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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

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how would the 141 and König react if they accidentally walked in on reader changing?

Ooh meOW I love this! 😉

tw: slight NSFW/suggestive themes

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

If you’re in a relationship, he’ll get comfortable and lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed one over the other. You’ve got your back to him as you’re getting ready for the day,

He’s watching you silently, watching your every movement, eyes tracking the gorgeous curves of your body, hypnotized by the curve of your ass as you lean down to pull your shorts up your legs. You start pulling your shirt over your head but you’re quickly stopped by the warm strong hands you love so much

“Not ready for the show to end.” He’s pulling you flush against him, your back against his chest as his hands glide up the smooth skin of your torso, stopping to rest gently on your throat tilting your head to the side, kissing along the column of your neck

“Si, we’ve got a lot to do today.” You whined, eyeing the pile of laundry in the corner,

“Name one thing that’s worth me stopping what I’m doing, and I’ll stop.”

You couldn’t come up with a single thing

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

This little shit (with your consent obvs) is intentionally avoiding announcing himself. You’re getting ready for your date and this mf tiptoes into your room and leans against the wall, watching you carefully.

God he could never get used to how fucking beautiful you are, the curves of your waist, your long beautiful legs, your pretty hands, dear lord you take his breath away, he can’t sit still just watching you

You’ve got your back turned to him and before you know it you feel his warm hands running down your waist, over your hips, his kissing the nape of your neck.

“Johnny, we’ll be late for our reservation.” You giggle,

“I’ve got more pressing matters to attend to.” He’s nipping the skin of your throat, turning you around to kiss the life out of you

(Spoiler alert: you missed your res and wound up ordering in)

John Price:

A true gentleman, it doesn’t matter if you’ve just gotten together or been in a relationship for years, he’ll apologize and look away, cheeks and tips of his ears a bright shade of red

Correction. He’ll make a show of looking away, but he’s peeking out of the corner of his eye if you’re changing and still facing him

But if you’ve got your back to him, sweetheart he is drinking that view up. He’s breathing evenly through his nose to keep from crossing the room in two long strides and devouring you

It’s like I said, he’s a gentleman and a patient man. He knows damn well he’ll have more time to savor you after your dinner date. He doesn’t have much a sweet tooth, so he doesn’t care for deserts.

But the best and sweetest part of his evening will be peeling that gorgeous outfit off of you, and swallowing all the pretty noises you’ll make for him.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He loves poking fun at you, he knows you’re changing, but when he wakes in he acts startled, shocked that he’s caught you in such a vulnerable position! Why didn’t you warn him?

He always makes you laugh, you throw the shirt you were about to put on at his head and he dodges with ease

“Actually I need that, can you toss it back to me?”

“Hm. I’ll think about it.” He teased, walking over to you and bringing you in close by the loops of your jeans, “Quite like you like this though.”

“Oh yeah? So when we’re at dinner you’d be fine with me out there like this?” You giggled, lower lip pulled between your teeth as you smile at him widely,

“Who says we need to go anywhere, babe? Could eat at home.” You playfully smacked his arm,

“Nothing could possibly compare to the meal I’ve got in front of me.”

As you looked at him through hooded eyes, you realized you felt the same.

König:

He always gets flustered, doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, he’s beet red and covering his eyes or pointedly looking up at the ceiling.

BUT! If you catch him in a particularly touchy mood, he gets a little brave and sits down on the bed to watch you.

“Getting in bed already? I thought we were watching that new show tonight.” You teased looking over your shoulder, you pulled your pajama pants up your long beautiful legs, and turned to grab the tshirt you set aside when you came out of your shower

He grabbed the shirt before you were able to successfully reach it and set it down beside him,

“I might prefer a different show this evening, schatz.” His voice dipped into the range that told you his intentions,

“W-what kind of show?” It always caught you off guard seeing him like this, always stirred the heat in your gut and between your legs,

He laid down on your shared bed, his legs out stretched in front of him, and he tapped one of his muscular thighs,

“Why don’t you come here and find out, maus?”

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rbf451 · 1 year

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monokatee ig story 12.5.2023

#kateryna pavlenko #go_a #käärijä #voyager #eurovision #simone dow #eurovision 2023 #esc #esc 2023 #eurovision song contest #käärijä in liverpool #ig story #12.5.2023

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 3 months

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🖤 Black History Month ❤️

💛 Queer Books by Black Authors 💚

[ List Under the Cut ]

🖤 Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender ❤️ Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta 💛 Warrior of the Wind by Suyi Davies Okungbowa 💚 I'm a Wild Seed by Sharon Lee De La Cruz 🖤 Real Life by Brandon Taylor ❤️ Ruthless Pamela Jean by Carol Denise Mitchell 💛 The Unbroken by C.L. Clark 💚 Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Córdova 🖤 Skin Deep Magic by Craig Laurance Gidney ❤️ The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi 💛 That Could Be Enough by Alyssa Cole 💚Work for It by Talia Hibbert

🖤 All Boys Aren't Blue by George M. Johnson ❤️ The Deep by Rivers Solomon 💛 How to Be Remy Cameron by Julian Winters 💚 Running With Lions by Julian Winters 🖤 Right Where I Left You by Julian Winters ❤️ This Is Kind of an Epic Love Story by Kacen Callender 💛 The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum 💚 This Is What It Feels Like by Rebecca Barrow 🖤 Son of the Storm by Suyi Davies Okungbowa ❤️ Black Boy Joy by Kwame Mbalia 💛 Legendborn by Tracy Deonn 💚 The Wicker King by K. Ancrum

🖤 Pet by Akwaeke Emezi ❤️ You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson 💛 Once Ghosted, Twice Shy by Alyssa Cole 💚 Cinderella Is Dead by Kalynn Bayron 🖤 Let's Talk About Love by Claire Kann ❤️ A Spectral Hue by Craig Laurance Gidney 💛 Power & Magic by Joamette Gil 💚 The Black Veins by Ashia Monet 🖤 Treasure by Rebekah Weatherspoon ❤️ The Sound of Stars by Alechia Dow 💛 Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James 💚 Full Disclosure by Camryn Garrett

🖤 The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta ❤️ Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee 💛 A Phoenix First Must Burn (edited) by Patrice Caldwell 💚 Rise to the Sun by Leah Johnson 🖤 Things We Couldn't Say by Jay Coles ❤️ Black Boy Out of Time by Hari Ziyad 💛 Darling by K. Ancrum 💚 The Secrets of Eden by Brandon Goode 🖤 Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé ❤️ Off the Record by Camryn Garrett 💛 Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers 💚 Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

🖤 How to Dispatch a Human by Stephanie Andrea Allen ❤️ Black Girl, Call Home by Jasmine Mans 💛 The Essential June Jordan (edited) by Jan Heller Levi and Christoph Keller 💚 A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark 🖤 A Blade So Black by L.L. McKinney ❤️ Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo 💛 Dread Nation by Justina Ireland 💚 Punch Me Up to the Gods by Brian Broome 🖤 Masquerade by Anne Shade ❤️ One of the Good Ones by Maika Moulite & Maritza Moulite 💛 Soulstar by C.L. Polk 💚 100 Boyfriends by Brontez Purnell

🖤 Hurricane Child by Kacen Callender ❤️ Quietly Hostile by Samantha Irby 💛 Coffee Will Make You Black by April Sinclair 💚 The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi 🖤 If It Makes You Happy by Claire Kann ❤️ Sweethand by N.G. Peltier 💛 This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron 💚 Better Off Red by Rebekah Weatherspoon 🖤 Friday I’m in Love by Camryn Garrett ❤️ Rainbow Milk by Paul Mendez 💛 Memorial by Bryan Washington 💚 Patsy by Nicole Y. Dennis-Benn

🖤 Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon ❤️ How to Find a Princess by Alyssa Cole 💛 Yesterday is History by Kosoko Jackosn 💚 Mouths of Rain (edited) by Briona Simone Jones 🖤 Dead Dead Girls by Nekesa Afia ❤️ Love's Divine by Ava Freeman 💛 The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr 💚 Odd One Out by Nic Stone 🖤 Symbiosis by Nicky Drayden ❤️ Thanks a Lot, Universe by Chad Lucas 💛 The Passing Playbook by Isaac Fitzsimons 💚 Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

🖤 Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert ❤️ My Government Means to Kill Me by Rasheed Newson 💛 Pleasure and Spice by Fiona Zedde 💚 No Gods, No Monsters by Cadwell Turnbull 🖤 The Stars and the Blackness Between Them by Junauda Petrus ❤️ Filthy Animals by Brandon Taylor 💛 The City We Became by N.K. Jemisin 💚 Peaces by Helen Oyeyem 🖤 The Beauty That Remains by Ashley Woodfolk ❤️ Every Body Looking by Candice Iloh 💛 Bingo Love by Tee Franklin, Jenn St-Onge, Joy San 💚 The Heart Does Not Bend by Makeda Silvera

🖤 King and the Dragonflies by Kacen Callender ❤️ By Any Means Necessary by Candice Montgomery 💛 Busy Ain't the Half of It by Frederick Smith & Chaz Lamar Cruz 💚 Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo 🖤 Sin Against the Race by Gar McVey-Russell ❤️ Trumpet by Jackie Kay 💛 Remembrance by Rita Woods 💚 Daughters of Nri by Reni K. Amayo 🖤 You Know Me Well by Nina LaCour ❤️ The Summer of Everything by Julian Winters 💛 Butter Honey Pig Bread by Francesca Ekwuyasi 💚 Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyem

#black history month #queer romance #queer books #queer community #queer #book list #book blog #booklr #bookstagram #book lovers #book reader #book reading #books to read #reading #batty about books #battyaboutbooks

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Man-sized Part 2/9 After Dark

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

A/N: Can be read as a Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!reader. Little to nil description, the OC has a name.

She didn't usually do this.

Bring guys to her apartment after a few giggles. She especially did not bring guys like Simon "I kill people" back home to fuck.

It was her night time self. Her show belonged into a different realm. And that was okay. Everybody had a dark side, and she just... worked with hers in this way.

When people asked about her job, she told them she was a dancer. If they asked more, she told them she taught pole dance lessons. Only a handful of her most trusted friends knew that she danced at a strip club. Danced: she was a dancer, not a stripper. Pole dancing required minimal amount of clothing so that tricks could be performed safely and efficiently. She viewed her job as an opportunity to hone her skills and have a workout after her studies. And it paid the bills. She called it a win-win situation.

Simon belonged to the nighttime world too.

And what happened after dark just had to happen at some point, she figured.

But it turned out that Simon wasn't just a tall, dark stranger who fucked women and killed people.

He was also a lover.

She supposed that he was good at fucking, too, but he seemed to hold back from that this night, with her, at least. She didn't really know what to think of it. She thought he had brought her here – to her apartment – to be fucked. Because that's how it was; he called the shots, not she.

Her clothes were gone as soon as they entered the darkness that was her bedroom. Not a single garment had left his body, other than those big, black shoes that were now in her hallway, somewhere amidst all the girl shoes. Huge hands ran down her back and cupped her ass before she could turn on the lights, they raised her to his lap as he carried her to the bed.

He was a good kisser, and he kissed her all over. She was left with her panties and an icy terror in her stomach as he continued to explore her body with his mouth. She was still not over the fact that he was a cocky stranger who had gotten her into this situation just by pouring honeyed rum in her ear.

In other words, she had fallen for bullshit.

"What's wrong, dove?"

He wasn't stupid, though. He noticed that she was a bit tense, a tad uncomfortable. As much as she wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with her, the prospect of seeing him leave after he was done was a turn-off. In horror, she realized that she wanted to get to know him, wanted to get to know Simon.

"You afraid of me?"

She supposed he would probably get kicks out of it if she said yes.

"Should I be?"

"No. Just here to make ya feel good."

He continued to kiss her, took her breast inside one of those huge palms. She wasn't a small woman, the muscles in her back, shoulders, forearms and stomach might've been a bit too much for some guys. But they weren't for Simon. She felt like a delicate, feminine flower with him, and it was scary: how her breast nearly disappeared inside that warm and calloused hand – of course it was calloused, so much so that the callouses scratched her skin – and when he licked her, she tried to hold on to her sanity for a little while longer.

"What's your last name?"

He huffed a short laugh on her stomach, and her muscles contracted at the hot air suddenly hitting her skin.

"Is that what you wanna know right now?"

When she wouldn't answer, he continued kissing her, went down, even further down…

"Riley."

The name was whispered, short and sweet, against her soaked panties.

"What do we have here…"

She could only swallow and let him take that last bit of shielding fabric away. She hadn't expected this at all: that he would come to her apartment to adore her. That he would go down on her. At this very moment, it felt too intimate, too much from a guy whose name she barely knew. She had come to know him for months and months through his stare only, but now he was here, in her bedroom, between her thighs… he was real.

"I…"

"Yes, love?"

Calling her love already… It was a bit too tacky. But then again, she guessed she did kind of like it because it made her even more wet.

"Could you take your clothes off too?"

This time, he laughed like someone who found the situation greatly entertaining, and her… adorable?

"You never cease to amuse me."

What will happen when I cease to amuse you?

"You always fuck with your clothes on?"

That did something to him. He almost froze, then proceeded to take those goddamn clothes off.

She had ruined the soft, sensual mood, but it was okay, or so she told herself. She wanted to tear down this setting, the scenes that only rubbed it in her face that this was a one time only occasion before Simon would find another girl to obsess about. If he didn't have a girl in every town already...

"No nonsense with you, is that it?" He commented - the mood had definitely changed. "I like it."

The silk gloves were off with the rest of his actual clothes, and this time, when he positioned himself between her legs, it was to guide his erection in.

It was dark in the room, but she could see enough — after all, there was never a complete darkness to be had in the city. The blue-colored light filled the night and showed her that Simon was big.

No, that's not gonna…

He pushed just the tip in, and a needy groan escaped her lips.

"Yeah… I think you like me too."

He was so fucking cocky… Even and especially when his actual cock was inside her, with more and more pushing in by the minute.

She brushed her fingers along the lines of all that muscle, first his shoulder, then the forearm… the skulls and bombs and death. And she was wet, alright. Didn't know if she had ever been this wet for anyone. It was fucking frightening.

"That's a good girl…"

No, not the good girl talk, Jesus…

But she couldn't deny it: it worked. Everything he did, worked like a charm.

His balls touched her as he slid fully in... and stayed there.

The intimacy was unbearable, the stranger was inside her, and she could feel every inch of him. He was hovering above her, looking at her like "Ya feel that? Ya feel it too?"

But she must only be imagining; this wasn't real — a man like him couldn't hold such a sea of emotion in him. He was… a what, a soldier? A killer? There was nothing romantic here. They had met at a strip club.

And what was she to a killer… an exotic dancer, a uni student who barely had her life together, who paid her bills days after the due date.

"Don't flee from it."

She raised her eyes back to his and found that he was examining her. Those eyes now revealed much more than just dark, melting chocolate; they looked like they had seen too much. She briefly thought about whether the man was skilled in torture; if he was skilled at breaking his enemies and if he could hear their thoughts as he broke them. Could hear her thoughts...

"Sarah.. Come back."

Her inner muscles tightened around him, and he reacted instantly. "That's it...- good girl."

No one had ever talked to her like that... And she didn't even want to slap him for it. She followed his voice and was courageous enough to wrap her legs around him, that narrow waist that still managed to be bulky and broad, like everything in him was. He finally started the rodeo, which turned out to be the most sensual fuck she had ever had the privilege to receive.

It was like he fucked her soul or something.

Her lips were quivering, the moans he pulled out from her could've made Nicki Minaj blush. He was thorough, precise, and attentive — traits of a good soldier, she presumed. And he must've been some kind of a leader, the way he cheered her on like a highly ranked officer, a widely respected superior.

"Looking gorgeous," the rough voice washed all over her as she was approaching her orgasm. No one had ever made her come with cock alone. She assumed it was just the months and months of tension that was at work here, but some part of her knew that it was just pure, undiluted Simon Riley who she had to blame for it.

"Eyes up here," he commanded when she was only seconds away from a breakdown. Eyes up here... He talked to her like she was a soldier about to die, and he wouldn't let it happen, not on his watch. But it was a small death and a coming back to life as well: she broke for him so hard that he hissed as she dug her nails into his arms. An invisible string lifted her from her sternum, made her arch her back as she came, screaming, and the eyes held her, beheld her: amused, pleased... He was performing an exorcism on her, waking her from a year-long coma, restarting her heart with electric shocks.

She half expected him to praise her with that sultry good girl stuff again when she was in that vulnerable state, but he bent towards her and went for her mouth. He drank the rest of the orgasm from her lips, almost suffocated her with his kiss as she convulsed beneath him, and he wouldn't stop… he made love to her as she moaned on his tongue, and the thickness continued to fill her slowly as she came down from that life-saving orgasm. By the time he left her mouth, she was panting and squeezing the grinding hips with her hands, sinking her nails in there as well.

"I knew you were a wild one," he whispered against her lips. "That was almost as good as that little slap..."

She couldn't speak, could only catch for air at what Simon had said before he dived for her mouth again. The bed was moaning too under the heavy weight of her mercenary lover, especially when he upped the pace.

"I'm close too," he broke another kiss, slightly panting. "Where do ya want me?"

"Don't pull out..."

He gathered her thighs, lifted them to his shoulders like they weighed nothing, drove deep, so deep that his pelvis touched her and his whole upper body rubbed against her, and all she could feel was muscle. All she could smell was tobacco and hints of scotch and something which she reluctantly labeled as primal. It was his sweat and pheromones and all the tension that came undone as he came inside her. She heard an abrupt grunt that turned into a hoarse, shaky moan... and that earlier, unemotional declaration "I kill people" still echoed in her head.

---

She saw the scars in the morning when he got up and went to the shower. She had thought he was a torturer, but it looked like he was the one who had been tortured sometime in the past.

The white protrusions on his skin were evenly inflicted and in places that were not supposed to end a man but simply give him pain. She didn't know why exactly had she refused to believe him, to believe that his work was something highly unusual. The scars finally rubbed it in her face: this was not a regular, normal dude she was dealing with. He did not work as a desk officer in the military or even as a pro fighter in the combat sports business.

She was both fascinated and disturbed at the thought that Simon likely had invisible injuries too, a collection of scars on his psyche.

"You want a towel?"

It somehow grieved her that he wanted to wash her scent – their scent – away so soon, even if it was a simple, natural thing to do… to shower in the morning. He didn't answer, but when she went to give it to him nevertheless, it suffered the same fate as those flowers as he pulled her under the descending water with him.

The second round was more of a sloppy, dazed fuck. He took her against the wall, and she briefly thought that she would get a huge water bill next month. But it was worth every cent. She didn't come, but enjoyed watching him, now in a fully lit room with half-lidded eyes and a slightly open mouth. He even had a scar on his jaw...

"You're… tight, did'ya know that?"

She was still not over the fact that he talked like this during sex. He was almost chatty when at the bar he had barely spoken full sentences. She never knew dirty talk could be so stimulating.

Or perhaps it was just the magic of Simon Riley again.

"Why so serious?"

She laughed a little — Simon made her laugh. If anything, it was he who could be called serious, even with that dry, dark sense of humour.

"Don't know what to make of you."

"You're not the most open book yourself," he muttered, and she barely detected the hint of sorrow – yearning, in his voice.

He eventually came with an agonized, tired grunt. He seemed to be in a hurry, and when he pulled out and reached his hand to satisfy her as well, she grabbed him by the wrist and gently pushed it away. Simon sighed, and dropped his head against hers while the bulky shoulders closed in on her like walls. The water was running, and he was clearly having a moment, even though it was just supposed to be a quick fuck.

Hesitating, she reached to give him a hug, then started to slowly caress his back as he leaned his head on the wall and against her. His breathing only deepened. He sounded like someone who was taking a cold bath while trying to maintain a controlled breath. At some point, it almost sounded like he was in pain.

"Am I your pet?" He asked rather gruffly, and her hand stopped midway down his back.

"You don't like being touched?"

He nuzzled closer to her neck, placed a kiss behind her ear.

"Perhaps a little too much."

He then surprised her by giving her a wash. Like she was his pet. Perhaps it was his reaction to having shown vulnerable parts of himself to someone, even if what they had shared was just simple human connection. She relaxed a little too much under his touch, which was again deliciously attentive.

"The things I'd do to you if we had more time.."

He was crouching and the soap on her legs eased his caresses, but when he stopped for a while to give her a kiss there, she recoiled from him. It was simply out of surprise, because his hands and the warm water had left her drowsy and melting, but he rose and gave her another look. Simon clearly wasn't used to women refusing him, not to talk of shrinking from his touch.

When they came from the shower, she went straight to the kitchen. While searching for something to offer him as breakfast, she noticed that Simon was examining the course material on her desk.

Art history major and a professional killer — what a hilarious pair.

But he seemed more than interested, almost intrigued. He skimmed through a certain book about studies on the influence of natural philosophy on the Renaissance. The man might surprise her yet, but still, she couldn't see them chatting about Erwin Panofsky over a cup of coffee.

"You want some?"

She was standing there with only a towel on, holding a coffee pan in her hand: far too domestic a setting, and far too soon.

"Nah, gotta go."

Heaven came down in just three words.

Yeah… of course you do.

She abandoned her mission with the coffee and went to get her clothes, to have some kind of protection against the cold Simon would leave her with.

"Will I be seeing you again?"

"If you want to."

Polite, reserved... A gentleman instead of a no-nonsense soldier who would say it like it was. She could see now that he was definitely in a hurry.

"Can I call you?" She tried to flesh out a future for them and not think about the fact that she would, very likely, only have a ghost of him as a memory.

"I'd rather call you."

Right. I'm not seeing this guy again.

"Sure, whatever."

She gave him her number and watched how he walked out of the door and out of her life.

---

You wanted to know what I do for a living.

Holy Mother of…

Not only did he contact her, he sent her a picture of himself looking like… like war. The tired eyes stared at her from inside what looked like the top of a human skull attached to a black balaclava. He wasn't a foot soldier, or a mercenary, he wasn't even working for the UK version of a SWAT team. He was something else. She didn't even have a name for all the gear he was loaded with.

Still want to see me?

Fucking d.e.f.i.n.i.t.e.l.y.

She hadn't expected to see him ever again. She was sure he had asked her number just out of common courtesy. The chemistry was there, but the eventual sex had been awkward — satisyfying, and life saving, but awkward. She didn't really do one night stands, and Simon had flown into that category as soon as he had shut that door.

But now it seemed that she had to find him a new category. Everybody always said to give the guy three days. That the guy would show up if he wanted to.

It had barely been two days since he had been inside her and checked out what it was that she was studying.

I don't know. Doesn't look like James Bond to me.

I can put on a suit if that's more to your liking.

Hah, yeah… She would masturbate on that picture of him wearing a fucking human skull to work at least a hundred times.

No need.

Are you going to return the favor?

She sent him a picture — a rather naughty one. It wasn't the same kind of naughty she did at the club, no. She was wearing barely a touch of makeup, she was a little sleepy, her walls were down... and the only thing she wore was an oversized t-shirt she lifted just enough for him to see a little bit of something.

A smile rose to her face when he answered immediately.

Shouldn't have asked.

Not Bond girl enough for you?

Just the right amount, Sarah. It's your fault if I get killed.

Part 3:

#ghost x oc #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #mw2 smut #cod smut #mw2 x reader #my fics

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bonesofapoet · 6 months

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ares crowned by persephone [simon 'ghost' riley x you] requested by @gonnaneedabiggerfloat from this kisses prompt list. apologies for the super long wait, but i hope you enjoy it authors note : the one where simon asks you to leave him to die. language, blood, injury, yearning word count : 1888

Your nightmare started like this.

The sunrise reflected in the eyes of Simon Riley, and you knew this would be the last time you ever saw him. Brilliant pinks and bright cerulean blue looked back at you, instead of his unmistakable deep, warm brown. The colors streaked together adding plums and violets to the painting that would leave Claude Monet breathless with envy.

There was a pull of something strong, something sad coiling within the depths of your heart, yet you found it hard to care, hard to notice when beauty such as this, rose tall above him to envelope you in the arms of a nightmare staged to be a dream. Golden clouds shone ethereal in the midst of the colors staining his irises, the sole collector of a piece so priceless he would only have to pay with his life. That didn’t matter yet, when the sparkle in Simon’s eyes was his and his alone - the very ones, in fact, that enamored you so shamelessly every time you looked into them, no matter the color they were wearing.

Eventually, you woke up from that dream, unsure why it read like a nightmare, when the blood was staining your hands, and not the ones cradling your jaw under the rising sun.

And yet this time, there was no dream. This was slowly becoming a waking nightmare, and no one ever had a chance with those. That distant, punch-drunk love was now accompanied by something else. Something other.

Something so incredibly familiar you had to press pause on the subconscious chaos swirling too fucking fast as it roared loud enough in your ears; it even rivaled the soft thundering of the ocean rising into view.

You and Ghost crashed through the treeline and onto rocky soil, rocky sand, high tide just beginning to creep up the shore. It hit you then, when you stopped halfway down the beach. The uneven terrain had forced you both to slow down so you didn’t go down. It was a textbook lightbulb experience, in the moments that uneasy pace gifted your mind a chance to catch the fuck up. You knew what it was, now. What had been gnawing at your nerves for the last half mile and why it seemed familiar, unsettlingly so.

It was the feeling from that dream months ago. That same pulling, that same coil of sadness wrapping itself a new home inside your heart, your stomach, flowing through your veins. Except it was accompanied by dread, now. The very same kind of quiet dread telling you this was truly a nightmare, when you swore it was a dream.

“Go.”

That couldn't have been right. The water was so loud now, it was a strain to hear your own breathing. “What?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. Fuckin’ go.”

The arm slung around your shoulders pulled away, and Ghost leaned his weight on the leg without a tourniquet failing to do it’s fucking job.

He speaks with steel, because he’s Ghost now. The urgency of your lieutenant was dominating the pale shadow of tenderness lurking in the shadows, if you knew how to listen for it.

(You heard it plain as day. Plain as the facts laid bare before you, yet you pretended not to see them.)

“Ghost -”

The rising sun, now beginning to peek over the writhing horizon, began to light up the spray of the ocean. If only you were surprised by this sudden streak of martyrdom - yet it was never sudden, not really. And he would not dare consider himself a martyr.

Golden beams rose slowly and languid against a sky so vibrant, so haphazardly painted with the colors that mirrored your nightmare. You began to understand now, looking down at your hands. You were wearing gloves this time, but they were covered in blood all the same. All of this - it was becoming hard to look at. Your hands jammed themselves in the first pockets they found.

Soon enough, your eyes fell down, down, down back to Earth, back to Ghost trying to keep off his injured leg.

That serpent of sorrow coiling surely around your heart constricted, something sharp and horrible when you remembered your shoddy medskills, how he would need a proper medic - and soon - unless he preferred to see the shores of England again from a body bag.

Your eyes slid to the spray quickly, all golden glitter sparkling in the sunrise, a precursor to the stars no doubt already waiting in the wings for their turn to grace the skies once again. And yet, you took none of it in. Not the tide inching closer and closer to your boots caked in muddy blades of grass and rock now stained with blood. Not the wild roar of the waves, gargantuan, almost, in the very near distance. Not even the way they reflected the sky painted above you in a palette so ethereal, Claude Monet would be breathless with envy.

All of it was lost, horribly muted among the cataloged scene of your extraction gone, no doubt, sideways. Ghost was shot. Your rendezvous had changed. Your team had been separated, all of you pursued, all of you trying to clear another day. And yet, all of this paled in comparison with the knowledge of Ghost - Simon - bleeding out way too fast and insisting that you fucking leave him.

If you were a perfect soldier, you would have done so immediately.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter? Get out of here, meet the rest of the team -” he cuts himself off, glances down at the pretty trail of blood he’d been kind enough to leave behind. Simon looks to the ocean, endless and vicious and impossibly beautiful before him. Flashes from before begin to greet him, an old friend that stopped coming by, long ago. “I’ll buy you some time.”

“Like hell -”

“That’s an order.” it was rough, his voice. Harsher than usual, and trying like hell to hide something. You suspected, though pushing at this juncture would be unwise, and you knew better than to waste such precious time. It wasn’t instinct, but you flinched anyway. All traces of training had begun to slip away seamlessly and disappear into the sea.

Perhaps Price was right. You should have listened when he advised you to reconsider accepting this assignment.

Next to you, Simon pushed away the old memories, pushed away the weekend he spent on a beach nicer than this one with his nephew back home. It was harder to push away the evening he brought you to the North Sea to watch the stars rise and share their stories, one by glittering one. He tried to forget the way your eyes reflected starlight, tried to ignore the memory of your smile shining brighter than the moon had, once it rose to bathe the world in glory.

But, Simon had never been good at pushing you away.

He was dying, he guessed. Between the worry he learned to read on your face, the set of your shoulders, the argument you tried to raise. And, then, there was the wonder about what had broken within him so quickly, so unexpectedly to entertain these memories here, in the middle of a fucking mission, of all places. Ghost had learned to shut shit that off.

Simon, it seemed, was succeeding on cracking the mask from within -

“Oh, right. You’re ordering me to leave you to die, then? Is this how you want to throw away everything we’ve grown to be?”

“If you’re still feelin’ fuckin’ generous, you can make your grand rescue with the team, yeah?”

Right. Right.

It was a waste, the cruel beauty of the world squandered on a moment such as this. As the sun’s rays broke through the last precious minutes of dawn’s fading blue hour, you held Simon’s gaze through the last rays of night. The sunrise was reflecting in the eyes of Simon Riley, and you knew this would be the last time you ever saw him. Brilliant pinks and bright cerulean blue looked back at you, instead of deep, warm brown. The colors streaked together adding plums and violets to the painting that would leave you cursing Monet’s name until the day you died.

That didn’t matter yet, when the sparkle in Simon’s eyes was his and his alone - the very ones enamoring you so shamelessly, even now, in the midst of the hardest thing you will ever have to do.

He reaches for you, and you reach back without a thought, without a care for the precious time you were surely wasting. Simon reaches for you, grabbing hold of your arm to tug you closer, your own gloved hand wrapping around his wrist, sleeve soaking through with blood. Ghost has gone now, melted away for a moment, leaving Simon one last minute of clarity with you, untainted by the sins of his past. When he finally meets your eyes, there’s peace in them.

You feel fabric along your jawline, sliding gently to tilt your chin to face him fully. It’s hard to see him like this - if only because it’s happening anywhere other than behind your closed doors. Those beautiful eyes of yours drift shut, and the rustle of fabric on plastic drowns out the ocean, inches away now as the tide continues to rise.

It’s something you’ve memorized, the feeling of his lips brushing along yours. It’s a comfort, a plea on your part how you kiss him back with everything you feel, because words simply have no place here. For Simon’s part, the gesture is repaid with all the familiar softness and desperation he holds, in this moment - an apology in the only way he knows how. An apology for what, exactly, you weren’t sure.

Simon felt responsible for so, so many things.

A moment passes, maybe two. Time slips by, a fictional figment that slows everything down and muddles your senses. You stay like this for as long as you dare, and then only a second longer before it’s you, who pulls away from him first. Tentatively, slowly, heart now fully entwined with that coiling serpent nestled permanently among your heartache. If you don’t leave now - it becomes clear to yourself that you never could. Then, all of this would have been for nothing.

So, you let go.

Simon Riley slips through your fingertips, eyes hardening as he lets go of your jaw, the curve of your waist. You see it clear as crystal, when the sun's golden rays fall on the deep brown belonging to Ghost, now, that this moment is all you have.

He braces on his good leg, mask sliding back into place and grip tightening on the only sidearm he has left. There’s a nod forward, a playful glint warming up the cold depths of Ghost’s eyes. “Go.”

Nightmares, you realize, are something you never truly shake. They linger, always, hiding in the shadows of a subconscious, or making a home in the forefront of your mind, always haunting, always taunting you for the rest of your life.

You harden yourself like Ghost taught you, and push everything down, down, down the fucked up rabbit hole you tumbled through of your own free will. “Give 'em hell, Simon.”

Without wasting a heartbeat, you turn and run.

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