs back down like he hadnt disturbed it at all.

"You with me Love?" He said softly in your ear- you humming and nodding as Simon helped you back to your feet and set you so you were seated on the desk, you trying to keep the wave of cum from spilling from you.

"You know, you can just have me change my last name. I'm sure people wouldn't dare flirt with Mrs. Riley" You point out with a smirk, Simon giving you a half cooked glare as he fixed himself back in his pants and grabbed for his mask which he had tossed off mid action.

"Could be dangerous if people found out my wife was on base- Or they could station you elsewhere" He said, Walking over and running his large hand over your thickened thighs.

"It's dangerous either way, Besides someone is bound to find out.. Or I get sent back home if you end up knocking me up-" You point out, especially since Simon had cum inside you and knew damn well you weren't on the pill. He smirked at this and kissed you gently on the lips, a twinkle of mischief in his eye-

"Now that would be a sight~" He purred out, planting kisses on your neck as you giggled at his antics.

"Now that would be something worth takin' a risk on~" He whispered in your ear as you were picked up, getting a surprised yelp from you as he laid the both of you down on the floor of the office.

"You serious about this?~" You say Grinning up at your husband as you were laid on your medical coat on the floor. Simon nodding as he began to pull off your shirt.

"Deadly~" He purred out before the sounds of you and him giggling echoed through the office- Clothes now being tossed off fully for the next round.

Just outside your locked office door stood a horrified Soap, he had gotten there in the middle of the action holding Gaz Vest which had been forgotten and he had a few questions for you, Shocked at hearing the apparent good doctor was getting her back blown out in her own office-

However after hearing what he's just heard and the fear of discovering LT Ghost wife and hearing the unmistakable voice of his LT.. this was a fear he didnt know he needed to have. He slowly began to step away from the door as silently as possible-

He had to warn Gaz of whatever storm was coming his way for hitting on the LT wife and He really didn't want to be there for the making of baby Riley-

373 notes · View notes

mistydeyes · 9 months

Note

Running mascara: I can't believe you would say that to me prompt 🙏

thank you for submitting @glitteryeggalmondherring! i thought since you didn't specify a particular character, why not give everyone some angst!

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration! - closed now! thank you all for your submissions

prompt: running mascara - "i can't believe you would say that to me"

read pt.ii here!

pairing: Task force 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, ANGST, verbal abuse, mention of depression and mental illness, literally all the 141 SUCKS in this so be warned

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price

Whenever John returned home, you would always try to wait up for him. However as he rose the ranks and eventually became Captain to his men, you grew tired of his inconsistency and waiting on the couch until the sun rose. This time, you settled into bed before letting him know there would be leftovers in the oven for him. Your slumber was interrupted by your husband entering the bed angrily. "Welcome home, John," you smiled as you turned to him but he didn't return your affection. He looked at you silently as your eyes adjusted to the darkened room. "Something the matter?" you asked gently and you tried to hold his hand before he pulled away. "All I want is to come home to a nice cooked meal and my wife but all I got was some shitty leftovers," he spat at you and you couldn't help but feel hurt at his tone. Before you could apologize he continued on his rant. "Why the fuck do I even serve if my wife can't even do her basic duty in the kitchen?" At this, you ripped the covers off and grabbed your phone and keys. You looked at him angrily before leaving. "I don't know when you became such a misogynistic asshole but you can expect fucking nothing from me going forward," you yelled back, "I can't believe you would say that to me." Before he could respond, you slammed the door and headed off to a friend's place for the night.

soap

Despite being the life of the party, Johnny somehow always took it too far. Whether it was an embarrassing story told to friends or a dirty joke, you made sure to tell him that it made you uncomfortable. He would apologize and kiss you gently before promising to be more civil next time. With Johnny, it was always a promise of next time and never an acknowledgment of the fact. This time, you were giving him the silent treatment after he had told a mortifying story to his teammates. "I can tell you’re mad," he called as you walked into the bathroom. You stared at him angrily as you went about your nightly routine. "I am mad, Johnny, why would you tell them that?" you said defeated, and to your tone, he laughed slightly. "Bonnie, it was a good story!" The "story" in question was a 5-minute long retelling of how you bled through your shorts and stained the tram's seat. Even Simon told Johnny to stop as you sat silent and blushing. He continued to laugh as you shoved him away and walk to the bedroom. "God you are such a fucking buzzkill, you know that?" he said, frustrated, and you whipped your head around. "I can't believe you would say that to me," you yelled back and before he could apologize, you slammed and locked the bedroom door.

gaz

The primary cause of most of your fights with Kyle was finances. Guess money was the root of all evil. Despite his comfortable wage as a Sergeant and yours at a well-paying company, he always managed to make you feel bad about your purchases. Now, he was starting an argument about the recent pile of parcels at the door. "You're bleeding money!" he exclaimed as he held them in his hands. Despite reminding him of your recent bonus, he couldn't help but throw them at your feet. "Why are you always buying things?" he demanded and you looked up at him. "Kyle, I have my own salary, I can buy what I want," you corrected but he kept berating you. He acted as if you were creating a hole in his wallet and that you hadn't contributed to bills. "Every time I come home, there's always something waiting for you," he continued, "you sit here and just spend all my goddamn money." You stood up at this point and leveled with your enraged fiancé. "Kyle," you said and he looked at you angrily, "I make these purchases on my card, I don't know why you're acting like it's the end of the world." "Because," he sneered at you, "I risk my life and limb and my lazy fiancee just sits at home and online shops." You couldn't help but raise a hand to your mouth in a mixture of disgust and surprise. "I can't believe you would say that to me," you said in a quiet tone before you grabbed your things and headed out the door. As he tried to stop you, you turned to him in a final act of anger. "Fuck you and your goddamn savior complex."

ghost

As the door slammed to your flat, you knew Simon was in one of his moods again. You braced yourself as he entered the living room. "Bad day, love?" you asked gently and he nodded before sitting down next to you. "They tried to get me to go to fucking therapy again," he groaned and you placed a reassuring touch to his shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that," you replied and he threw his head back in annoyance. "They keep telling me I have issues," he said with large quotation marks as you held your breath. You knew Simon had a rough past and often held your tongue when he berated therapy and antidepressants. However, he always seemed to forget your previous history and neglected your feelings about the benefits of therapy. Nevertheless, you always entertained his frustrations and offered him comfort when needed. "I'm not some depressed fucker who needs to be medicated," he said cynically, "I'm not fucking weak like them." With that last statement, you couldn't help but let your hand drop from his shoulders. "I can't believe you would say that to me," you whispered and his eyes widened at his statement, you got up from the couch. "You can fucking sleep out here, Simon," you spat before he shuddered at the slamming of the bedroom door.

#madebyizzie #cod mwii #mw2 imagine #task force 141 #mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #call of duty #mw2 headcanons #izzie celebrates 1k

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pettyprocrastination · 9 months

Text

Taste Test

Pairing: Line Cook!Simon Riley x Line Cook!Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon is warned by his manager about the dangers of a workplace romance. You are asked for your opinion on seasoning.

Warnings: profanity and smoking.

Wordcount: 1.3k

Note: take this silly little thing as an apology for my utter lack of activity lately I'm so sorry yall! Made simon a linecook as a little joke au but now its kinda stuck in my head and not leaving lmao. Big thank you to @madhyanas @thesadvampire and @yeehaw-djarin for being my beta readers and editors for this story! I smooch you all <3

__________________

Simon had just finished plating his sixth steak of the night when the manager, Elise, a woman with twitching hands and cold eyes, pokes her head into the kitchen and barks his name.

“My office.”

The others snicker and bump shoulders like schoolboys, calling out a jested “fuck did you do this time, Riley?” that he doesn’t bother answering with words so much as a choice hand gesture thrown into the air before he ducks under the door frame and disappears down the hall.

“You want to tell me what I’m getting chewed out for?” Simon rasps as he tucks his hands into the front pocket of his apron, scarred fingers curling around the carton of cigarettes tucked within it.

Elise’s office is hardly bigger than the pantry, just large enough for a rickety desk piled with bills and a chair with a threadbare cushion that was all but pressed flat.

“I’m not reprimanding you, Simon.”

“Is that so?”

“Think of what I’m about to say as-” Elise tilts her head, flashing him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “A preventive measure.”

Simon fishes out a lighter from his back pocket as she continues. She doesn’t have the energy to tell him to stop.

“What do you think of the new hire?”

Truthfully, nothing.

You don’t talk much outside of work. While the other cooks are content to crack jokes and tell stories of their weekend to one another as they prepare meals, you have no such social connection to anybody within the kitchen. The only moments Simon had even heard your voice was the rushed announcement of your position behind somebody or when coming around the corner.

“She’s fine.” He takes a slow drag of his cigarette and exhales, smoke curling from his lips as he speaks. “Does her job and doesn’t bitch like the others.”

“She’s more than fine.” Elise motions to a stapled pack of paper on her desk.

“Kid went to culinary school, trained under some big fucking names and even worked at some five-star joints before coming here. All her previous employers say she’s a hard worker who picks up shifts and doesn’t cause trouble.”

She picks up the paper and points it towards the six foot four cook hunched in her doorway.

“Which is exactly why I’m telling you now that she is off-fucking-limits to you.”

Simon bites down on his cigarette. “S’cuse me?”

“Don’t play coy, Riley. You’re far too fucking grown to pretend you don’t know what you do.”

He does know. Simon is more than aware of the past flings he’s had with multiple servers, none of which have ended on a positive note and all of which resulted in a souring work environment until they up and quit - leaving front of house understaffed until the next poor bastard walked through the door asking about the Help Wanted sign hung outside.

But the blame can’t be on him entirely, that is. Each doe-eyed waitress entered a fling with the cook knowing good and well what his intentions were, because he had no issue with saying it right to their face.

‘I’m not looking for a relationship.’

Simon is a blunt man. He tells people what he wants because in a world full of dragging feet and double entendres, he values efficiency and honesty above all else.

“Listen, I’ve never stopped you from dipping your hand in the cookie jar before, but this?” She waves your resume in front of him again. “This right here? Off-limits. If you run this poor girl out and leave us understaffed for the Sunday rush I will fucking gut you myself, Simon.”

It’s only been a week and a half since you’ve started working with them. Part of him wants to laugh at Elise’s exasperated accusation. That somehow, in the midst of chaotic shifts where several customers complain and a few bar patrons get rowdy enough for him to have to drag them out by the collar, he’d be able to find the fucking time to learn your goddamn name, let alone sweettalk his way between your legs.

But then he remembers the muffled laugh you hid in your sleeve yesterday when listening to the dishwasher crack jokes during the lunch rush and how you tap the side of your apron in a constant rhythm when looking for something within the kitchen. Simon interrupts his own thoughts and frowns, mildly surprised about just how much he noticed of you from the corner of his eye during the daily lunch rush. Had Elise said nothing, he wouldn’t have cast a second glance in your direction. But now?

“Simon! Are you listening?”

She may have just cursed herself.

“Yeah-” He stamps his cigarette out on the ceramic tray on her desk, offering her a dry clip of his voice before turning on his heel. “No fucking the new cook until we find coverage, got it.”

Simon narrowly avoids a stapler being thrown in his direction before ducking out of her office and back into the kitchen where his coworker grins at him from the sink.

“So? She fire your dumbass yet?”

Across the kitchen, you cut onions with a flicking wrist that never ceased movement, brows furrowed and mumbling to yourself.

Simon hums.

You’re quite pretty.

“Not yet.” He rumbles. “She likes my smile too much.”

You spare Simon a glance as he settles back into his work station next to you before you resume cutting. He notices there’s a scar on your bottom lip, a little sliver of raised skin that goes from the bottom of your chin to the swell of your lower lip.

“Hey.”

His voice shakes you from your focus, hands freezing as you turn to look at him, lightly craning your neck to meet his eyes.

Simon holds out a spoon to you, the other scarred hand hovering beneath to keep it from spilling.

“Mind giving your opinion? Can’t tell if it needs more garlic.”

There’s a moment where your brows cinch together and you look at him with caution, as if to sniff out any sort of deceit within his offer before you mumble, “Yeah, yeah, okay,” and lean forward.

There’s no need for him to feed you. You’re a fully grown woman who could take the spoon from his hand with no issue, but Simon finds himself guiding it to your mouth and letting his other hand tuck under your chin in an affectionate gesture far too intimate for the back kitchen of a local restaurant.

Simon is sure that Elise has cursed him too. He hadn’t given you a second glance or a spare thought since your first day. But now, he watches your eyes flutter shut as you hum at his cooking.

“Good?” he asks.

Your tongue darts out to catch a stray droplet of sauce on your lower lip. “Good.” Your lips purse like you have something more to say and you raise your hand, pinching your pointer finger to your thumb in a universal gesture.

“Could use just a bit more garlic though.”

There’s a brief moment after you speak where panic fills your eyes as Simon says nothing. Frantic thoughts fill your brain, wondering if that was some sort of test for the new hire that you had failed due to your own personal tastes until the man that towers over you nods.

“More garlic.” He echoes. With a short nod of his head, he turns back to his station without another word.

Simon doesn’t speak to you again for the rest of your shift yet at times during the night, where an unexpected pause takes over the kitchen for a brief but appreciated moment of silence, you feel his gaze on the back of your neck.

When the time of the night comes to hang up your apron and slip through the backdoor, he joins you without a word. A large looming shadow walking in step with your own, unexpected but not unwelcome. He bids you a rasped “ ‘Night” before turning to his car as you unlock your own, offering him a mimic of his words before you drive home.

You notice in the reflection of your rear view mirror that he doesn’t leave the parking lot right away. But rather chose to wait until you do to finally depart.

#line cook simon tag #nobody look at me im rusty lmao #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x fem reader #watch me find eight fucking typos the minute i post this lmao

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strangemagicc · 18 days

Text

Nobody Has To Know | Chapter Three

masterlist | <prev | next>

pairings: modern!brother’s best friend!Eddie x fem!Reader

summary: after a steamy morning you’re met with a pretty surprise.

author’s note: remember when I said it was going to be sour? 😀 just the slightest dose of upset, a tiny dose of what’s to come. I hope you enjoy this chapter, their story is just getting started 🖤 comments/reblogs and any type of feedback is always so appreciated 🫶🏻

w/c: 5.6k

warnings: cheating (technically not reader or Eddie), mentions of poverty (struggling to pay bills), drug use/underage drinking, discussions of illicit activities, and the tiniest / briefest hint of smut

Rays of sunlight attempted to push through the dense clouds swirling in the dark sky creating a pale glow amongst the gray expanse.

The air smelled of wet earth and mingled with the pungent smell of restaurant waste, a scent that clung to you in the humidity.

You plopped yourself onto one of the borrowed chairs, taken from the restaurant next door’s throwaway pile. Its purple velvet was still slightly damp from the earlier rainfall but you didn’t care, ignoring the way it soaked into the denim of your jeans.

It had been a busy day since Eddie had dropped you off. The afternoon rush had finally died down into a steady lull as the hours continued to tick by. Slow and agonizing but bringing you closer to when he picked you up just like he’d promised when he dropped you off.

You pressed a finger to your mouth tracing the plush flesh. Your body still vibrated long after you arrived at work, the ghost of Eddie’s touch still felt against your skin.

Against your lips. Like the low hum of electricity and every so often you caught yourself smiling. Cheeks warmed over remembering the way he felt pressed against you and it was so fucking distracting.

All day you’d made mistakes, thoughts partially in the clouds and barely on the tasks you needed to complete. Mind still scrambled with everything that had happened.

There was a war of feelings taking place in your chest, ricocheting against your skull. Consuming your every thought because it was only twenty-four hours ago that you were in a relationship.

Committed to a boy you thought you were going to marry.

And it was only a day ago that you had a best friend, someone you would’ve confided in about something like this.

About Simon.

About Eddie.

You tilted your chin to the sky, eyes closed as pictures of his amber gaze flashed across your eyelids.

Silence, sweet needed silence, engulfed you as you basked in the sun.

Slow even breaths escaped your lips as you enjoyed the way the rays felt against your skin, how the hot air washed over you and erased the tension that had made a home of your shoulders.

And despite the sweat building along your scalp, it felt like an oasis.

The back alley had become a haven away from the never-ending throngs of children that had infiltrated the cinema for the latest installment of Despicable Me.

Their incessant screams still rang in your ear, loud and shrill.

You couldn’t help but groan thinking about returning to your spot behind the concession stand, the minutes of your break going by faster than the rest of your shift.

The back door opened, the loud squeal of the metal interrupting your peace and you listened as heavy footsteps approached. Bracing.

“There you are, Little Lipton,” Eddie greeted and you sighed heavily at the nickname, throwing your head against the chair. Doing your best to ignore him as he approached, a smirk you couldn’t see playing on his lips as he watched you.

He noticed your loud silence, his crooked smile growing into a wide grin.

“Ignoring me, Lipton? That’s so unlike you,” his words dripped with sarcasm.

“Have you come to add to the torture I’ve already had to endure?” You questioned, slightly dramatic and still avoiding his gaze. Though you could feel the way it roamed over your features.

“The combination of screaming kids and sticky floors not your favorite?”

He plopped into the chair next to you, pounding the box of cigarettes against his palm.

“I’d say it’s right up there with you calling me Little Lipton,” you gestured in the air so he knew where he ranked.

“Remember when I said I had a talent to antagonize and annoy?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, sitting up in the chair.

“A real maestro of irritation and vexation,” you agreed, a tight smile on your lips when you finally looked at him.

“Ah, someone’s been reading a thesaurus,” he pointed at you with his cigarette before placing it between his lips and lighting its end.

You swallowed harshly and shifted your attention elsewhere, ignoring the way your heart thudded when you noticed how his brown eyes turned a pretty shade of honey under the sun’s rays.

His gaze remained focused on you. Smirking when your face twisted with sarcasm, mocking his words as you pulled your phone from your pocket.

Eddie noticed the way your eyes bulged as you hurriedly tapped a notification you’d received.

Your gaze darted across the screen as you read through an email detailing an upcoming independent film contest. One that you had been dying to enter for years and finally you were old enough to.

“You ok?” Eddie asked sincerely, wondering what had you so stricken.

You let out a loud groan as you neared the end of the email, dropping your phone into your lap. The deadline was four months away. You wouldn’t have enough money saved up by then. Not when half of your check went to helping with bills just as your brother’s did.

“I’m fine, nothing serious,” you shrugged, tucking your phone back into your pocket.

“Care to expand on the theatrics?”

You shook your head, settling into your thoughts. A silence took over you as you grasped at ideas to get the money, to enter the contest but came up short.

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, your frustration getting the best of you and Eddie didn’t ask, watching as you worked through the irritation. Waiting until you decided to share with him, if you decided to.

A few moments passed, Eddie taking drags off his cigarette while you stared into space. Antsy leg bouncing until you finally spilled.

“It’s just some stupid film contest I want to enter, it would get me some spare change for school and look good on my transcripts so I can get the hell out of here. Maybe even get my name outside of the Hawkins city limits,” you laughed.

Dare to dream.

“So what’s the problem?” He tapped the butt of his cigarette, ash falling off the lit end and onto the pavement.

“I don’t have a camera,” you shrugged, stating it simply.

“What happened to the one you had? Used to chase us around with that thing all the time,” He chuckled as he recalled the summer you made him act like the creature from the Lost Lagoon. Emerging from Lover’s Lake over and over again. Brown curls sopping wet sticking to his face, fingers and toes pruned.

The only camera you ever had was the one your dad gave to you for your eighth birthday, your most prized possession. The only thing he’d ever bought you.

“It broke. And I won’t have enough money saved up in time to fix it or to get a new one o-or to film something even worth submitting,” you sighed deeply and met his gaze, giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

It felt odd ranting to Eddie, talking to him about things you’d only ever revealed to your best friend.

He knew of your circumstances, your history and you knew of his. There were worse things the both of you had endured.

“But there’s always next year, right?” You stated, trying to change the subject. Trying not to look like you were throwing a pity party or seeking out sympathy.

He didn’t buy your faux optimism but he grinned and nodded in agreement.

“Always next year.”

“(Y/N)?”

You tensed at the sound of the familiar voice, eyes widening as you lowered your chin. Simon’s familiar blue gaze stared back at you, hesitancy evident in his stiff shoulders and the way he kept a few feet between the two of you.

“What are you doing here?”

It was as though everything had shifted, Simon more a stranger to you than he had ever been.

You peered at his face, the bags under his eyes more prominent. A brush of lavender bleeding into his fading summer tan. He hadn’t shaved, the stubble of his growing beard creating a shadow along his jaw. The one you used to trace while the two of you lay in your bed or when you were a passenger in his car on those sporadic drives into Indianapolis.

The one that Rachel held last night.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, shoving his hands into the pocket of his baby blue hoodie, the one you bought him two years ago.

“You haven’t been responding to my texts,” he shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Staring at the gravel.

The silence between you was heavy, palpable, and there were a million things you could say.

A million that you wanted to but it all felt pointless.

“I’m at work, Simon.”

He nodded, jaw clenching as he swallowed the emotion climbing up from his chest.

“Well, looks like you’re on break right now.”

He shrugged and you scoffed, rolling your eyes. Pushing your back off the chair as your heart rate sped up. Venom coating your tongue.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

��No?” He looked at you now, deep blues glittering with anger as he pulled his hands from his hoodie. Holding them up at his side in disbelief. As though it were obvious that you had plenty to talk about.

“How about the fact that you left with Eddie Munson last night?”

And you hated the way he said Eddie’s name with a hint of disgust.

You laughed incredulously, shaking your head and looking up at the muddied blue sky. He really didn’t know that you knew…or he wasn’t going to give it up. Wasn’t going to confess.

The silence stretched on as he waited for you to respond, as you worked up the courage to confront him.

Images of him and Rachel played back in your head like a bad movie and the emotion you’d ignored settled into your sternum.

“How long have you been fucking my best friend?”

You looked back at him and watched the way his gaze grew, round like saucers. The way his mouth dropped open and his hands fell to his side, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His complexion grew a shade paler.

“W-what are you talking about?” He stammered, his words just above a whisper.

The laugh that escaped you couldn’t be helped and you slapped your knee as though you hadn’t heard anything funnier, as though there weren’t tears springing to the corners of your eyes.

“Don’t bother lying,” your laugh died down and you stood, not moving towards him. Folding your arms across your chest.

He didn’t respond, cheeks blooming a deep red. A crease forming between his brows.

“I saw you, both of you! How long, Simon?” The emotion was evident in your words, the air between you had grown heavier.

“Four months,” he whispered and it felt like your stomach dropped because even though you had been with Eddie this morning it did not stop the heartbreak you felt finally facing the truth.

That your relationship was over.

That you no longer had a boyfriend or a best friend.

“Four months,” you repeated, nodding your head as the truth settled over you.

“You’ve been sleeping with my best friend for four months and have the audacity to be mad at me because I haven’t texted you? Because I got a ride from Eddie after I saw the two of you? Why the fuck would I want to talk to you!”

It wasn’t the full truth but it was all he deserved to hear.

“We wanted to tell you,” he stepped toward you, hand extended and instinctively you moved away from him, knocking into the chair behind you.

“So you’re a ‘we’ now?”

He didn’t respond, guilt written on his face.

“Well, now you’ve told me,” you sniffled, shrugging your shoulder before turning back towards the employee door, hand reaching for the doorknob.

“Stop texting me, and tell your girlfriend to leave me alone too.”

You didn’t wait for a response, pulling the door open and stepping into the cool manufactured air that smelled of buttered popcorn.

Anger coursed through you and your heart thrummed violently in your chest. Nausea crept into your throat, your mouth watering and vomit threatened to make your day much worse.

“Lipton!” You jolted at the sound of Huntzberger’s booming voice and pressed your back against the cool metal door for stability.

Or maybe it would just be Mark that made it worse.

“Yes, sir?” you turned to him with tense shoulders, anticipating what he was going to say. You’d nearly gone your entire shift without conflict but, of course, he had to be there to live up to your expectations.

To make sure a day didn’t go by where he wasn’t scolding you.

He perched against the counter of the concession stand, calling you over with a tilt of his head and you obliged, approaching his tall frame warily. Hands clasped behind your back, wringing with worry.

Over the years the harshness of his words had only grown sharper and despite how much you despised him, despised the job, you needed it.

“Heard you were thirty minutes late,” he clicked his teeth, disappointment coloring his features a shade of red.

“Had some car trouble,” you nodded and he raised a brow at you.

“You don’t drive.”

Your aversion to driving wasn’t much of a secret and before Simon, it was always your brother dropping you off.

“Didn’t say it was my car,” your jaw clenched as you tried to bite back the attitude that was clawing its way forward.

“I expect my assistant managers to be punctual,” he pointed his finger at you, “This is your one warning. Don’t let it happen again.”

He pushed off the counter and turned before you could respond, your shoulders sagging as a deep sigh escaped your mouth.

You could feel the eyes of your associates on you, some amused and others concerned. None of them at all surprised by the standoff.

Not when it happened at least once a week, Huntzberger’s threat a little tired.

Overused.

“Are you alright?” Barbara walked up and stood beside you, hand on your elbow. Brown eyes wide with concern.

“Just another day with Mark,” you gave her a sad smile.

“Well, luckily your day is ending,” she chuckled and looked towards your manager.

“Mine is only beginning,” she whined, looking back at you with a grimace and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you.

“But he likes you.”

“Barely! I am one bad closing shift from being on the other side of that very fine line.”

“Let’s hope that’s not tonight,” you turned towards the counter with a wave of your hand.

“I restocked everything in the back, started inventory so you can do the order and everyone has been to lunch. Hopefully, it’ll be pretty easy to stay on Huntzberger’s good side tonight.”

“You’re heaven-sent, I could kiss you.” she shook you lightly by your shoulders, “Now run before he comes back.”

You laughed with her but took her advice, quickly walking towards the employee locker room to grab your bag after a quick goodbye.

Excitement pushed its way past the anger and to the surface because in ten minutes Eddie would be outside to pick you up just like he’d promised and you wondered how things would be different, if there would be another kiss.

If he would pull over on the way home for more than just a kiss.

You reached into your locker and grabbed your belongings. Plopping onto the bench to freshen up your appearance. A fresh coat of lipgloss. A comb through your hair. A quick spritz of your perfume. Anything to distract from the giddiness evident in the way your fingers shook.

Your phone buzzed incessantly from your pocket and you rolled your eyes, reaching for it without looking and throwing it into your bag.

Shut up, Simon.

You took a few steadying breaths, reminding yourself that this was just Eddie. The guy you’d known practically your whole life.

He’d seen you through all your embarrassing moments, and awkward life stages. And just because you’d made out, rounded a few bases, didn’t mean it had to be weird.

Right?

Except there was that whole childhood crush bit that couldn’t be ignored.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pressed your fingers to your forehead in an attempt to push the nervous thoughts back into your skull.

“It’s just Eddie,” you tried to convince yourself again.

Just Eddie.

You dragged your feet into work, your uniform shirt untucked. Appearance more disheveled than usual. It had been a long week, a long month, and the last place you wanted to be was here.

Over the last thirty days, your mom had grown increasingly ill; headaches and nausea a constant companion. It had become so bad that she had to give up her second job, no longer able to maintain the taxing schedule, and now your summer job had become a permanent one.

All the money you made went towards bills that she was already struggling to catch up on and you didn’t mind, weren’t mad.

But the pressure felt heavy on your shoulders, you and your brother were doing everything you could to help keep the family afloat.

And it felt like a selfish thought, a childish need. To want to quit, to just be a kid. To be with your friends who were spending their nights at a party, at the lake, or at the county fair.

You just wanted a break.

A headache pounded behind your eyes, one that matched the thrum of your heart, and you sighed heavily as you flung open the door of your locker.

The metal creaked loudly causing you to wince and you pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose, shrugging off your hoodie to hang on the hook.

Your hands froze on the cotton of your jacket when something caught your eye, slumping to your sides as you studied the surprise.

Face twisted with confusion.

It was a brown paper bag from Walton’s Grocery Store tapped together haphazardly. Little Lipton scribbled on the side in sharpie.

You glanced around the employee room, not noticing anyone lingering nearby before you turned your attention back to the present. Hesitantly you reached for it, the weight of the package heavy in your hands.

It was like Christmas morning, the sound of shredding paper loud as you unwrapped it hastily.

Underneath the brown paper wrappings was a camera.

The same camera you’d been eying with a note attached.

The same haphazard scribble as on the package.

Surprise vibrated through your veins and made your cheeks blossom a deeper shade. Tears sprang forward, a mix of happiness and a release of the stress you’d been carrying.

You wiped your tears until the only evidence of them was your red-rimmed eyes and placed the package back in your locker, slamming it shut before speed-walking towards the concession stand.

Eddie stood behind the counter, back facing you. Head full of curls pulled into a sloppy ponytail. He turned as he heard you approach, eyes lighting up as he watched you near.

“Hey, Spiel-“ he began, a crooked smile aimed in your direction when you crashed against his frame. Arms wrapped around his waist, face in his chest, swallowing down the sobs that were working their way up your throat.

Uncle Wayne wasn’t the most affectionate man and Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged so for a moment he hesitated. Unsure whether to wrap his arms around you.

Slowly, his body sank into the embrace. Arms twining around your waist.

The moment stretched on until you pulled away and looked up at him. Affection evident in the way your eyes shined as they searched his.

“Thank you so much, Eds,” your smile was wide.

Radiant.

Made Eddie’s heart lurch at the sight.

“Don’t even mention it,” he cleared his throat, doing his best to sound unaffected.

To seem nonchalant about the whole thing.

To convince himself that he wasn’t developing a crush on his best friend’s sister.

Eddie was nervous, hands beating against the steering wheel as he pulled along the curb outside of Hawk Theater. You stood there waving with a wide smile, your excitement evident and it was obvious you hadn’t read his texts.

Weren’t aware that his passenger seat was already occupied by a date he’d agreed to long before this morning.

He noticed the way your smile faltered for a split second.

Your gaze racked over her. She was beautiful in an obvious way; long chestnut hair that fell in waves framing her heart-shaped face and emerald eyes outlined by perfectly applied makeup.

The kind of girl you might see in a fashion magazine.

The kind of girl you didn’t want to see on a date with the guy you’d just given head to hours ago.

“Climb in the back,” she pointed her head towards the sliding doors, and the way your face twisted at her words was not lost on Eddie.

He watched you from the rearview as you settled in, the way your eyes bored into his carpet and how you played with the skin along your nails. Refusing to look at him and fuck, he just needed you to read your got damn texts.

His date turned toward you, her fingers playing absently in his hair. Wrapping his curls around her pointer, gently tugging.

“I’m Cassandra,” you didn’t verbalize a response and simply nodded.

“You must be Rick’s little sister,” she continued and Eddie winced as you snorted at her observation.

“Yup, that’s me. Little Lipton.”

His eyes darted from the road and to the rearview mirror watching as you rolled your eyes.

“So Eddie said your brother has these parties every Saturday?”

“Something like that.” Your response was curt, none too keen to talk to her.

“That’s so cool,” she enthused.

“The coolest.” You mocked her tone and Eddie was praying to whatever deity was out there that he’d be struck by lightning.

The rest of the ride was spent in suffocating silence, Cassandra oblivious to the energy shifting between you and Eddie.

You watched as the town center disappeared behind you, the sides of the road becoming more dense with trees the closer you got to your home and you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

Save you from this embarrassment.

And you knew you had no right to be jealous because one morning of shower sex does not a relationship make.

But you were jealous, the ugly green monster on your shoulder rearing its head.

Because Simon wanted Rachel and Eddie wanted Cassandra and no one wanted you.

The thought made you nauseous, stomach-churning and the moment Eddie’s car stopped you bolted from the van and into your room.

You stared at your computer, the cursor blinking at you. An unfinished word document staring back, reflecting your sad gaze.

All week you had planned to finish the script for your short film but now your mind was elsewhere.

On the other side of the wall, looking cute in his tight jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his biceps just right.

Someone sitting on his lap that wasn’t you.

You groaned, eyes glancing up at the TV.

Bridget Jones's Diary played. The one movie, besides How To Be Single, that someone recently heartbroken shouldn’t watch.

You watched as Bridget wailed, singing Celine Dion in her hysterics.

Her melancholy mirroring yours.

Raucous laughs could be overheard from the other room where Rick was entertaining his small group of friends in the garage.

It was like this most Saturdays; the hushed murmurs and infectious laughs from those in attendance over the low hum of a random indie playlist on Spotify.

The pungent smell of weed seeped through the thin walls and overpowered the scent of your candle warmer. The fourth scent you’d tried with no luck.

It made you nauseous, the smell making you think of the night prior.

The party and the aftermath.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head, determined to finish editing the first draft of your script.

The keys tapped aggressively under your fingers as you typed out a scene, the scene. The one where the hero rescues the girl - saves her from ultimate doom, and after an hour of build-up, he gets to kiss her. Soft, slow, all the longing finally expressed.

But does the jerk even deserve to?

Did she ask to be saved from ultimate doom?

To be driven home or to work?

The words stared back at you, your anger reflected in black and white.

There was no way the script was getting done.

You slammed your laptop shut and turned off the TV, walking the short space to your bed and throwing yourself into the comforter.

Your mind wandered back to Eddie.

To Cassandra.

And even the small voice in your head was mocking.

You imagined them cuddled on the couch, kisses shared between rotations of the shared blunt.

Hands wandering despite the many eyes around the room.

A loud groan escaped your lips and you slammed your head repeatedly against a pillow in an effort to forcibly remove the image of them that you had conjured up.

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Your body stiffened, the sound of rustling outside your window startling you. Slowly, you peeked from beneath your covers, breath catching in your throat when you caught a glimpse of a shadow.

You crawled out of your bed, shaky hands reaching for the tennis racket under your bed.

Hesitantly you approached the window, racket held in front of you ready to wail on whatever intruder or paranormal entity waited on the other side.

A head bobbed up causing you to lurch back, a scream caught in your throat. The tennis racket falling onto the carpet with a soft thud.

Relief washed over you when Eddie’s familiar gaze met yours and you watched as he struggled, pulling himself up. Briefly pointing to the window signaling you to open it. Feet slipping on the fragile trellis he was using to hoist himself up.

Your shoulders fell and you leaned over, pushing the window open. Wincing when the glass screeched in protest.

“Hey,” he gruffed, pulling himself up a little further and resting his elbows on the sill. Arms strained, his neck muscles pushing out as he reached to pull himself in.

“What are you doing a-and why the fuck are you outside my window?” You raised a curious hand at him before resting both of them on your hips. Confusion written in the way your brows married together.

“Easier than using the front door,” he explained, a little out of breath. Fingers turning white from the grip he had on the window sill.

“How?”

“Are you going to move so I can come in?” He grumbled and you stepped aside, helping him the rest of the way through. You took a step back from him the minute he was safely in.

Eddie stood with a heavy sigh and wiggled his arms as blood began to properly pump through them again, taking the opportunity to look around your room.

He smirked at the posters that lined your lilac walls; various bands and movies you adored. Above your desk he noticed polaroids pinned to a corkboard, some from your years in highschool pinned to its surface. Others were ones that you’d taken that summer at the theater. His heart faltered for a moment when he noticed the one of the two of you together, little hearts scribbled around his face.

He smiled remembering the way you’d ambushed him when you were both on break, the flash of the camera blinding like a neuralyzer. Your giggles loud when he joked you’d wiped his memory just like in Men In Black.

“Again, what are you doing here?” You stepped into his line of sight, eyebrows raised and waiting for a response.

He cut his eyes to you and back to your desk, sighing deeply. Not ready to broach the subject.

“Working on another movie?” He questioned, his grin growing as he caught sight of the camera he’d surprised you with those years ago.

You never did get the opportunity to enter the contest that summer.

“Stop changing the subject,” you turned and plopped onto your mattress, eyebrow raised and waiting for his response to your previous question.

“Um, you haven’t responded to my texts.” He shifted his weight, hands shoved into his pockets and glancing back at you.

You groaned, throwing your hands into the air.

Not this again.

Eddie took you in, eying the way your knit shorts fit; slightly snug and the hem of them hitting just below your ass. Your pale green tank top left little to the imagination, clinging to your breasts and revealing that you weren’t wearing a bra. The bud of your nipples popped through the thin material in response to the cool air that blew through the window. He swallowed hard, mind wandering to the morning you’d shared.

To the image of you on your knees in front of him.

“I haven’t looked at my phone all day,” you shrugged, absently pointing to your bag where it had remained since you got off work.

Breaking Eddie from his dirty thoughts.

“Wait, why does that matter?” Your hand dropped and you looked at him perplexed.

“I wasn’t trying to catch you off guard w-with,” he pulled a hand from his pocket, lifting it slightly and pointed towards the door.

“Your date?”

Eddie nodded and you chuckled slightly. Without much humor.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Eds,” you shrugged, completely nonchalant.

Barely hiding the fact that he did indeed owe you one.

“I met her like a month ago and made these plans. I would never, um,” his eyes darted around your room, nervous hands fidgeting at his sides.

“Schedule a date the same day you ate me out?” You finished for him, loving the way his cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I tried to text you to let you know so it wouldn’t be a surprise. I had forgotten I had agreed to bring her last week, told her to meet me at my place and I’d drive us.”

“Such a gentleman.” You pulled your legs onto the mattress and hugged your knees close. A small giggle escaped your lips because the timing of it all truly was ridiculous.

“I really am sorry,” he finally met your gaze, sincerity evident. Almost palpable.

You nodded at him, resting your chin on your knee.

“She’s pretty,” you murmured, changing the subject.

His tongue pushed into his cheek because regardless of his response there was no winning. If he disagreed you’d know he was lying. If he agreed, he ran the risk of being pushed back out the window.

“You’re beautiful,” and he meant it. His thoughts were not on the brunette in the other room, his focus entirely on you.

“You’re definitely just saying that,” you pushed off your knees with a roll of your eyes but Eddie shook his head enjoying the way your cheeks blossomed a darker shade.

“I’m not.”

You stood and closed the space between the two of you, toe to toe with his heavy boots. Playing with the hem of his shirt, walking your fingers up his torso.

His apology and his compliment were almost enough to make you get over it but you decided teasing him was too fun.

“Look if you want to date other people,” you looked up at him from under your lashes.

He didn’t.

“I’ll date other people too. I mean, I just got out of a relationship, this could just be fun. We could just have fun.”

“Fun,” he repeated and you nodded, hand settling on his chest as you gazed at him.

Mind a little fuzzy with want.

“Let’s just have fun, Eddie.”

You leaned closer to him, the spearmint from his gum invading your senses.

Your nose traced his, lips hovering over the plush of his pout.

Savoring the way his hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into your skin. Pushing the top of your shorts down so he could loop his thumb under the material of your panties and pull you flush against his chest.

You swallowed hard, your own game getting harder to play but god, it was worth losing.

His lips pushed against yours, far from soft. Hard and greedy. Swallowing the moan the sudden impact elicited. Tongue tracing your lower lip, pulling it between his pout with a soft tug.

Your fingers knotted in his hair, pulling lightly. Hard enough to evoke a groan from him.

His teeth dragged along your jaw, nipping at the skin. Tracing his tongue over your carotid, your heart pulsing against the rough wet flesh.

Eddie sucked the skin between his lips, one hand leaving your hip to cup your breast. Pinching your nipple between his fingers.

Your hand pushed under his shirt, fingernails scraping against his skin.

He guided you to the bed, your legs falling from under you until you were a mix of limbs on your mattress. His knee slotted between your legs, hands resting on either side of your head. Your fingers pushed hastily at his shirt until it revealed the patch of hair that trailed into his jeans.

You traced it, grinding against his knee. Relishing the way the evidence of his arousal was pressed into your thigh.

His eyes clenched shut, fists gripping your blankets.

Eddie pressed his forehead against yours, breaths coming out ragged. Uneven.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he groaned, and you traced his lower lip with the tip of your tongue. Peppering kisses towards the sensitive skin between his jaw and his ear.

“I want you,” you whispered, nipping at his earlobe. Warm breath fanning against his skin causing goosebumps to sprout along his pale flesh.

“But not with your date in the other room,” you pushed at his chest, the thud of his heart just under your palm.

His molten gaze was hooded with need. His signature crooked grin slotting into place.

“Fair enough, sweetheart.”

bonus scene: Eddie’s freak out

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mehidktbh · 1 year

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Sharing Is Caring

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You can’t sleep, it’s too overwhelming in your room and the memories get to your head too much. Thank God your Lieutenant has a soft spot for you.

Warning: War, a lot of military topics, swearing, minor injuries, sharing a bed, mentions of insomnia, talk a bit of Ghost’s past, reader has a bit of trauma, pining?, talk of readers' family, awkward tension, nightmares and trauma-based memories?

A/N: Can I just say that I fucking LOVE the idea of the force team having their own group barrack or having to share one with other soldiers. But let's just pretend you live with other soldiers in this story and that you're not divided by gender 👀

The haunting screams and yells awaken you from your slumber, your face drenched in sweat and a thick smell of fear engulfing you. Looking around your small room the faint light seeping through the bottom of the door meant someone was awake. Your room was quiet and dark, the faint sound of a TV or someone talking was the only thing you could hear if you focused hard enough. The window was open, the soft breeze flowing through your room, blocking the outside light from entering. But it still wasn't enough from keeping you at bay, you tried everything to sleep nowadays. From medication to doing soothing stuff before bed to taking other soldiers' advice but nothing worked. The taunting flashbacks haunted you from days of endless guns firing and the blood of enemies even when you got countless days off to relax it just never came.

You sat up in your bed (cot), taking in everything and mentally trying to calm yourself back to sleep, thinking about anything that brought you joy but nothing came. Your room had pictures of your task force on there, photos ranging from stupid and silly selfies to ones where you stood next to the others holding a serious stand. Other polaroids of stuff that your family occasionally sent you through letters, vacations they took and family pets. You were not one to really put your family/private life out there but then again you weren't ashamed of saying anything when the conversation was brought up.

A small desk sat right next to the door on the opposite side of your bed, files and papers crowded its limited space with stationary all over it too. But you didn't have time out of your day to think once about cleaning your room, you've seen other soldiers' rooms that look way worse. And there's never that time you have, you're either too busy or don't give a shit. You walk in most days after a long mission or training just to sit down at your desk and do work all over again or lousy change your clothes. Throwing them into a pile that's constantly there sometimes when you realise you made yourself a mountain of dirty clothes.

Getting up from your bed you tread carefully and cautiously over to your door, stepping over any unwanted things crowding your wooden floor or trying to make your way through the dark. You're used to being able to see through the dark on missions but now you take caution in not disturbing others who sleep right next to your room through the thin walls.

You begin to wonder how you're going to make it through the night, maybe take someone else's sleeping pills or just do an all-nighter but your too tired but still pretty shaken up enough to not sleep. Slowly and quietly opening your door you look down and up the hallway to investigate if anyone's around. Only the hallways are long and dimly lit, sometimes the lights stay on in the hallway or for some reason otherwise there off. The only thing illuminating the barrack/building is the TV that is playing.

Continuing to walk further down you pass multiple rooms, some times you hear people talking quietly enough so they don't bother others but still talking above a whisper. Others have their lights on which shine through the cracks in the door, from under to in between the hinges. You'd have to guess that it's roughly around 12-1sh, the second you pass a small opening or window you get the feeling of the dark vibe outside. And every night it's not common for half the people to be up and around, you hear through other soldiers about their experience. How they deal with insomnia but most times it's hard in these conditions, drill Sargents wake you up in the middle of the night to discuss training right then and there.

♡ ♡ ♡

After what seemed like an endless stream of doors on either side, countless whispers among others and lights shining through the doors. You finally reach the door, the wooden door stands intimately in front of you, some times doors can have the person's rank on the sign, showing which task force they belong to and their code name in metal. But the sign shows a clear neat bold wording of "Ghost (Task Force 141 Lieutenant)" There's nothing out of the ordinary and you hesitate for a while your knuckles touching the naked door but not moving. You're scared of how he'll react when you bring up your pathetic reasoning for disrupting him so late. But sighing heavily you quietly, your rapid and unsteady heart beats thick against your chest as you swallow the ball of saliva in your throat.

"Who is it...?" Ghost's tone was hard to determine but he seemed confused but also emotionless at the same time. "It's Y/N, sir." You cringed to yourself already regretting ever bringing yourself to his door but there was nothing you could do now as he would fish out your lie easily. "Come in." His husky tone signalled for you to enter. Upon opening the door you were met with his greasy flat dimmed room, the atmosphere felt a mix of emotions.

His room was a bit bigger than yours and others, his higher rank meant he got a bit more luxury, sometimes an A/C, but it's rare. He had a reasonable size desk that stood right next to his bed, untidy files littered it too as it was just as dirty. This time his room was rather bare and dusty, with no decoration anywhere, the walls or anything, only the basic thin sturdy walls stood tall.

Has was sitting upright in his bed, still wearing his previous clothes from training today with no excessive amour. His same old mask you've seen countless times covered his unknown face as he stared at your hunched-over pose. "Need something?" He questioned you, his eyes ranking over your tank top with rolled-up military pants. "I wanted to ask you a favour..." Your quiet and unwonted tone made Ghost more curious than in the first place, he cocked his head to the side allowing you to continue speaking.

"Could I maybe lay down with you..." Your surprising question fell silent through the room, the more you two awkwardly stood facing each other the more you cursed yourself for being so fucking stupid. Ghost felt a tingle in his body, his mind telling him no and how someone would probably walk in on you two and get the wrong impression. But then again your tired and exhausted shape felt hard through him, watching as your eyes tried to stay awake, rapidly blinking. As your tone of mind tried to make it seem as if you weren't sleepless to him, the bags under your eyes stained his head with memories of him being exactly like you.

He'd remember standing him in your shoes, his first few years of the military and staying in a barrack full of other men was stressful. Back then he had no one to direct him where to go and what to do he stared at the ceiling every night wishing he could surround his head into the pillows and drift to sleep. But it came to no easy task for him.

"Sure" He blurted out, watching as your face rose bashfully, stalking over one by one to his bed. You stood tense like a log as you watched him make room, sliding over as much as he could so you could rest with him. The bed wasn't too bad, kinda like your coat but more comfortable in size and it didn't feel like sleeping on a thin piece of cardboard.

Ghost waited for you to lay down fully, his stare invited you to get comfortable more so you wouldn't have to feel like you needed to be a guest in his room. He wanted to hear your soft breaths and snoring not your wide eyes staring at his back still restless. He could deal with himself not sleeping but you or his team were different. "Need another pillow? Blanket?" You quietly laughed nervously, shaking your head before he turned around to turn off the lamp sitting right on his desk. Hearing the tick and the sudden pitch black swallowing you whole was relaxing.

Now you couldn't hear anything, no TV playing down the hall and no whispering from anyone beside walls. You close your eyes painfully as you tried to keep your thighs and arms clenched together, making sure you took up as little space as possible. The blankets that Ghost had on his bed were just pulled up by him, his hand ghosting over near you as he tried to flatten it out more, making sure the thin material fits perfectly over you. Hearing his head hit the pillow as you begin to close out any thoughts, his rapid hot breath surprisingly hitting your nose as you didn't know he was facing you. His foot and hand came over to just nearly graze your skin, his calloused muscular hand was inches away from your hand. His foot just barely wrapped around your tightly squeezed thighs/legs.

As you slowly and peacefully drifted to sleep, your thoughts shut off as all you could focus on was Ghosts' breathing his pinkly now lightly grabbing yours. You could practically feel him grip tightly onto yours as you drifted to sleep at once.

#cod ghost #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost #ghost simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod mw22 #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic

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http-paprika · 7 months

Text

what's left / simon "ghost" riley

part two

zombie-apocalypse!au / pairing simon "ghost riley x female reader / wc 2186 / warnings brief gore, illusions to violence, typical end of the world angst, swearing.

summery ghost is tasked with escorting y/n to edinburgh to help with creating the cure for the zombie outbreak. it wasn't in the plan for him to fall along.

note y'all liked my post about writing something for this, so hopefully you'll enjoy this story. um, not actually heavy in terms of zombie appearances, but i have plans for another part to this story if ya'll end up enjoying this.

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Ghost stayed seated, back flat against the wall as he watched Y/N sleep and breathe slowly, her chest rising and falling steadily. He couldn’t imagine that the small cot was comfortable, or even very warm, but she seemed to be at peace. The only look of relief he’d seen on her face since their first unfortunate meeting. The painful memory of sirens blaring, people screaming in confusion, and the gut-wrenching, squelching noise of rotting flesh moving through the compound.

A shiver ran down Ghost’s back at the memory, he stiffened, hardening his clutch around his gun, but the night stayed enjoyably silent. It was quiet in a way he didn’t know, lacking the noise cities and towns used to have, the area around him was drenched in an inky black, and the only light provided was from the moon and stars above that cut through the cracks in the window.

She shifts in her sleep next to him, twitching involuntarily, a bad dream he supposed. Without a thought, Ghost reached down with a gloved hand, brushing it against her cheek, down her neck. The touch stills her, Y/N’s body easing again from the gesture.

“Fucking hell.” He quietly mutters to himself, in the dim light, he moves the blanket to check the wound on her leg. His fingers graze the stained gauze bandaging, wincing knowing how much worse it could’ve been. How much worse Ghost had seen.

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“We’ve got reports of outbreaks in all major cities across the United Kingdom and the world.” The news was completely ignored as the military compound was in disarray, chaos sweeping through as soldiers moved out. Everything was pure chaos, the streets were filled with blood and bones, corpses piling up as the flesh-craving, rabid creatures spread like wildfire. The consequence of biological warfare and the weapons it made. Man had played god and met its destruction when they decided to use their own as a tool.

Ghost’s body was tired, threatening to give out under him as he gunned down more of the creatures. Maggots was the name Soap had decided to call them as they fought back, killing those who’d once been fellow soldiers. But if he stopped now, he’d be swarmed by the infected, and if not ripped apart limb-by-limb, he’d receive a fate worse than death.

“We’ve got medical personnel barricaded in the infirmary, we need to get them out of there and moved to the QZ.” Price barked at Ghost over the comms, he was closet to the infirmary, near the outer hall that led to the medical wing. He groaned loudly, fearing what would happen if he tried to move, but the orders stood firm, and while the government was falling apart, he still acted as a soldier for his country.

“Moving there now.”

It was in that dark infirmary, where he could hear the Maggots beating against the outside walls that he first saw her. Gun clutched in her hands, blood splattered across her clothes and skin, and a grave of personnel who’d been turned in the infirmary as he dragged her out of the closet. Y/N kicked and screamed, scarred that he was dragging her to her death, but she went limp once he’d thrown her over his shoulder, his arm securing her in place as he moved her to the cleared tarmac. Past the growing swarms of flies that flocked to dead humans and Maggots alike.

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“Ghost?” Her quiet voice echoed through the dark room, he gazed at her bruised face. Frowning, Simon wiped some of the grime from the journey off.

“Right here, Y/N.” Ghost sighed, she opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. “How do you feel?”

“Probably just as bad as you.” Y/N brought her leg up, closing it to her chest so she could tug at the bandaging. “Need to change to gauze.”

“Let me do that, Y/N. No need to stress yourself, you need to rest.” He tells her, reaching over to her backpack, reaching inside, and finding her small kit of supplies. The container was beginning to run low, he didn’t like to think about what would happen if they didn’t get to Edinburgh soon. What had been planned, had gone astray.

“Ghost, you need to rest too. I’m not going to be falling back asleep.” She forces the gauze and antiseptic wipes out of his hands and into hers. “You need to rest, otherwise you’ll just be a bag of bones.”

Wiping his face with his hand and letting out a low groan, Ghost knew she was right. He’d had little rest the past few days and knew how it would delay his reaction time and ability to keep her safe. “Are you sure? I don’t want you-”

“I’ll be fine, and if I have even the slightest suspicion that something is wrong, I’ll wake you up. I promise.” Y/N assures him. Ghost reluctantly agrees, his body grateful at the idea of rest, even if it was for just a brief moment.

“Swear it.”

“I swear I’ll wake you up. Please, sleep.” She promises, shifting into a seating position. Ghost stayed seated, but let his head rest against the walls and allowed his eyes to droop. Exhaustion won the battle against his willpower as he drifted off.

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“We need to get her to Edinburgh, they have the tools, the chance to get a cure made. And she’s got the knowledge they need.” Price more often than not, was raising his voice at people. Even with the QZ safely established, and the initial surge dying down, there was too much uncertainty and too much loss for him to act rationally. Ghost knew this, he acted the same, snapping too quickly nowadays at already terrified soldiers under him. Sometimes he felt as mindless and flesh-eating as the Maggots, sniffing out fear like the infected sniffed out their next victim.

It seemed selfish to fight against the order he’d be given, foolish and self-centered. But what real chance did they have at creating a cure to stop the virus and its continued spread? Rumors had circulated that the Americans had been in the early stages of developing a counteract to the outbreak, but England had lost contact with all allies months ago. They could only rely on themselves, and even that seemed a stretch.

“Why don’t you get someone else?” Someone disposable, Ghost thought, as he knew the chances of successfully getting someone across the wasteland of England up to Edinburgh were almost impossible. Vehicles, cars, or helis were out of the question, fuel was strictly saved for powering and keeping the QZ warm. Which left him with no other option but to walk, for three weeks through towns, cities, and country filled with Maggots. A certain death.

“Because you’re the only one I trust to get her there.”

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The sun poured into the room, Ghost’s eyes flickered open before he jolted himself fully awake. His heart slammed in his chest, panic seeping through his veins. How long had he been asleep? Next to him, Y/N lay turned into his side, pressed into the side of his ribs. Ghost found the gun still propped against the wall next to him, he brought it back into his grip and surveyed the room around. All was quiet, all was at ease. Almost as if the outbreak hadn’t happened, destroying mankind in its wake.

Ghost wished Y/N had woken him up the moment she’d grown tired, but he didn’t have it in himself to be mad. For a high-achieving doctor, who always strove to be efficient, Ghost was a bit annoyed by her lack of responsibility. But she looked so beautiful in the early morning light, under the layer of dirt and grime that clung to her skin, Ghost’s eyes lingered on her rosy cheeks and soft lips.

He hated to break the silence or drag her awake, but they needed to move. Their location would only stay safe for so long. “Y/N. We need to get going.”

The woman grumbled at his words, trying to bury herself closer to Ghost’s side. He smirks at her action, prying her hands off of his body. His fingers grazed the veins and took comfort in the steady flow of blood in her body.

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Dry grass crunched under his feet as he carried her to the abandoned farmhouse. Set away from the road and society, no Rotten would wander this far from a horde. They’d be safe, safer than they’d been in the town where they’d been attacked by raiders. Y/N let out a whimper as he set her down on the ground, needing his hands to pry open the heavy wooden door. Her hand moved down to the poorly bandaged leg, where the large gash lay from where she’d been struck during the attack.

The hinges of the door creak as it opens, Ghost steps in, pistol raised and ready to survey the room. The farm, much like everything else around them, was abandoned. He didn’t care to think what had happened to those who’d lived there before, death had lost its sting for Ghost long ago.

Pulling Y/N back into his arms, Ghost moved back into the house, setting her down on the sagging settee in the living room. He moved down to the wounded leg, and as he began to unwrap the gauze, she winced, cringing as the cold, stale air greeted her wound. Y/N’s body shook uneasily, and her breathing was swallowed.

“Sorry.” Ghost apologizes, pulling open her medical kit. But his stomach churned uncomfortably at the wound, it was still oozing.

“S’gonna need stitches.” Y/N groans, dropping her head back down against the arm of the settee after evaluating the wound and its condition. “I can do it myself, but I’ll need you to find needle and thread.”

“I’ll find it, and I’ll do it myself. You’re in no condition to attempt to stitch yourself up.” He grunts, standing back up and beginning to search the room they were in for the needed materials.

“But-”

“No buts, Y/N. I’ve done this before, I can do it again.” Ghost states, opening a closet that was still stocked with sewing supplies. Plenty of needles, and a variety of colorful threads. He chose the one that was closest to medical thread, placing it and the small plastic container of needles down on the coffee table.

As he began to sew the wound closed, Y/N’s eyes began to water, and she gripped the fabric of the settee grinding her teeth. Ghost felt the need to keep apologizing to her, over and over again until he’d tightly secured the stitching with a knot. She let out a strained sob as he wiped the skin clean of dried blood with a cloth and some water from his canteen.

“I’m sorry, it’s done now.” He promised her, yanking his dirty gloves off and dropping them on the coffee table next to his discarded backpack and the harder outer layer of his mask. “You’re okay, I promise.” Ghost assures her, taking Y/N’s face in his calloused hands. She nods, her lips still trembling.

There wasn’t a thought in his mind as he pressed a kiss on the side of her cheek. He brought her body close to his, breathing in the smell of her skin, the blood, sweat, and tears. They stayed like that for a while, he allowed her to cry into his neck, his hands running through her knotted hair.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

His gaze falls on her as she fights the knots out of her hair, trying to manage just a bit before they set out again. While Ghost wouldn’t admit it, his body was painfully numb from all the walking they’d done the past weeks, wishing they’d made it to Edinburgh already. But he feared what would happen when they did arrive. The quiet moments he’d come to enjoy with Y/N would disappear. She’d return to her duty, struggling to make a cure. And what purpose would he have? The idea of attempting to return to London alone was a dangerous one. He assumed the military up there would put him to work. But would he ever get to spend any more cold nights, keeping her warm?

“I’m ready.” Y/N finally announces to him, pulling her backpack over her shoulders.

“‘Bout damn time.” Ghost huffs, offering her his hand to steady herself with. She wobbles a bit, unsure of how much weight she can put on her leg without it giving out underneath her. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” She nods but Ghost drops his arm down around her waist, adding extra support. “Ghost-”

“Let me help you.” He asks, leaning down and kissing her face. The rough material of the mask brushed against her raw skin. Y/N grasps at the mask, trying to remove the barrier between them. With reluctance, he breaks away from her lips, knowing his action is dangerous with consequences that could hurt. “Another time, Y/N. Need to save our breath.”

note so, i'll admit, i left the worst of the angst out of this. but- i may decide to deliver the rest if ya'll are curious about how gut-wrenching my writing can actually get.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw22 #ghost mw2 #fanfic #y/n #zombie apocalypse #call of duty zombies #zombies!au #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #female reader #angst fanfic #i may have also been thinking about pedro pascal as joel miller #dont judge

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rascal-xo · 1 year

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Hi :) first of all, I already made a request for you a month ago. And I was very happy with the outcome of it. So if you are bored sometime in the future, here is another request:

Its Holidays (You can choose which, I believe spring would be cool because it would probably rain) and the whole 141 are by their family members. So since Ghost got none, he stays at the military. Since the reader is new in the crew she doesn't know that he always stays at there.

You came home late from a mission which took longer than expected. You go to bed and can't sleep so you decide to make tea and you are surprised the you meet Simon there. You tell him that you don't have a family too and it gets kind of angsty. From then on you could decide how the story goes on...

Are they just sleeping together on the couch or is it going to continue in a more smutty way? Who knows?

Thanks in advance 🪸

When It Rains, It Pours | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader |

Chapter Summary: You and Simon happen to be the only two on base during spring break.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, mentions of loss, trauma, a bit of sexual undertones.

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: I’m so happy you liked the last request I wrote for!! I hope you enjoy this one too :)) Might do a pt.2 so lmk 🫶🏼

PT. 2 HERE

You had just returned from a 2 week long grueling mission, and the rain was pouring down on you as you stepped off of the plane, and onto base.

It was almost night, and the sky was gloomy and dark. You're were still wearing your gear, and the weight of it had been pressing down on your tired muscles, making them ache even more.

Your head was pounding, and you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. You let yourself look up at the sky and let the rain wash over you, feeling the cold drops soaking through the layer of your clothes that weren’t covered by the vest, and let it seep onto your skin.

You were exhausted and sore, but you knew that you had done your duty and completed the mission. Despite the rain and the fatigue, you felt a sense of satisfaction that came from knowing that you had gone through with your orders successfully.

Laswell had a lot of hope on the line with you as the new Marine recruit for the 141. Herself and Captain Price had picked your file from the dozens of qualified soldiers.

As you stepped inside the familiar lodging’s building, you were met with a silence. You dropped your duffel bag, then remembering you would the only one here.

The team had all been given time off for the spring holidays, to go to their respective homes and find some rest. You on the other hand had taken on more work instead, not having the ‘luxury’ of something to go back to.

It was better that way. You would be far more comfortable here where you had a sense of security on base, even if you were alone.

You made your way to your room, shedding off your gear and leaving it in a neat pile by the door. You could feel your muscles relaxing just from the act of removing the weight from your body.

You decided to take a warm shower to ease your sore muscles, hoping it would also help to clear your head. You turned the faucet on and stepped into the warm stream, feeling the hot water wash away the grime and dirt from your skin.

Taking your time in the shower, not wanting to rush the experience, you washed your hair, feeling the suds massage your scalp and the warm water rinse it away. You ran your hands over your body, feeling every inch of your skin, enjoying the sensation of finally being clean.

After what felt like an eternity, you reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. You walked over to your small closet and grabbed a random Marine labeled t-shirt that you had around from your BMT trainee days. You slipped it on and felt the familiar comfort of the cotton against your skin.

Despite the warm shower, you found yourself unable to sleep. You tossed and turned in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing seemed to work. You couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in your chest, and the sound of heavy rain hitting the roof only added to your restlessness.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally gave up and sat up in bed, letting out a frustrated sigh. You rubbed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion weighing heavy on your body, but your mind refused to let you rest.

You decided to get up and make yourself some tea, hoping the warm drink would help soothe your nerves somehow. As you made your way to the kitchen area, you were lost in your thoughts, trying to gather your uneasiness.

You didn't notice another person hunched over, sitting on the couch until you were only a few feet away. Startled, you let out a gasp, and Simon looked up at you, his knives in his hands.

"You scare easily, Sergeant." He spoke, teasing yet absolutely serious in his tone.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone else was here." You answered softly, before going to find any sort of tea you could make. Unbeknownst to you, Simon watched you going about your business, trying not to let yourself make eye contact with him.

As you busied yourself with making tea, Simon remained silent, observing you with a keen eye. He had been on a mission as well, but he had managed to complete it earlier and had returned to base before you, staying true to his callsign.

After a few moments, he stood up and walked over to you, his knives left on the coffee table where he had been cleaning them off. "Why aren't you home, Sergeant." His voice was deep, but his eyes held a glint of curiosity.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to open up to someone, but something in his demeanor made you feel like you could trust him. "There's no home to be at." you admitted, taking a sip of the hot tea a little too quickly before it had cooled, making you bite back a hiss. "What about you?"

Simon took a moment to consider your question, his expression unreadable. "I stick around here, Sergeant." he finally replied, not going any further into detail. "Can't sleep?" You leaned back against the edge of the counter, a couple of feet in front of the Lt.

His demeanor was a bit more relaxed than you were accustomed to seeing him. His heavy camo and skull mask were replaced with sweats and a plain black balaclava, only revealing his deep brown eyes. For the first time you could clearly see his tattoos, with his sleeves pushed up to his forearms.

"Can't catch much of it these days." You spoke, letting the hot mug rest in your hands. You could feel his piercing gaze on you, while you tried not to meet his eyes.

Simon remained silent for a moment, taking in your words. "Doesn't get much better if you're always this tense, I'm afraid." He might not have been joking, but you found humor in his blatant honesty.

"I'm not the tense one." You claimed back, a small tired smile playing at your lips. It was strange yet comforting to have someone else here, especially that someone you had never really spoken to before. outside of a professional setting.

He suddenly walked up closer to you, taking the mug from your hands and placing it on the counter. "Turn around." He asserted. You wondered if his field voice was just his all-the-time voice, but nonetheless you followed his direction.

He wasn't completely what had gotten into him so suddenly, seeing you in the kitchen barefaced and vulnerable to your surroundings. He had taken a keen liking to having you on the team, but even more having you to himself.

His hands found themselves on your upper shoulders, causing you to jerk a little. He immediately felt how tense you were, but being under his touch didn't exactly lighten that sensation.

Simon began to knead your shoulders, you felt the tension melting away. He worked his way to your arms, his strong hands working out the knots and kinks in your muscles. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh as you leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours. It felt wrong, letting your Lieutenant touch you like that, but it felt too good to stop.

"You don't have to, Lt-"

"Simon." His voice was low this time, soft, but he didn't stop. You suddenly felt self conscious, realizing you had failed to put on any pants under your t shirt that was coming down your upper thighs.

Your heart started racing a bit as you tried to subtly pull your shirt down, hoping to cover more of your legs. Simon must have noticed your movement, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he continued massaging your arms, his touch firm yet gentle.

His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone so strong, and you found yourself relaxing into it despite your initial reservations. As the tension in your body continued to melt away, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Simon's unexpected gesture.

After a few minutes, his hands gradually slowed down and eventually came to a stop. You turned around to face him, feeling a little bit awkward but also strangely comforted by his presence. You weren't sure what had just happened, but you knew it was something you couldn't ignore.

Your tea had gone cold, being the last thing you could think about in the moment. You stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. The air between you heavy with unspoken words, and for a moment it felt like he was seeing right through you.

You finally broke the silence, "Si-" Which was suddenly cut off by his mouth coming down onto yours.

Your mind went blank for a moment as you felt Simon's lips pressing against yours. The sensation was both familiar and foreign at the same time. You had never imagined that anything like this could happen between the two of you, but now that it was happening, it felt almost inevitable.

You tentatively kissed him back, your arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened the kiss. It was like a floodgate had been opened, all the pent-up desire and attraction suddenly spilling out between you.

As you pulled away, gasping for air, you both looked at each other with a mix of surprise and intensity. This was new territory for both of you, and you weren't quite sure what to do next.

Who knew something so wrong could feel so right.

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nocturnesmoon · 6 days

Text

Your guard dog

Tags: mild dark content(?), gender-neutral reader, random little story of the day that I'll probably never turn into a fledged out fic cuz I have too many projects, but it's on the list-

Simon has always been an honest man.

It's something he prides himself in. He may be tall, dark, terrifying to most around him, but he would rather have something horrible happen to him, than outright lie on purpose, especially to you.

When you first met, it went how it usually goes for people that are unfortunate enough to be in his presence. You were polite, as much as anyone else, not too interested in the big off-putting soldier that lurks in the back of the room.

Simon had never thought that you would stick around, nor did he expect that your tipping point would be an innocent birthday gift. You had been so enamoured by the fact he had actually listened to the things you said, and observed your actions, enough to give you probably the most accurate gift you've received in a long time.

One thing led to another, and years later the two of you find yourselves in a committed relationship.

There are a lot of things you can say about Simon. A common denominator is that he really has never knowingly lied to you. A feat you find impressive, gathered from earlier partners. He has his secrets, things in his past that he wishes to keep buried still, but he never lies to you.

Whenever you ask, he answers.

It's how it's always been.

The fact doesn't change when he then does things in secret. If you ask where he's been, he'll answer you honestly, if you ask what he's been doing he answers honestly, whether you like the answer or not.

He's always been good to you that way. If he ever catches a whiff of jealousy from you, he waits for you to come to him. You'll ask about his doings, he'll answer you accordingly, calmly, and quench whatever feelings pile up in your head. He knows he never has to stress about it, because all his actions are in servitude to you.

Whenever he goes on deployment, he knows how you miss him, how you wish you could be there with him, though it'd be dangerous for you. So he brings you things back, things of his loyalty, things that you would want and cherish, (Ignoring the fact that you'd cherish practically anything he gives you.)

When he's home he's even more devoted to you. Follows you around like a pup in need of attention, a pup that transforms into a fierce guard dog the moment you leave the house. Even if he tells you that his job is dangerous, you never fully get why he's so protective of you, like someone was going to take you away when he looks the other way. In many ways you don't mind it, it pays off having a big threatening soldier at your back to keep creeps away.

As nice as it is to have him though, he's not always there, and despite how you trust him, you don't like the dark look in his eyes whenever you tell him about an encounter you had with some creepy person trying to hit on you.

Once when you were idly cuddling on the couch, one rainy Saturday, you had playfully asked if he would ever kill for you. You hadn't expected a serious answer, maybe you had even expected him to scold you for asking such a question, given his job and having to deal with death in his life in that way. You hadn't expected for him to say yes so determinedly, a little too sure of it.

It's not the first time you've noticed odd behaviour from him. His overprotective nature can get a bit overbearing at times, he doesn't want you near any remotely dangerous object, occasionally he'll even get pissy about you using kitchen knives. God forbid you do accidentally hurt yourself on some object he told you not to use, with a grumpy attitude he'll patch you up, scolding you mildly, and the next time you go to use the same object it's mysteriously vanished or out of reach for you.

He has his own little policy for you as well, any and all problems you face, you come to him with. You found it nice, finally having such a tentative partner that listened so carefully. You hadn't expected that he was going to make most of your problems disappear on top of that. It was simple things at first. The coffee machine broke, he removes it and gifts you a new one. There's a thing at work you find frustrating, well the task is soon gone mysteriously. Even with himself, he does a thing that's your pet peeve, he changes it, makes the problem disappear.

It starts out small, and then it gets a bit weirder. You have an argument with a family member? The next time you see them they apologize profusely, and the matter is dropped, though they seem rattled. You think your neighbour is rude? Well look at that, they're moving out very, very soon.

You don't truly start to question it, before you notice the co-worker you complained about, disappeared without notice.

You try to hint at it to Simon, to subtly ask him if he had a finger in it. His answer is what terrifies you more, "careful what you ask of me, darling." You should be careful what questions you ask him what you tell him, because Simon is an honest man. You ask, he answers.

It makes you revaluate what you let him know, you start keeping minor problems to yourself, things or people that annoy you are reserved for your mind. He notices of course, he understands his darling is nervous of his actions, but he needs you to understand what he is doing, he is doing for you.

He starts figuring out your problems behind your back. You don't even need to tell him anymore, he will always know. There isn't anywhere you could go where he wouldn't reach you, where he wouldn't keep you safe and protected. You're his, just as he's yours.

Your true breaking point comes when the police shows up at your work place. They question you about the co-worker that had left work, not long after having an argument with you. You learn that this person hasn't been seen by anyone for several months.

You stomp home, knowing Simon is the only person that could've had anything to do with it. Your questions are met by a dark chuckle, he isn't even taking his own actions serious, not the way you're framing them. You plead with him to stop, to keep his work and your life completely separate.

His answer leaves you with nothing, "I can't promise you that darling, I'm doing this for you. You're mine."

Your only choice is to adapt, you don't ask the questions because you won't like the answers.

And when he goes out late at night without a word, coming back in the morning with blood on his hands, you wash it off gently, and bite your tongue.

Reminder that requests are open if you've got an idea you want written.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, love ya<3

#noctmoon fics #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost x you

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overandundertarot · 1 year

Text

Pick a Card:

Your relationship dynamic with your fictional crush

This pick a card will try to explore what it would be like if you were in a relationship with your fictional crush.

Piles 1-4

Each pile has three parts;

-How you got together

-How you interact

-Their love language

The Messages;

PILE ONE;

Cards; 10 of cups, Queen of cups, 6 of pentacles, The Hanged One reversed.

How you got together;

Pile one this might have been an arranged marriage? The world this character lives in can be quite rigid, with a strict social order. Something along the lines of historical social classes like nobility, and some of you this fictional universe could have gods and goddesses and that person is a god/goddess? Your fictional crush is quite influencial and maybe powerful lol. I'm really getting the vibe of a noble in a historical k drama or a wuxia type of drama but with gods and goddeses( is there an exact name for this genre? 😭) Either way it has historical/fantasy elements. You ended up together because your fictional crush and other people thought that you would be a good match. So; political alliance, dating to fit societal expectations. None of you thought that you would fall madly in love and have about 10 children. I'm getting the vibe like in Bridgerton how Daphne and Simon might have looked like a good match that came together in a somewhat normal way and had a succesful marriage life but no one really knows about their secret epic love story and their trials and tribulations that strengthened their relationship.

How you two interact;

You two know exactly what amounts of energy to give each other. Your relationship is very balanced, you know each other so deeply; when to push , when to pull etc. Your love languages are so attuned to each other. It may not look like balance at first sight, it may even look like one of you is overwhelmed. I'm also getting that one of you will prefer to dominate(strongly getting that its your fictional crush)/ be submissive. One of you is wealthier/more powerful than the other and others may worry that this person could overshadow the other but you communicate quite often and clearly about whatever it is that your feeling so its never a problem between you two.

Their love language;

Pile one you really threw this character for a loop😂. They had resolved to never find love in life, or especially in your marriage so they're not quite sure how to show you love. They tend to default to what they saw growing up. Their feelings often overwhelm them and they don't know what to do lol. I guess this is why you two place alot of importance on communication. They don't like to show their true feelings in public, but may behave in a way expected of them. For example; they could know that its expected of a spouse to shower their partner in gifts, especially in public places because that's what they were told people like, but you know it's all for show. The most sincere acts of their love could happen in intimate moments when its just the two of you. Like saying something so unxpected and sweet it sweeps you off your feet.

PILE TWO;

Cards; Queen of wands reversed, The Star reversed, 2 of wands.

How you get together;

Pile 2 i feel like your fictional crush is a villain😭. You get together because you've been holding on to them for so long. I'm getting that you were the person who was always by their side throughout their journey. They may even become nasty and callous towards you but you didn't mind and put up with them. You were there from the begining and saw them at their absolute worst. For some of you this character wisened up and began to appreciate you so much so that you became their constant source of strength, for others this character never realised what they had all along till you had to go away and it became a wound that they never admit to having, or they started something with you to keep you there next to them. ( so toxic😭) This fictional universe is giving me spooky vibes, I'm getting vampires and ghosts. Nightime, full moons, something to do with the dead. Witches, sorcery and magic. Immortality too, so maybe you two were with each other for literal decades and centuries. They may be quite beautiful but narcicistic, and sensual. They have a lot of feminine energy so they might be a woman, or femminine presenting but they could be a man with a flair for the dramatics. One who's unafraid to show the depth of his emotions. Lestat from Interview with a Vampire popped into my mind.

How you interact;

This relationship could actually be toxic, pile 2. This person has a lot of trauma and they try to mask it as arrogance, confidence and flirtaciousness. They dont want to face the emotions eating away at their heart and they treat their feelings towards you the same way. They like to keep things light between you two. You might want to push towards deeper topics and a deeper connection but they just change the topic and run away. Despite this they are quite insecure regarding you and get jealous very easily.They may lash out at you in such instances or be cold and cruel. For some of you they may view you as a weakness and hate that you make them feel vulnerable. For half you in this pile they want to completely ignore and deny their feelings for you, for the other half, they acknowledge their feelings but never tell you because they feel the world is against your love(?? 😭)and pine painfully in silence.

Their love language;

Yup, they just ignore the problem and bottle up their feelings till it all explodes. So they like to act like everything is normal between you two. I'm not sure if you'll be in a relationship or not but they may never initiate it unless they're pushed to the edge. So you may remain friends and they'll just continue to love you in (obvious) silence, until something happens like your life is in danger and then theyre freaking out and threatening everyone in the vicinity. lol

PILE THREE;

Cards; 10 of swords, The Star, The Hermit, Page of swords.

How you got together;

Through a betrayal? There's a lot of mystery and intrigue between you two, a lot of escalation of feelings. You two share some bad blood or had a family rivalry of some sort but what brought you two together was hope. Hope to find a better way to live your life. You just got each other and it felt like you were soulmates from the get go. A strong connection that you both might have tried to deny but it never worked out so you wisened up and decided to give love a chance. There was a lot of angst, stress and drama that led up to you getting together. And A LOT of pining. This fictional universe feels very close to ours, with some slight differences. Could be apocalyptic/dystopian.

How you interact;

You both are quite private and mature people. You dont like to show much of your relationship to other people, or you have to keep it lowkey. For some of you it is a secret relationship. You both are very smart and emotionally mature. You two are an intellectual couple, you'll have many discussions and try to broaden your knowledge together, you might disguise your dates as research and study meetups. A lot of planning and srategising together. This might be a teacher-student relationship, or even age gap. I feel like your fictional crush could be an older brother figure/leader.

Their love language;

They may be a bit distant with you pile 3. They have a lot to do, a lot weighing on their mind and they just can't keep up with it all. They could worry a lot about their responsibilities and this could bleed into their relationship with you. Despite this they'll try their best to show you affection when they can, it'll be like you're someone that they have to take care of and they may also worry about how to keep you safe and happy. A lot of this is mental and may not translate to material gifts, words of affirmations or physical touch. You might just notice their consideration of you when you look at their plans and see that they decided to pass by the field that you love on your journey or that they made sure that you sit in certain spot because its the safest or closest to them.

PILE FOUR;

Cards; 6 of cups reversed, The fool, The Hermit reversed.

How you got together;

This is so cute. your fictional crush probably has a traumatic past that occured in their childhood. Even if not in their childhood, it still severely affected their life and development, so much so that their life can be split into a before and an after. This person sees you as someone who entered their life to bring them healing. Like you are the manifestation of the good karma that they were given after suffering so much in the past. They had finally decided to move on, pick up the pieces of their life and try to live then BOOM! You showed up and they're so grateful for you. Basically, it was a big move for them to enter this relationship with you because they were not sure if their trauma would allow them to be close to someone like that but they just viewed you as a source of so much goodness and healing, they couldnt let you just pass them by. This is so sweet, they see you as a blessing in their life. They also love who they become around you, they feel you make them a better person. They probably dont tell you all this and so from your perspective it might have looked like a regular progression of a relationship ie; getting to know each other or being friends and then dating. This fictional universe feels almost mundane, nothing too fantastical about it. Or maybe it could be scifi that involves daily life on a new planet/ in a space ship. There's not a lot of drama/high stakes/end of the world type of situations involved. It feels like all of that drama is in the past. I'm getting farms? This character could have also been a veteran/ soldier.

How you interact;

You guys are such a pure couple. You two are quite open with each other and childish almost. It feels so innocent, you could flirt by giving each other little gifts like flowers and handicrafts. LIttle notes. To observers it will look like you're both experincing giddy first love that has you smiling to yourself, all in a daze. You laugh a lot and are very comfortable in each other's company.

Their love language;

Your fictional crush can get possesive lol. They might be a bit hot headed, but they try to reel it in and have a healthy attachment towards you. They miss you when you're not around and may have fears of never seeing you again, like nightmares where they wake up in cold sweat and youre not there so they start panicking. Their love language is definitely quality time spent with you, and they tend to show you a side of themselves that they don't show other people. Their inner child definitely shines through around you.

***

Thank you so much for participating in this pick a card reading. This was very fun and entertaining for me to do lol and I may have gone a bit overboard. I hope this reading can bring you some joy, like it did to me. Have a good day/night wherever you are!

Also, please let me know if this reading resonated! What aspects of your fictional crush really shined through for you?

Sorry for any grammar/ spelling mistakes, I have no excuse 😭. I guess I'm just too dependant on auto correct, even though English is my first language.

#tarot reading #tarot #tarotblr #tarot pick a card #intuitive reading #free reading #free tarot reading #pick a card reading #pac #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #divination #love reading

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