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sim0nril3y · 6 months

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I cannot get enough of ghost and his little civilian reader!!! I broke my arm today (boo do not recommend) but now I get to rest and fantasize about my favorite cod men lol. How do you think Simon would react if his girl broke her arm??

Note: oh my, I'm so sorry to hear that you broke your arm, honey. I hope that you are doing okay and that you are on the mend now. Please try to enjoy your time resting and fantising about the wonderful men of COD. I hope that this helped bring you some comfort. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, broken arm, talk of pain, talk of pain medication, hospital talk, canon-typical swearing.

Simon was cursing himself. If he had been quicker then he might have been able to catch you before you slipped onto that patch of ice. Maybe if he’d been more observant Simon might have been able to steer you around it and avoid the problem all together. Hell, if he hadn’t insisted on walking on the side of the pavement closer to the road then it would have been him slipping and you wouldn’t be in agony sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bed after hours of waiting in A&E.

Not long after you’d been admitted they had taken you away for an x-ray to confirm that you had broken the bone, but that was something that Simon could have told them with utmost certainty considering he had heard the sickening crack of the bone breaking. It was a sound that was going to haunt his dreams for months, along with the sounds of your sobs and cries of pain, they had been imbedded into his mind and even now were echoing.

After you had been returned to him Simon kept a strong hand planted on you at all times, as if you were something that could be lost easily. It seemed to deescalate his anxiety just being able to hold you, that was something you even noticed through the haze of the pain relief they’d given you that hadn’t seemed to kick in entirely yet as your arm still throbbed in agony.

“Oi…” You said gently, gaining his attention as it focused in on your arm. Reaching over with your good hand to gently pinch Simon’s chin and force his gaze up into your eyes. “Will you stop it with that face?” You requested in a gentle voice. “What face?” Simon replied as if unaware that he looked like he had been kicked in the stomach over and over. “That face.” You whispered, gazing deeply into his eyes and gifting him a delicate smile, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes from the pain you were fighting. “Yes, it’s broken but accidents happen-”

In a sharp tone Simon replied. “Not with me.” His brows pinched together, as if internally scolding himself for his short tone. “Not… not with me.” He said again, his voice lower and softer. “Accidents don’t happen with me and especially not to you.” You pat his hand that was gripping your knee tight and leaned back into the pillows finally feeling the pain relief beginning to take some effect. It was just in time too because the nurse had arrived to begin to cast your arm into an uncomfortable position to ensure that it would set right.

After that they sent you away with Simon, some instructions for the pain pills and a sling to help relieve the pressure on your broken arm.

Arriving home Simon helped you through the front door, stepped inside behind you and carefully prying your coat from your wounded body. Then he knelt down and began to fight the knots from the laces on your boots. “I could do that, you know?” You informed him. “I know.” Simon answered before tilting his head up to look into your eyes. “But you’re gonna let me help you anyway.”

Gently you tugged your fingers through his hair and nodded in agreement. Simon helped you remove your boots and then rose up to his full height, glancing down at you as he cupped your cheek lovingly. “Let me get you settled, alright?” Coaxing you to walk in front and upstairs, Simon never took his hands from your body, keeping you clasped so that you didn’t stumble or injure yourself further. “Good girl…” He muttered softly as you entered your bedroom, Simon held you from behind and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your head. “Let me get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

A tired scoff fell from your lips. “I broke my arm and you’re gonna help fix it with your-” “Behave.” Simon smirked. “Fuckin’ brat…” Then shaking his head as he crossed the room to gather some loose fitting clothes for you. They were his clothes. Simon loved seeing you dressed up in his clothes, but seeing you comforted by them after your injury hit him on a whole new level. “C’mere… We’ll get you into something comfortable and then you can rest. Okay?”

Gently nodding your head, you responded with an almost teasing tone. “Yes, sir~” Which earned a tested look from Simon before he carefully began to undress you. It was fine until he removed your shirt, trying to move your arm as little as possible. The movement earned a noise of discomfort from you, eyes squeezing closed and not a moment later Simon’s lips pressed against your forehead. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He assured you gentle. “Not gonna let anything hurt you. Okay?”

You trusted him. In that single moment you knew you trusted Simon to protect you from any danger that would come your way. There was so much certainty to his voice. There was so much need to make sure that you were never going to be in pain again. “C’mon… bed…”

Now that you were dressed up in some of his clothes Simon lead you to your bed, pulling back the covers and placing you under them, tucking you in tight and ensuring that your arm was raised by a couple pillows. “Here.” He placed the remotes to the TV within you reach but knew that whatever you were going to put on you wouldn’t even last a couple minutes watching considering the way that your eyes were drooping closed now.

“Try and get some rest and I’ll make some food-” “Can you stay for a little while?” You questioned; your tone practically slurred from the exhaustion that was beginning to sweep through your body. “Course…” Simon agreed, moving to carefully slot in beside you, rubbing his fingers over your face, carefully drawing slow lines over your forehead, down your nose, coaxing you further into tiredness. “Can’t… can’t promise I’ll be… be good conversation…”

Simon chuckled quietly, kissing the hinge of your jaw tenderly and then requesting. “Sleep, babe. Get some rest for me.” He heard the way your breathing changed. He felt the way your body sank and your muscles relax and finally he whispered into your ear. “I will never let you fill this way again; I will never let anything or anyone hurt you.” He observing your peaceful slumbering face, knowing it was safe. “I love you.”

Masterlist | Ask | 09-12-2023

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 11 months

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You push them against the wall

Requested: No but it was inspired by a comment @xdark-acadamiax made in the tags of my Titty Flash post [#NO I push Simon to wall❤️]

Warnings: Mostly cute fluff, Reader is flirty

A/N: I saw the tag, I had to take action

Ghost

Ghost is definitely surprised when you push him against the wall, boxing him in with your arms, a giddy grin on your face. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat from your closeness, or how you leaned in like one of those corny movies, asking if he came here often. (Seriously? This is the base. Of course he comes here often.) He’ll brush aside your flirtations, rolling his eyes, face a soft pink, all his blood rushing to his cheeks. Despite his protests he didn’t mind the attention. He might even like it if you do it again, your attempts to seduce him unwavering. He’s never had this kind of attention before, not something so cute and cheesy. He likes it. Wants more of it.

Keegan

Keegan cocks a brow when you push him against the wall, trapping him in your arms. His eyes are disapproving but he makes no move to stop you or push you away. And when some cheesy line comes out of your mouth he smirks, leaning in, so close that your lips almost brushed, his arms crossed over his chest as he asks you if you’re enjoying yourself. He’ll only chuckle if you respond affirmatively, tilting his head as he watches you continue your attempts at flirting before leaning in even closer and kissing you over his mask, effectively shutting you up. Though he couldn’t help but think about how cute you were throughout the entire kiss.

Krueger

Krueger is not impressed when you corner him against the wall, letting out an exasperated sigh because you’re always up to something and he’s a very busy man. His unamusement only increases when you start dropping cheesy pickup lines, asking him if it hurt when he fell from heaven. He tells you that he crawled up from hell actually, picking you up and setting you down to the side of him so he could start getting back to work.

König

König practically jumps out of his skin when you cage him in against the hallway wall, his eyes wide, papers clutched to his chest tightly. He tries to ask you what you’re doing but you interrupt him, saying “Are you a magician? Cause every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.” He’s flattered, really, but he’s getting so flustered that he might actually combust, his face a bright cherry red as he laughs nervously, more thankful than ever for his mask.

Alejandro

Alejandro is the most amused of any of them when he lets you trap him against the wall, your hands on his hips as you shamelessly flirt with him. No matter how corny it is, he just smirks at you, chuckling under his breath as he starts flirting right back, far more suave than you. His voice husky and warm against your face as he flips you both around so you’re the one trapped against the wall, his body against yours, nipping and sucking at your ears between flirtations.

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milf-murdock · 4 months

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Unsteady (Simon x Johnny x Reader)

Request: Simon and Johnny taking care of F!Reader

Summary: Simon and Johnny take care of you after you almost pass out at the pub.

TW: heavily implied disordered eating, almost passing out, mental health concerns, medication mentions (nothing specific but could be read as ADHD medication side effects).

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much for your request and your kind words! I'm choosing not to publish the ask because I think there are some triggering words that I won't be able to hide under a "read more" line, but I hope that you enjoy this and find some comfort in it.

As someone who has also struggled with EDs in the past, please, please, please do not be afraid to ask for help. There is nothing glamorous about eating disorders. They absolutely need to be taken seriously.

Instead of going the full ED route with this one shot, I took it down a slightly softer path and based it off of my experience with ADHD and how it has led to me accidentally missing meals.

The din of the pub faded into the background as you sat in the corner booth of your favorite pub. You were pressed up against Simon’s bulky frame, one of his strong arms wrapped around your body, keeping you tucked in close. Johnny sat across the booth, taking in his favorite view: you wrapped up in Simon—his two loves, his whole world sat right across the table from him.

Your empty glass clinked against the others as your set it on the table. “Looks like we’re ready for another round,” you said, smiling up at Johnny.

“Mm, that it does,” Johnny smiled back at you, and you felt like you could absolutely drown in those ocean eyes.

“You tryna get us drunk or something, love?” Simon teased, lips pressing against your collarbone.

“Something like that,” you laughed, turning your head meet his lips for a quick kiss. “Here, I’ll go, order them” you reasoned, being on the outside of the seat and closest to the bar. “Be right back.” You pushed yourself from the booth to your feet, and instantly the entire room started spinning. Damn, you thought to yourself. That beer is hitting fast. You went to take one tentative step, and then the room started to tilt, the floor coming up at you fast.

Johnny was out of his seat in an instant, having picked up immediately something was wrong from the moment you stood up. His two large hands reached out to steady you, catching you in his arms. “Easy now,” he grunted, bracing you both. “I’ve got ye.” He gently lowered you back into the booth, letting your weak form lean up against Simon. Simon’s hands instantly held you against him, supporting you. At the edge of the booth, Johnny got down on one knee so he could be eye level with you.

“Look at me, hen,” he coaxed. “What’re you feeling?” Johnny grabbed one of the ice waters from the table and gingerly helped bring it to your lips.

You blinked, trying to get your bearings. The room finally stopped spinning. “M’fine,” you mumble before taking a sip of the water Johnny offered you. The icy cold liquid helped clear your mind. “Just got a bit dizzy.”

Johnny and Simon exchanged knowing glances.

“What’ve ye had to eat today, lass?” Johnny’s voice was gentle, prodding, but his eyes were a dead giveaway to the concern and hurt he was feeling, already knowing the answer.

“Umm, I’m not really sure,” you stepped around the question, your voice hesitant. “I think I had a banana this morning?”

Simon let out a resigned sigh. “I’m assuming that would be half of a banana,” he corrected. “Considering I found the remaining half still in the peel on top of the dresser.”

You eyelids fluttered shut, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Oh.” You let out. “Yeah, I went in there to grab one of your jumpers and I must have forgotten it.”

It happened all the time, you getting distracted mid task. It had gotten even worse since one of the side effects of your medication was a suppressed appetite. You never did have quite a good relationship with food to begin with though.

“And what about lunch?” Johnny continued his prodding.

You bit your bottom lip, a nervous habit of yours. Wincing, you reply with a mumbled “forgot.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as shame flooded through you.

At this, both men let out a sigh, completely in synch when it comes to their concern for you.

“Love, we’ve been over this,” Simon started before being cut off.

“M’sorry.” Despite your best efforts, a couple tears started to slide down your face.

Johnny pulls you into his arms. “S’okay, Bonnie,” he soothed, running a hand up and down your back.

“S’not okay, Johnny,” Simon snapped from the other side of you. “She needs to be eating.”

Johnny shot Simon a glare. “I know that, Si.” He took a deep breath before pressing a kiss to your temple, your head buried against his chest. “He’s right though, bonnie. Ye need to be eating.”

His hand slid up to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“I know,” you whined, fidgeting under his piercing gaze.

Simon scooted closer across the booth, a strong hand coming to rest against your back.

“We just need to know you’re taken care of, love,” Simon began to rub his hand in a soothing circle. “Specially knowing we can’t always be here to take care of you ourselves.”

“I know,” you sighed, feeling yourself shutting down.

Simon and Johnny exchange another glance, Simon giving a short nod of approval signaling to back off for now.

“Just promise us you’ll try,” Johnny pleaded. “For us. Please?”

You nod, sniffling.

“I promise,” you sighed softly. “I’ll try harder.”

Johnny gave you a crooked smile, a favorite of yours. “Atta girl.”

Simon pressed a kiss to the back of your head. “Now let’s go get some dinner, love. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds…” you trailed off. “Well, I don’t really feel that well.”

Simon nodded his head knowingly. “Well that’s cause you’ve hardly eaten today.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Probably.”

“Something easy then,” Johnny stated matter of factly. “Perfect weather for soup. Think you can manage that, dove?”

You gave a small nod and let Johnny transfer you over to Simon’s strong arms.

“Aye, good lass,” he gave you a quick peck. “Si, get our girl home and I’l go pick it up.”

“Affirmative,” Simon agreed, giving your hip a quick tap to encourage you to try to get on your feet again.

Johnny stood up and offered you a hand to help you up, Simon’s hands never leaving your hips until they were both certain you weren’t in danger of passing out on them.

“I’ll see you both at home,” Johnny quipped, giving both you and Simon a quick kiss on the cheek before going to pay the tab.

Simon helped you shrug into your coat and the two of you made your way out to the brisk Manchester air.

An hour later, empty takeaway containers littered the coffee table in the living room as you laid on the couch with your loves. You were pressed up against Simon, leaning up against him, tucked under his arm. Your legs were sprawled out across Johnny’s lap, his calloused hands giving you the most delightful foot massage.

“Y’know we love you, right?” Johnny’s voice broke the silence that had settled over the three of you.

“I know,” your voice was low.

“We just worry about you, love,” Simon urged, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

“I promise I’ll try to be better.” You sighed softly. “I love you both so much.”

“We love you too, lass.” Johnny leaned forward to give you a kiss.

“So much,” Simon finished, pressing another kiss to your exposed neck.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #john soap mctavish x reader #simon x johnny x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #simon Riley x Johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x john mactavish x reader #TW ed #tw ed descussion #soap x reader #ghoap x you

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cordeliawhohung · 9 months

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The Emptiness had Always Been There

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader part 3 of "soft spot"

You dig the knife in deep. Simon isn't scared. Why isn't he scared?

Warnings: Alcohol, talk of sex, descriptions of an anxiety/panic attack, a little bit of PTSD, allusions to past dubcon, reader is a little traumatized, Ghost is a natural caretaker.

wc: 6.4k

“Are you sure you should be having another one?”

The half-raised glass of the fruity drink you had ordered at the bar stopped short of your lips at your co-workers question. She stared at you with that question heavy in her eyes as she glanced back and forth between you and your drink.

“Huh?” you asked, setting it down on the table.

“That’s almost your third, maybe fourth one of the hour. You’re gonna get pissed before we even get tipsy,” the other woman at the table teased.

Cheryl and Méabh. They were two of the girls at the bank who you were closest with, and they had both managed to rope you into a night out drinking. Or, at least you were drinking. They were still on the first drinks they had ordered nearly forty minutes ago.

Méabh was a sweet girl with bright eyes. He had only been working at the bank for about a year by that point. She worked there part time in the morning before her afternoon classes at university, but she always baked sweet pastries and made cute cards for everyone on their birthdays. Cheryl was a bit older than you, and gushed about her two children whenever she got the chance. She was as much of a motherly figure as you were going to get while living in London, and the concern in her eyes only reminded you of that fact.

“Yeah, of course. Probably should hold off a bit,” you said with a chuckle.

Truth was, by that point in the evening, you were already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. Fruity drinks were the bane of your existence. They tasted too good, yet were full nearly to the brim with alcohol that would knock you on your ass by the end of the night. Every time you looked around, it was as if your head kept moving long after you had told it to stop.

Neither of the women in front of you were very covert in their glance at one another. The concern was practically seeping through their pores by that point, and it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Cheryl invited you out because she’s worried about you,” Méabh suddenly admitted, eyes landing back on you once more. “She thinks you’ve been more distracted than normal.”

“Jesus Christ, Méabh, you can’t just blurt that out,” Cheryl chastised the girl as if she were her own child.

“Don’t look at me like that. We’ve been here for almost an hour and you haven’t even brought it up yet,” Méabh retorted. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got my tutoring job in the morning.”

Really, you hadn’t expected something like that from Méabh. She was always so reserved, despite her cheerfulness, and though she didn’t sound angry, she was certainly assertive.

“Distracted?” you repeated, your hand reaching out to absentmindedly grab your near empty glass. “As in like, at work, or…?”

Cheryl turned her attention back to you, her gaze softening at the concern in your voice. “Well, not necessarily. It’s just… you’ve been acting like you’ve got something on your mind lately.”

You could feel heat begin to rise to your cheeks, and you weren’t quite sure if it was because of the slight embarrassment or the alcohol. Either way, you lifted the glass off the table and took a quick sip before setting it back down.

“Oh. Well, I guess, maybe a little?” you said, unsure.

Both of the women hummed and nodded their heads in understanding, but their eyes still held something else behind them. More questions they wanted to ask. The silence that stretched between the three of you made you want to down the remainder of your drink.

“How are things with you and Simon?” Méabh asked, her soft smile radiating the corner of the bar you found yourselves in.

Simon. Simon Riley. Over the last few months that the two of you had been together, you learned quite a lot about that man. Earl Grey tea was his favorite, and so painfully stereotypical of him (not that you could blame him, as you fancied yourself a vanilla tea misto on particularly cold days). He would shiver every time you kissed the scar on his cheek. He hated Christmas, but whenever you asked him why he told you he always thought it was tacky (this was a lie, and you knew it, but you refused to push him on it). If he had family, he didn’t talk about them, but would mention small details about the members of the task force he was a part of.

Despite how quiet he could be at times, he was absolutely charming, albeit a bit cocky in a way. He was confident, and showered you with as much love and affection he could offer you whenever he wasn’t off on the other side of the world. On Valentines day, he sent you flowers at work (unsigned, of course, but you knew who they were from), and when you had gotten sick with the flu he provided you with all the medicine you would need (despite the fact you told him not to worry about it).

He was tall, and towered over every other person you ever knew, and he always came back with some sort of wound from his missions. In a way, he should have terrified you. Yet he was so soft with you, so sweet. He nearly shattered someone's jaw only to walk you home afterwards. He was everything you could have ever wanted, and maybe more than what you deserved.

And yet, there was still something in the back of your mind. This terrible, burning feeling that whispered to you day and night. That seed of doubt had been planted in you long ago. Someone had come in and taken their trowel, cutting you straight to the core where they shoved that terrible, decaying feeling deep inside you before patting it over, leaving it to fester.

But you weren’t about to spill that to your co-workers.

“They’re great. Yeah, things are good,” you answered, mustering a tight lipped smile.

“It’s the sex, isn’t it?”

Horrified, Méabh looked at Cheryl with wide eyes and mouth agape. “Bloody hell,” she breathed. “You yell at me for blurting out that we’re concerned about her, but you casually ask if she’s getting shagged?”

“Well, I certainly worded it more tactfully than that.”

Well, now the heat in your face was for sure from embarrassment. Your hand once more grasped around your drink and you shook your head before quickly taking a few large gulps. The sight of it only made Cheryl grin, and she leaned her elbows on the table.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” the woman pushed. “I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that sex can make or break a relationship. So, what is it? Your needs not being met, or what?”

You averted your gaze from them and instead turned your attention to the table. It was made of some sort of faux wood that had deep gashes in it from god knows what. The multicolored lights that were strung up around the ceiling of the bar reflected slightly off of the dull plastic, and they started to blend together in a shade that made your stomach feel queasy.

Maybe you really should have laid off the drinks.

“We haven’t… we haven’t had sex,” you admitted softly, biting the corner of your lip.

“Oh,” Cheryl said, surprised. “How long have the two of you been dating?”

“Since the end of January, so… four? Five months?” you threw out a guess, unable to think straight between the pressure of the conversation and the alcohol rotting your stomach.

The woman nodded her head as she reached up and shoved some of her greying hair behind her ear. “Well, that should be plenty of time. Just nervous or what?”

“God, wouldn’t you be?” Méabh interjected. “You’ve seen the size of that guy. He’d probably break the bed and your goddamn hips with it.”

Cheryl threw the girl a look of warning as your face fell into your hands. A groan huffed from your chest as you heavily rubbed at your eyes.

“God, I don’t wanna think about that,” you slurred.

Leaning over the table, Cheryl gave your shoulder a firm, motherly squeeze while offering a sympathetic smile. “What’s the matter then, darling?”

Your hands fell from your face, and you stared at the table once more as you thought. It felt like that’s all you ever did those days; think. Think and think and think and god, it was getting annoying. Worms infested your brain, whispering terrible lies and sickening worries so much so that their thoughts had replaced your own.

“I just, I don’t know. After everything with Eric I guess I’m maybe a little apprehensive? Or something?” you rambled. “Which is, like, stupid because they're nothing alike. Like, I know Simon looks scary and he’s in the military and he’s quiet but… fuck he’s… he’s so good to me, you guys.”

Eric, your ex, was… less than perfect. It was impossible to expect anyone to be perfect, but between the arguing, and the fighting, and the bruises and the degrading… Even before all that had started, back in the honeymoon phase, back before everything started going wrong, he had always put his needs above your own. It was almost as if the man had never heard of aftercare before in his life at all. Once he was finished, then so were you, and you were left behind to clean up the mess he made of you, and everything else.

But Simon was different. He had to be different. Because in reality, you were terrified of getting that close with someone again. Of being used and tossed aside. And yet you panicked and told yourself that if you didn’t give in soon, maybe he would get bored of you, and you would end up all alone in that big city in your big apartment that you were struggling to afford.

Fuck, were you going to cry?

Once more the rim of the glass cup came to your lips and you took another thick gulp to distract yourself before quickly blinking the moisture out of your eyes. Whatever horror that had been painted onto Méabh’s face was replaced with the same concern Cheryl wore. Even though it felt nice to have someone worry about you, the last thing you wanted was their pity.

“Hey, it’s alright to be anxious,” Méabh assured you. “Eric was a prick. You’ve every right to be worried.”

Cheryl nodded her head in agreement. “But at the same time, don’t let that hold you back if it’s what you want. Keyword, what you want. Take all the time you need, but you can’t let that arsehole control you forever.” She took a moment to pause and look you over, and a small smirk appeared on her face. “Or, just dive headfirst into it. I think you’ve got enough liquid courage coursing through you for that.”

It was a joke, and a poor one at that, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You laughed a silly, unfiltered laugh and the two women beamed at you. Whatever concern they had for you previously seemed to melt away as they changed the spotlight of the conversation away from you. Cheryl told a story about how her first marriage ended, and though the events weren’t funny, the way she told the story was. Perhaps in an attempt to make you feel better, Méabh indulged in her countless failed relationships with both the men and women she had met while at university.

Eventually, the three of you had stayed there so long the bartender was beginning to grow a little impatient, giving you eyes that screamed for you all to just let him go home already. So you downed the rest of your drink and began to get some cash out of your bag, but as you went to stand up it felt like the floor was moving from underneath you.

“Whoa,” Méabh warned, gently pushing you back into your chair. “Take it easy, babe. I’ll take the cash up for you.”

Huffing, you obliged, and sat back at the table like a child as they helped you pay for the drinks you had indulged in too greatly that night. When they returned, they started to grab their own bags as they fumbled for their car keys.

“Need a ride?” Méabh asked.

You shook your head. “Nah, I walked here.”

Both of them froze, and after sharing glances with one another, Cheryl looked at you and crossed your arms. “You’re taking the piss outta me if you think we’re going to let you walk yourself home. Now you either come with one of us, or you call that boy of yours to come get you.”

A small scoff escaped your lips as you rummaged through your bag in search of your phone. “Boy…” you muttered, pulling your phone out and scrolling until you found Simon’s contact. “Six foot, four inches, and you’re calling him a boy.”

Simon picked up on the third ring. Even after the few months the two of you had been together, you couldn’t get over the sound of his voice. The shitty audio quality of the phone didn’t do him full justice, but just hearing the lilt of his Manchester accent had you nearly falling out of your seat.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard. “Hey, uhm… I went out with a few friends from work and uh… I know it’s late, and I’m sorry but-”

“Need a ride?” he interjected, cutting you off in the middle of your drunken ramble. Not in a rude way, but in a way that was more finishing your thought process. Or maybe he could just tell what you were working up towards asking by the slur of your words.

“Yes,” you said with a breathy laugh. “Yes, please.”

He hummed, dark and low and in a way that the phone hardly picked it up, but it was there. “The one on twenty-first?”

You nodded your head and stayed silent for a short moment. When he hadn’t responded, you blinked a few times to try and clear your mind, trying to remind yourself that you were, afterall, on the phone. “Sorry, yes, yes. Twenty-first.”

“I’ll be right there,” he assured you.

When you two said your goodbyes, you looked up at your co-workers with a toothy grin. Once they were certain you would be alright, you said your goodbyes before they left to go back to their own homes and families and lives. As you sat waiting for Simon, your eyes couldn’t help but wander back to your empty glass.

What had that been? Was it really your fourth? Or had it been your fifth? You couldn’t remember, but it must have been. And you must have drank it quickly too, because even though you had stopped drinking maybe thirty minutes ago, it was as if the backlog of all the liquid you had chugged was finally hitting you. Your stomach was starting to spin as fast as your head was, and you had to take a deep breath to try and steady your frayed nerves.

Or, just dive headfirst into it. I think you’ve got enough liquid courage coursing through you for that.

“Fuck…”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You didn’t have to wait long for Simon to come pick you up, and he practically had to carry you to his car. It wasn’t a secret that he was concerned for your wellbeing, as the moment his eyes landed on you he almost looked a little scared, and so you did your best to ease his nerves by doing the only thing you knew best; talk. So you talked and giggled over everything and nothing the entire drive back to your apartment. You weren’t quite sure if he even responded to half of the things you said, but you weren’t talking to entertain him, anyways.

Things weren’t much different by the time you actually arrived home. Stairs proved to be a challenge for you, and you found your breath being stolen by the way Simon rested his hand on your lower back to keep you steady. He walked a few steps behind you, watching you carefully in case you should fall. By the time you made it to the landing, he had to be the one to put the keys in the lock for you as you kept missing and scraping it along the side of it.

The very moment the door was open, you tossed your bag somewhere on the floor before making a beeline to the couch. If you stayed on your feet any longer, you felt like you really were going to fall over, and you weren’t trying to embarrass yourself that much in front of Simon that night.

“Thanks for the ride,” you sighed as you sunk back into your, frankly, uncomfortably sofa. “Sorry it’s so late.”

“Don’t be,” he said, adjusting the straps of his mask. “I don’t want you to ever hesitate to call me if you need me.”

A soft hum rumbled in your chest as you watched Simon walk further into the living room after ensuring the deadbolt was locked. God, just the sight of him sent your mind spinning, and the alcohol wasn’t helping. His mussed hair, those broad shoulders that could engulf you in a simple squeeze, and that damn tattoo peeking out from underneath the sleeve of his sweater.

You smiled softly as he knelt in front of you, his eyes glancing to your feet. Even with him knelt down he was hardly much shorter than from where you were sitting on the couch.

“Gonna muck up the floors,” he muttered softly.

You watched him as he carefully reached for your shoes where he undid the laces, only struggling a little bit with the double knots. His hand gently grabbed your ankle, lifting your leg up just enough to slide the shoe off before carefully setting it back on the ground. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest you swore you felt it palpitate. How could he be so soft with you?

“It’s fine. I can always clean them,” you said as he set your shoe to the side.

“You’re not going to want to,” he retorted.

Once he started on your second shoe, you found yourself enamored by his face. Or what you could make of it through that mask he always wore. With it nearing summer, he wasn’t wearing the balaclava as much, and opted for the surgical style cloth mask that was a bit more accepted. You liked it more because it showed his hair. But what you really wanted to see was his face. All of it. The slight stubble on his face, the cheeks that you loved to pepper with kisses and caress with your thumbs…

Before you knew it, your finger was hooked underneath the fabric of his mask, which caused him to pause midway through taking your shoe off. Yet he then continued as if nothing happened, and your shoe slid off with ease. When your feet were finally free from the confines of your shoes, and the floor no longer being assaulted by the dirt from outside, Simon looked up at you, his eyes shining as your finger stayed hooked under his mask.

Reading your mind wasn’t difficult, as you were practically asking out loud for it. Simon reached his hands up and in one smooth motion pulled his mask off before setting it on the arm of the couch next to you. A grin broke out on your face as your hand instantly made its home against the flesh of his cheek.

“You’re so handsome,” you said, nearly cooing.

He didn’t break eye contact with you as his hands slowly reached for your shoes, taking them in his hands before he slowly stood up. “I know.”

You huffed as he shot you a playful smirk before walking towards the entryway and placing your shoes against the wall next to his boots. You watched him carefully; how small your shoes looked in his hands, how the fabric of his sweater stretched against his back as he leaned forward, the way his hands rubbed at the back of his neck as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“You’re awfully modest, you know that?” you called out to him in a teasing tone.

Simon let out his own small huff before it was smothered by the sound of running water. “Haven’t been called that in a while,” he mused. Moments later he returned back through the doorway, a cup of water in hand, which he held out to you the moment he was near the couch. “Drink.”

When you reached for the cup the first time, you nearly missed. Giggling your blunder away, you held out both of your hands instead, trying to keep as steady as possible as you then brought the glass to your lips. It was refreshing to have the cool taste of water wash over your tongue rather than the sugary, and somewhat biting taste of alcohol. It didn’t do much to wash away the aftertaste of everything you had drank at the bar, but it was enough.

While you sipped away, Simon slowly lowered himself into the spot next to you on the sofa. It was the usual thing the two of you did whenever you were craving a night in. Slight cuddling on the sofa, watching something on the television, trying not to fall asleep. But this time you couldn’t look away from him. The way he placed his arm along the back of the couch, resting behind your head; the way his shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest; all of it drew you in.

“See something you like?” Simon asked, brow raised slightly as he continued to tease you as usual.

Why did you feel so… queasy? That twisting feeling in your stomach, and that spinning feeling in your head. Vision constantly rotating so fast your body couldn’t keep up. Was it the alcohol? No, alcohol never made your heart lurch like that. Never made it beat so fast that it felt like it was going to tear itself to shreds. Was it Simon?

Just dive headfirst into it.

You took your eyes off of Simon long enough to set your cup on the side table next to you, and then in an instant you were swinging your leg over to straddle his hips. He looked up at you with his mouth slightly parted in surprise as he watched you settle yourself onto his lap. Instinctively his hands came to rest on your waist, helping to steady your slight swaying as you put your arms on his shoulders.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low as his eyes scanned your face.

Something in his eyes softened as he looked at you. Whatever playfulness or cockiness that had been there before melted away as his grip on you became more firm. His eyes were beautiful, and honestly, they were probably your favorite thing about him. Sometimes, when the sunlight hit them just right, the dark brown color would brighten to that of sweet honey. In a way, it was ironic that a man of his nature could hold so much softness to him. But you found you also liked it when the color of his eyes were dark. So dark that they looked endless, as if his irises were some void inviting you in.

But everything started to fall apart after that. You could feel it in your trembling legs and the pressure building behind your eyes. Everything was too fuzzy. Too bright. Too soft. Too loud. God, it was loud. Deafening. It was too much. Too everything. It was everything all at once. Except for Simon. He was beautiful. So beautiful, so soft, so careful.

How you wanted to fall into him. To fall and fall and let his arms catch you. To hold you. To pin you. Pin you and pin you. Feel his teeth graze against you and take. And take and take and take. Would it… hurt? Did you want it to hurt? Did you like it when it did? Like it did when you were with him? Him? With Eric? Face into the mattress, palm of his hand pushing you down. He was always so greedy. And greedy and greedy and greedy.

You can’t let that arsehole control you forever.

In a last ditch attempt to get your nerves under control, you gripped the collar of his shirt with both of your hands before descending on him with your eyes shut tight. Flesh collided with your lips but it felt empty. It felt cold. It wasn’t like the kisses Simon normally gave you. It was wrong.

When you opened your eyes, you found that you hadn’t even made it halfway to Simon’s lips before something stopped you. His hand. It pressed firmly against your mouth, holding you back away from him. He wasn’t pushing you away, he had only created a barrier. A line. And he wasn’t going to let you cross it.

“You’re drunk,” he said. It sounded so funny to hear him say it. Like it wasn’t obvious. But that’s not what he meant when he said it, and you knew it. It was an answer. It was him saying no.

His hand lingered on your mouth for a moment and he didn’t pull it away until you nodded your head. A part of you felt ashamed. No, all of you felt ashamed. What were you thinking? Had you even been thinking at all? Was he going to see you as some idiot? Some stupid girl?

You fucking minx.

“Sorry,” you stuttered out, your voice trembling. “I, uhm… I didn’t mean…”

Simon hushed you. Not to interrupt you (as there wasn’t much to interrupt to begin with,) but to soothe you. It wasn’t until he did this that you felt the moisture starting to stain your cheeks, and his hand returned to your face once more to wipe at the tears there.

“Come here,” he urged as his hand slowly pulled you closer.

Before you knew it you were against his chest where his hand held the back of your head, keeping you firmly tucked underneath his chin. While his hand rubbed soothing circles into your scalp, his other arm stayed wrapped firmly around your waist, making you feel secure against him despite the fact that everything still felt like it was rotating and trying to drag you along with it.

You didn’t want to cry, but you did. An embarrassing amount, at that. It was mostly silent with sniffles here and there as the proof of your sorrow soaked into the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t say anything, and you were honestly glad he didn’t. You didn’t need to be questioned at that moment, or talked through anything. All you needed was the firm reminder that you were there with him.

Once your sniffling and hiccuping stopped, Simon’s hands slowly began to move down your body. His touch ran down your spine in smooth, solid motions, and you felt your body begin to go limp. The drowsiness of the alcohol began to shut down your nerves in a rolling blackout, and eventually it felt like every part of you was fried.

Never had you felt so empty before. No, the emptiness had always been there, looming in the dark chasm of your chest. You had just filled it with so much junk, so much nonsense so that for some fleeting moment you could forget about the gaping hole left where your stomach was supposed to be. But Simon had torn out that unnecessary waste and stared straight into that emptiness inside of you.

For some reason, he didn’t seem scared.

Why wasn’t he scared?

And so the two of you stayed like that with your legs still straddling his hips but the side of your face pressed against his newly damp shirt. Eventually the movement of his hands stopped and he just held you, still not saying anything. There was nothing but you, him, and the silence. Of course there was still the festering wound in your stomach, eating you alive from the inside out, but for that moment, that short, fleeting moment, you pretended that it wasn’t there.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

When the morning sun hit your face, you thought it wasn’t real. It was warm, and felt like liquid gold against your eyelids, just like in the way poets always described it. However, all its softness and grace did nothing to wash away the terrible ache that smothered your body. Your head was the apex of the pain, but it quickly radiated in waves down your neck, your spine, seeping into the very fiber of your bones.

For a moment you laid there, head on the pillow, splayed on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The window was open, which was strange because you didn’t remember opening it before bed. In fact, you didn’t remember going to bed at all. Birds chirped in some tree, and you could make out the vague sounds of people shuffling about, enjoying their weekend.

Then there was the rustling of paper bags. Brows furrowing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, trying to restrain the groan threatening to leave your throat at the movement. The door to your room was closed, muffling the sound coming from your kitchen, but it was still distinct nonetheless.

In several slow and painful movements, you slid out of bed where your feet landed on the wooden floor. You were still wearing socks for some reason, which you found odd. In fact, you were still wearing every bit of clothing that you had worn the previous day. They felt heavy with sweat and with every emotion you drowned in.

You turned your attention back towards your bedroom door where you carefully walked to it. The rustling of the paper bags grew louder once you opened it, and you quietly trudged down the hallway until you reached the kitchen.

Simon stood in front of your fridge, bent over slightly as he shoved items into the shelving on the side of the door. Several bags were sprawled out on your counter where some grocery items laid between them like some odd mosaic. It didn’t take long for Simon to realize you were standing in the doorway, and he turned to you for a moment, mask obscuring his face.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as he went straight back to putting away those groceries.

“Not great but… better than last night,” you admitted.

Your attention turned back to the groceries, confused. You certainly didn’t buy them, as the gods knew you couldn’t afford that much food.

“Did… did you buy these yourself?” you questioned.

Without turning to you, Simon opened up your breadbox where he quickly shoved a loaf of wheat bread inside. “Went to try and make breakfast for you, but when I was going through your pantry I realized there was fuck all for ingredients,” he answered nonchalantly.

A pit formed in your stomach at that realization. He really did go out and buy you food. With his own money. Not only had you made a fool of yourself that previous night, but now he had gone and filled up your pantry for you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled as your feet finally carried you fully into the room.

Without wasting time, you started to rummage through the bags, pulling out items and searching for a new home for them. But you didn’t make it very far before Simon hummed and grabbed the item from your hands.

“Nuh uh,” he said softly as he placed the item back down. He then motioned towards a small bag on the edge of the counter. A cute emblem of some sort of pastry was printed on the front of the bag. “Don’t worry about this. I need you to eat.”

Arguing with him was useless, and you knew it, so you did as he asked. You grabbed the bag and moved towards the stove where you leaned against the side of it as you dug into the bag. A still warm strawberry danish laid inside, and you wasted little time biting into it while Simon continued to work.

It felt… oddly domestic. As if the two of you had done this a million times before. But there was some sort of stench in the air. A tension that threatened to drown you, and you knew exactly what was causing it.

Swallowing the bite of pastry you took, you softly prompted the conversation; “I’m sorry about last night.”

Completely unphased by your words, Simon continued to work, having nearly finished finding a place for everything in your once empty cupboards. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

What a lie. There was so much to be sorry about, so much you felt sorry for. Or if not sorry, then at least ashamed about. Even your nights worth of sleep couldn’t get rid of that taste in your mouth.

“Did you go home?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “Camped out on your sofa after putting you to bed. Thought it would be best that you weren’t alone.”

While the image of Simon trying to scrunch himself into a comfortable position on your tiny, two seater sofa would have made you laugh any other day, you found yourself another reason to feel guilty again. His neck probably ached from it, and you knew he couldn’t have gotten decent sleep because of it.

“Why did you stop me?” you then asked.

The last bag of groceries had been put away, and Simon stopped his pacing around the kitchen to lean against the counter on the other side of the room from you. His hands rested flat against the surface of the counter, torso leaning forward some so that his head would hit the cabinet behind his head.

“You were drunk,” he said simply.

He wasn’t wrong, but then again, it never exactly stopped others before him. But he wasn’t like them. Like him. A part of you felt guilty for even expecting something like that from him. No, you hadn’t been expecting it; it’s just what you had gotten used to.

“Don’t… don’t you want to have sex with me?” you then asked softly.

Simon’s expression changed only a little, but it spoke volumes. His eyes softened while the muscles in his arms tensed. He continued to look at you for a moment, the silence enveloping the both of you, before he reached up and pulled his mask off of his face, tossing it onto the counter.

It wasn’t until he started walking up to you that you realized just how tense your body had become, too. The poor pastry in your hands had almost crumbled into dust by the time he stopped in front of you. You had never seen him so serious before. But he wasn’t angry, or upset, just sincere. And maybe a little sad.

“If we ever have sex, it’s not going to be like that,” he said, speaking it as if it was a fact. “Not with you drunk. Not with you looking at me like that.”

A lump formed in your throat, and when you tried to swallow it you almost choked. “Like what?” you pressed, forcing yourself to hear his answer.

“Like you’re terrified.”

God, if you didn’t feel gutted before, you definitely did then, and you couldn’t look at him any longer. In an excuse to look away, you turned slightly and set your half-eaten pastry back in the wax paper it had come out of. Was this the part where you bared yourself? Stripped yourself down so he could count up all the scars? Ripped off your skin just to show him how deep they went?

“I’m sorry.” The words came sputtering out of your mouth like a rusty faucet. Overused. Well known. Repeated too often. “I don’t know what came over me, or why I was trying to… I don’t know…”

Simon shook his head and a hand came up to brush against your arm. Once your eyes met his, he shook his head again as his eyes carefully scanned your face.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said while his thumb carefully traced the side of your bicep. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

How did you end up there? In the kitchen, leaning against the stove, fresh bags of groceries put away by a man who wasn’t mumbling about the annoyance of it? What did you do to find yourself standing so close to the person you loved and not be terrified at the same time? It was new, and it felt nice. So nice, and so scary at the same time.

Your arms made their home around his torso, and Simon was quick to return the gesture. He pulled you into him, trying to take the weight of it all off of you. You breathed in the scent of him and realized he was beginning to smell like home. The place where you ran to when everything else was too loud. You could be petrified in his arms for all of eternity and be perfectly satisfied.

“Thank you,” you choked out.

As he held you in that kitchen, the one with the freshly stocked cupboards, the one that stood just next to the entryway with the freshly patched hole in the wall, you kept replaying his words. They echoed over and over in your head.

If we ever have sex, it’s not going to be like that.

If we ever have sex. If. It was a promise to be different, but not a promise that it would ever happen at all. There was no pressure, no ulterior motives, it just was.

For the first time in your life, you found comfort in the uncertainty of it all.

#fanfiction #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 x you #mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #mw2 fanfic

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captain-mj · 1 month

Note

Could we get the second time ghost gets high and calls in soap for sex?

I was wondering what I was going to do for 4/20!

Ghost knew he probably shouldn't have smoked as much as he did. While he got a pass for medical use, his excessive use of it could still get him in trouble.

That being said, he was about to do something much worse.

His hand had worked its way into his boxers, idly stroking himself as his other hand worked his phone. Luckily Soap was set as his favorite contact so it was easy to call him.

"Hey, Lt. Need something?" Johnny asked, so sweet. Ghost would feel horrible sober, probably tell him nevermind and hang up.

Instead, his hand started moving faster and his breath shuddered. "Johnny." He purred.

Johnny laughed softly. "Oh, I see. One moment."

Ghost swallowed. "Bring a change of clothes, I want you to stay the night."

That had an effect on Johnny, judging by the sharp intake of breath. It delighted Ghost.

Johnny was there shortly after with clothes, his cologne and...

"You brought me biscuits?"

"I thought you might get the munchies."

Ghost grabbed him and dragged him on top. "You're perfect." He kissed Johnny's hands and rolled his hips up against him. "Please, been waiting so long."

Johnny smiled and leaned down, kissing him softly. He moved a little so he could pull Ghost's boxers down. His hands. It was so different than his own. Felt so much better.

Ghost relaxed and grabbed Johnny's mohawk. He groaned and his hips twitched up.

Johnny got the hint and leaned down to kiss him before shuffling to kiss the tip of his cock. He slowly opened his mouth and slid down. His tongue pressed against the vein on the underside.

"Look up at me, love."

Pretty blue eyes flickered to him and his cock twitched.

"There you are. No one else I'd trust like this." He ran his fingers through Johnny's hair. "I love you."

Johnny forced himself all the way down until his nose was pressed against the red curls at the base of his cock. The moan it got out of Ghost made it worth it.

Ghost looked at the ceiling, floating. His hand stayed in Johnny's hair to keep himself grounded.

It probably wasn't that long, he didn't even think Johnny had come up for air yet. But his legs were shaking. It felt like he had been being edged all day and now there was Johnny here, pleasuring him so much.

Ghost gave him a quick tap to tell him he was close and Johnny quickly took him all the way down again. He swallowed hard and Ghost came with a strangled whine. His thighs pressed on either side of Johnny's head in a way that likely would have hurt him if he was a lesser man.

Ghost didn't let him up until he was finished and Johnny didn't tap out. He finally let him go and Johnny pulled back to gasp for air. His love looked painfully hard in those jeans.

Johnny looked at Ghost. "You going to get me off sir or should I do it myself?" He said it with a grin.

"Can you wait?"

Johnny whined. "How long?"

God he was perfect.

"Give me five minutes and you can ride me?"

Johnny nodded and put his head on Ghost's chest. "Alright, sir." He kissed his cheek before getting pulled into a proper kiss.

"Johnny. God you don't know what you do to me. Head's been a mess thinking of how long I had to wait."

Johnny laughed at him and grabbed one of the biscuits. Instead of taking it from him, he simply bit it and relaxed back again, feeling very light. "I love you too, Simon."

Simon smiled at him lazily.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

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prettyoatmeal · 6 months

Note

pls pls pls pls pls

i need more FWB simon 😭😭

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

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

GENRE: Hurt/Comfort

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

Word Count: 770

Masterlist here!

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

"You seemed awfully touchy with others tonight."

"Simon-"

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

"Are you jealous?"

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

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

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

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

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

Too obvious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was getting unhealthy.

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

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

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

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

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

"This wasn't part of our agreement."

Silence. His arms around you tightened.

"You're playing with my head."

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

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

"Goodnight, Simon. Sweet dreams."

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

<33 happy November 21st! <3

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brownsugarwrites · 4 months

Text

Poundcake.

✰ pairings: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x black!fem!reader

✰ warnings: none! fluff with a liddol bit of suggestive content. reader cooks soul food (no debate)

✰ a/n: this was soooooo yummy to write! I hope I can write more ghost in the future I love this man.

There was a click of the knob at the door. “He’s home, you thought, eyes coming away from the TV as you stood behind the stove.

Hearing the door perch open, you hear his heavy boots stepping into the house as the smell of pound cake infiltrates his nose.

“I'm guessing my princess is in the kitchen, right?”

“Hi, baby!!!” You greeted him gleefully before shuffling your feet towards him and hugging him. Firm arms wrapped around your thick waist, crushing you slightly.

“I missed you around here,” you told him, pouting as he gave you a light pat on your head.

“I missed ya too, sweetheart. Food smells divine,” he compliments

You blush a little as you give a little thanks, telling him you’d been cooking all day for him, waiting for him to get back

It was something you started to do for him about a year into actually living with each other, and now that you were engaged, it became a habit

“Well, I'm going to make me a plate-“ he started

Your face scrunched up in disgust. He knows you make him shower before he can eat.

“Simon…. I dont know why you come up in this house acting brand new. You know to get in the shower before you sit at the table,” you responded with attitude, popping your hip out.

“But sweetheart-“ he began

“But sweetheart, nothing. Get cleaned up and put your clothes in the laundry room. Your plate will be ready when you come downstairs.”

Huffing like a child, he took his bag and lugged himself up the stairs to get into his house clothes.

As you watched him go up the stairs, you quickly turned your attention back to the oven, opening it to take the cake out to let it cool.

While he showered, you set the tray tables and queued the TV to another episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta.

About a good hour later, you turned your head to the heavy footsteps that came down the stairs to meet you in the living room.

You watched as his shirt clung to his body, showcasing his physique. To you, he looked a little more...fluffy than usual. You noticed in his abdominal area he was losing some defintation. Which you found cute and a little sexy, knowing he could still probably fold you into a pretzel while fucking you.

"What do you want on your plate, big boy?" you asked playfully, a smile gracing your face.

His cheeks were turning pink as he told you he was okay to make his own plate.

"Si, you've been gone for four months. What makes you think I'm not going to make your first plate back?" you said, standing up and going to meet him where he was at

"tell me what you want," you said, looking up at him so innocently

What he wanted was to take you upstairs and have his face in your cunt till the sun rose until he heard his stomach growling.

"A little bit of everything is fine, princess," he told you, hands moving down your waist, effectively cupping your ass with his big hands.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled away from him, going to the kitchen to make you and his plate.

Coming into the living room with the warm, fragrant food, you sat it before him as he drooled over it.

"lemme get you something to drink, ok," you said before scurrying to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water and a pop.

Seeing that he had already started eating his food, you giggled as you watched him stuff his face full.

"Is it good?" you joked, plopping down next to him and giving him his drink.

"Spectacular," he managed to get out before taking another bite

Pressing play on the TV, the two of you watched Real Housewives as y'all ate. Once Simon was finished, he sat back on the couch, rubbing his stomach in content

"You're gonna make me fat with all this good cookin', princess." he laughed

"Good!" you smiled at him

Seeing his eyes get heavy, you knew the food was sitting in, and he was getting the itis.

"You want a piece of pound cake, big boy?" you asked, rubbing a hand up and down his arm.

"No, thank you, sweetheart." he simply stated before cuddling you on the couch. "Thank you for the food, my love. I'm happy to be home."

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfic #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley x black reader #video game x reader #video game fanfic #call of duty x y/n #call of duty x reader

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skinnyazn · 5 months

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I Will Not Ask and Neither Should You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 1/3 Notes: inspired by Hozier's Like Real People Do, this is unlocking a big chunk of Jag LORE (based off of her dossier I made), also Simon's backstory, there may be smut there may not be we shall see where the fic takes it, it's gonna be angstyyyy,

Part Two | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST Why were you digging? / What did you bury Before those hands pulled me / From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask and neither should you

___

“Ya ‘eard from her?”

“No, Simon,” there was a pause on the other side of the phone line. A flick of flint and a few inhales. “Think I’d be the first to know anyway?”

Simon wandered the sparse room like his namesake. The cracked curtains let in a dull, yellow light from the streetlights outside. It was raining again, as it does in Leeds in November.

“Supposed to be enjoying time off, not working holes in the carpet,” a longer inhale this time.

“They’re hardwood.” and Price chuckled on the other side. “‘Something I have to do.’” Simon read aloud your note again, not caring that his captain heard him. The paper was warped slightly from the warmth of his hand.

It was the only thing you’d left, when you left, two nights ago. He’d woken to an empty bed and an emptier room. The flat was Simon’s—a simple place to crash when he was on leave between missions. He never bothered to decorate since he was rarely there. Just kept the minimal furnishings that came with the gaff. But somehow you and your black duffel and your warm body had turned it into a place he wanted to stay.

“Have you even called her?”

Simon stilled in front of the window.

“Christ, Simon,” was all Price could manage, then a long exhale.

“If she wanted me to know about it she would have said something by now.” Simon stared out the sliver of window at nothing in particular; the beads of rain created a bokeh effect against the glass. "Think she’ll be back?”

“Dunno with that one,” and it was honesty. “Tends to not stick around.”

“She’s stuck this long.”

“Yeah?”

There was a lingering silence as Ghost set the note down next to his skull mask on the nightstand. The mattress sunk under the weight of him.

Price sighed on the other end of the phone. “People like her—like you—like their autonomy.”

Ghost let out a sharp exhale. “And yet ‘ere I am, still runnin’ headlong into shit missions with you.”

“Aye,” the other man chuckled. “You’re more desperate than she is, though.” There was a long drag of his cigar. “Needed somewhere to hone all that hate.”

Simon only grunted in response.

“It’s late, Simon. Sleep. You can figure out if you want to call her in the morning.”

“Sure.” There were a few breathes before, “Thanks, John.”

“Anytime.”

Laying down on the bed, Ghost stared at the dial-pad, contemplating what to do next. The archaic phone dimly illuminated his chest and face in the dark.

Missions were so easy—straightforward. Infiltrate and navigate all the unknowns until you reach the best outcome. But life outside of the task force was a muddle of grey. Simon never did fully figure you out; never fully made peace with himself either. He shut the phone and turned on his side, willing futilely for a sleep that would not come.

___

if you'd like to be (un)tagged for updates let me know! @deadbranch @solidly-indulgent @aalxrose @dotcie

#my fic #my fics #my writing #Simon ghost riley #Simon ghost Riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x f!reader #cod ghost #cod fic #mw2 fic #ghost #ghost mw2 #oc #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x jaguar #cod mwii #simon ghost Riley x you

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autumnmobile12 · 9 months

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After the release of the official Nocturne trailer, we're all asking where Alucard is.

Here's my two cents and two theories:

Theory 1: The Years Got to Him

Being effectively immortal, Alucard would have watched Trevor and Sypha die, and then he inevitably would have watched their children die, and then their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

How long would it have been before couldn't bear the thought of seeing another life he'd known since birth age and pass away? How many times did he recognize Sypha's laugh or Trevor's eyes in their descendants before he said, "No more. I can't do this any more."

So he puts himself to sleep with the instructions to the family to wake him 'in their darkest hour' or something like that. Over time, he becomes a family legend and then forgotten. In his absence, the Belmont village crumbles and disappears, taking with it all the knowledge and advancements its people.

Because as we know from the original series, humans forget.

...

Theory 2: The Belmonts Drove Him Out

I know what you're thinking: Trevor and Sypha would never. And you're right, they wouldn't. Their children and grandchildren probably wouldn't either. By the time we get to Christopher Belmont, he probably never met his great-grandparents, but he would know the stories and honor their memories.

But in the two hundred years between him and Richter?

The Belmonts are a long-lasting family, and like any other family, they can adapt and go through changes. They are subject to past traumas and prejudices, can lose sight of original purposes, or can straight up become corrupted by any number of things.

We see it with kings, emperors, CEOs, and even just regular families. All it takes is one asshole who chose to ignore the wisdom of his ancestors to ruin a good thing.

Say some Belmont down the line--Soleil, Simon, or Juste or anyone--lost someone important to a vampire and they swore vengeance on the entire race, as Dracula had once done on humanity. Alucard steps in to stop them and remind them of their history, and his words are met with a cold, "What do you know? You're just an old dhampir we should have done away with decades ago!"

This is just a scenario, but it is a possibility Alucard could have had a falling out with his family. Maybe they tried to kill him and he fled. Maybe they nearly succeeded in killing him and he sealed himself in his coffin to recover as he did in the original series.

He's no stranger to betrayal, after all.

This would depend heavily on the 'dear person' Olrox lost. Was their death warranted? Were they a menace to society and had to be put down?

Or have the Belmonts gone astray and Richter's mother killed them simply for existing? This option might be indicative as to why Olrox spared Richter. Killing a defenseless child would have saved him a lot of trouble in the future, but perhaps he chose to be better (the lesson learned in the original series) than the mother and risk the consequences later. Mother might have killed just because of a vampire, but Olrox refused to kill just because Richter was a Belmont.

...

Unrelated, but this could also be a set-up a 'break the chain of sorrow' trope in which this scenario played out: Richter's father was killed by Olrox's 'friend' for lack of a better word, Richter's mother then kills Olrox's lover out of vengeance, Olrox kills her out of vengeance, leaving Richter to either take vengeance himself or break the chain of sorrow by accepting that if this revenge continues, there will be nothing left but sorrow.

I'm probably putting way too much thought into all of this, but...there you go.

#castlevania #richter belmont #castlevania nocturne #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #alucard tepes #olrox #castlevania netflix #belmont family #predictions for nocturne

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just-barely-a-somebody · 3 months

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I’ve got a take on a prohibitedwish/fionna and cake pirate au that I thought of while listening to music and will never write a full fic for, so I just wanted to write out the ideas I had for funsies

It starts at night when Scarab, a feared pirate captain, kidnaps Prismo, son of the navy’s head general, to be used as a bargaining chip to save Jake from being hung.

Prismo has befriended an owl (Cosmic Owl ofc) and it follows them as Prismo’s taken away. On the ship, Fionna and Simon are ready for when he returns and they have Prismo tied to the mast to be clearly visible.

With no better way to help, Cosmic Owl attempts fly in and attack Scarab. It isn’t very effective when Scarab manages to grab Cosmic Owl by the claws. Scarab questions Prismo about the owl and Prismo panics to explain that Cosmic Owl was some of his only company.

Begrudgingly, Scarab sends Fionna to get something from below deck. Fionna returns with a small pouch. Scarab takes a pinch of colored dust from the pouch and blows it into Cosmic Owl’s face. Prismo’s worried about how it might hurt his eyes when Cosmic Owl sputters and is now *magically* able to speak (the first thing he says is probably yelling at Scarab to let them go or something before being like ‘wait oh shit I can talk’). As Prismo and Cosmic Owl are both coming to this realization, Cake comes up from below deck and makes a casual comment abt how great two way communication is (ref to what the squirrel said to cake in fionna and cake).

^that’s like the closest thing to an actual scene I’ve thought of

so more general lore just laid out

Meet the Crew (and learn the lore):

Scarab- captain, helmsman (does the steering). He is the owner of the boat, and is the one to decide who gets to join and who doesn’t. To his own annoyance, their safety is top priority. He claims it to be because they’re already such a small crew, and cannot afford to lose any more (but really he’s grown attached, though it would take a significant amount of inebriation for him to admit it). He carries an unassuming cane everywhere because of its magical ability to transform into a weapon (his crystal from fionna and cake but pirate themed). Previously a bounty hunter, he formed the crew after a target got the jump on him and left a scar slashed across his back. Now they search for magical artifacts and treasure to get by.

Simon- navigator, cook, surgeon. He takes care of everyone’s wellbeing and responsible for most technical stuff. He joined the crew in pursuit of knowledge about the treasures out there to be found. Years ago his long time girlfriend Betty sacrificed herself to save them from the kraken that rose from sea during a large battle at sea. She did it by using one of their treasures to fuse with the kraken before it could sink their ship, and the part of her that remains now allows them to cross its territory unharmed. He still misses her, and drops small offerings/gifts that he thinks she might like into the water when they pass over.

Fin- master at arms. Fin is well trained in combat and responsible for teaching the others how to handle themselves. He and Scarab are well matched when they duel, with most ending in a draw due to an interruption eventually requiring their attention. Growing up he was an orphan living on the streets with his only friend being his dog Jake. They were thieves to get by, and one day stumbled their way into finding the sack of magic dust that allowed Jake to talk. One day they stole a relic from bounty hunter Scarab that granted Jake his stretchy powers. They were caught in the act, but became the first to be recruited by Scarab as he saw their potential. Upon Jake's capture, he has become dead set on saving his best friend.

Jake- Cabin boy. With his stretchy powers he improvises ways to help the crew or hold together the ship. He met Prismo by chance and got to know him well enough to find out he didn't like his life stuck on land. They became friends before Prismo knew he was a pirate, but things went downhill when Prismo's father caught them and had Jake arrested. Stuck in jail, his only knowledge of what is happening is through the complaints of Prismo's father blaming Jake for Prismo's capture. Safe to say, it's the only reason he has yet to be hung.

Fionna- Rigger, Swabbie. She and Cake are the most recent addition to the crew. Like Fin she was an orphan before being recruited, and was the same age as he was when he was recruited many years ago. She reminded Fin of himself, though she was much more eager to be a pirate, so he convinced Scarab to allow her and Cake in. As the youngest in the crew and filled with a need for adventure, she often is the first to rush in without thinking things through. This has gotten them into troubling situations before. To make up for it, she is doing her best to learn how to fight from Fin so that she can properly defend herself.

Cake- Swabbie. When she joined, she was given the same magic dust that Jake had. In Jake's absence, she has had to learn how to use the stretchy power relic that he left behind on the ship. With some big shoes to fill, she makes it her business to keep others positive/entertained (this has yet to work on Scarab)

Not sure if there should be Bubblegum and Marceline or Gary and Marshal, or both, so feel free to imagine their inclusion however you prefer. Coming up with this stuff is hard, okay?

Prismo- hostage. Prismo lived most of his life under control of his strict father, and began sneaking out at night to live his own life. With little friends, he befriended an owl that happened to nest outside his window. One night he met Jake and they got along well, meeting up every night for a week until Prismo's father caught them. Only then did Prismo find out that Jake was part of Scarab's crew which his father had been working tirelessly to catch. Prismo was grounded, and Jake was jailed to be hung. After his capture, Prismo sympathizes with their crew, and wants to support their goal of having Jake released. It takes a lot of convincing from Prismo to be allowed to roam free on the ship after they have set sail (which Scarab permits on the grounds that Prismo simply doesn't have the combat skill be able to seriously injure any of them even if he wanted to). Scarab is highly skeptical of Prismo's sympathy, and keeps a close watch that Prismo cant help but be highly aware of. Fionna reassures him that it's just how Scarab is, but with his nervously pushy attitude Prismo is slowly able to break down Scarab's emotional walls one by one.

If anyone does anything with this I'd love to see it

#fionna and cake #adventure time #prohibitedwish #prohibited wish #the scarab #prismo #simon petrikov #finn and jake #finn the human #jake the dog #fionna campbell #cake the cat #fionna the human #betty grof #just writing

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reinvent-and-believe · 7 months

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7 for Roy x Jamie. Also, I adore your writing! ❤

7. love at first sight

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Georgie says, looking at the pair of them from across the dinner table with a crooked little grin that means trouble, a grin Roy’s intimately acquainted with on a slightly different face. “Love at first sight, weren’t it?”

“Mummy.” Jamie is the palest Roy’s ever seen. “Do not.”

“Don’t be rude to your mum,” Roy scolds, his full attention fixed on that familiar grin. He rests his arms on the table and leans in. “What were you saying, Georgie?”

“Well look at you, coming to my defense,” she teases. “Can you believe it, my Jamie ending up with such a gentleman?”

“It’s lovely to see,” says Simon, setting a tray of fresh cookies down on the table and giving Roy a genuine little smile.

Roy doesn’t know much about Simon; Jamie’s not talked about their history, other than to hint that a teenage Jamie Tartt was as much of a fucking terror as one might imagine and Simon was a prime target. But Roy likes him. Likes how he looks at Georgie like she hung the fucking moon. Likes how easily his love extends to Jamie.

“Mummy.” Jamie’s blushing now, a deep, fast-spreading red. It strikes Roy, not for the first time, that Jamie’s fucking gorgeous when he blushes.

“Love at first sight? Is that what you said?” Roy asks.

Jamie elbows him. “You ain’t helping.”

Fuck football, this is Roy’s favorite game now. “Who says I’m trying to?”

“Right then.” Georgie winks at Roy as Jamie rubs his forehead. “It must have been, what? 2006? When did you move to Chelsea, Roy?”

“2005."

“2005.” She nods. “Chelsea were here playing City, so of course we had it on telly. And all the announcers could talk about the whole game was the new hot player at Chelsea, making quite a name for himself after only a few games. So of course the camera cut to him over and over, I swear half the game was a closeup on Roy Kent.”

“Mummy, you have got to stop,” Jamie groans.

“This one,” she reaches across the table and pats Jamie’s hand, even as he scowls, “was all of eight years old. You might be a gentleman, Roy Kent, but you’re also a bit of a cradle robber, aren’t you?”

It’s Roy’s turn to freeze. “Right.”

“I’m 25 years old, Mum, I’m fucking grown,” Jamie huffs in an exasperated voice that sounds suddenly 15.

“Of course you are, love.” Her smile loses its bite, fond and soft. “I think you’re lovely together and I’m thrilled for you two, swear down. But I am gonna give this one shit about the fact that he and I would have been in school at the same time and you were eight when he got his big break.”

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says as Roy says, “Fair enough.”

“So Jamie was just a tiny thing, sat in front of the telly as close as he could get, eyes wide. After the first half, he stood up and looked at me with that little look he gets. You know the one. When he’s made his mind up about something and you’ll be wasting your breath if you try and stop him.”

“I know the one.” Roy puts a hand on Jamie’s knee and squeezes gently.

“He turned to me and said”—she pauses for dramatic effect before starting the recitation—“‘when I grow up, I’m gonna be a pretty footballer like Roy Kent.’”

Jamie buries his head in the curve of Roy’s neck. “This is not a cute story,” he insists.

“Keep telling yourself that, love,” Georgie coos sympathetically. “And so began the Roy Kent years. What does he ask for for his birthday? A Roy Kent poster. What do we have to get when we check out at the shop? That magazine with Roy Kent on the cover. What’s he want for Christmas? A Chelsea kit, for Christ’ sake.”

“Now, Georgie, you’ll embarrass him,” Simon chides mildly.

“Yeah, that ship has fucking sailed, man,” Jamie pouts. “When Roy leaves me because he thinks I’m a fucking stalker, it’s gonna be all your fault, Mummy, is that something you want to live with?”

Georgie shakes her head, laughing. “Roy, you’re not allowed to leave Jamie over my cute story. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, sitting back and looking at her son with a love so palpable it makes Roy ache, “it’s not like this is exactly a surprise. If anyone knows how to go after what they want, it’s my Jamie.”

It’s fucking weird, hearing about little Jamie’s crush, but it's not like he didn't know most of it, and it's not like they’ve ever really had the most normal of relationships; Roy accepted that pretty early on. He puts an arm around Jamie, smiling when he immediately curls into Roy. “Well, I think you set your sights too low,” he says with a gentle brush of the lips against Jamie’s temple. “You turned out to be a way prettier footballer than Roy Kent.”

“Uh, yeah, obviously,” Jamie scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches towards a grin as he pulls Roy into a kiss.

#that's it folks! the last of the trick or treat fics. i'm only a weekish late on these last few and honestly for me that's pretty good 😅#this is so silly lmao #anyway the fact that georgie is like MAYBE 2-3 years older than roy max is hilarious to me and i think she should give him endless shit 🤷🏻#my fic #my writing #fic or treat 2023 #ted lasso fic #royjamie #roy x jamie

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fazedlight · 6 months

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Cameo had a sale and I couldn't resist! Transcript below the cut. Twitter link is here.

Hi Melissa! Name twins. Thanks so much for requesting this cameo, I hope you had a really happy holiday if you celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope it was a really nice one. And thanks for these great questions! When I directed the episode of Supergirl that I directed, on shows like that, you don't typically have too much control over the story or things like that. It was really to make things easier to shoot, you would change something. Or if I had an idea that would tie in with a location that I chose - which, that was something I had control over, which location we used for Lex Luthor's house, we did a whole location scout. So you get to choose those spots, and how it will look on camera. That being said, every decision I made, it was a collaboration with the directory of photography, it was a collaborations with the [Associate Directors], it was a collaboration with costumes and wardrobe and everyone to make sure everything would work on the day we were shooting whatever scene. Also those superhero shows are really complicated to shoot as you can imagine, with the action, the special effects, the stunts. So really, I had control beforehand of very little, but then on the day you have control on what you say to the actors and principle actors on set with where you want to go, but also you're trying to match the tone of the show that's been established, that there's been multiple seasons of. So that's fun! And then after the fact in the editing room, you really get to collaborate 1:1 with the editor to try to make the episode more your own and give it your own voice, even though it lives in this existing world that's been established. I loved it, and it was really great, and we had the best crew, so I worked with really awesome people that I loved!

And with my book, the process of writing with my sister, we kind of came up with the idea together. Jessica is a writer, she's a much better writer than me, we'd kind of come up with ideas together, brainstorm, she'd kinda go, I'd help finesse, we had a fantastic editor. But storywise we really came up with the world and mythology together. And I go by Melissa in life! Actually, everyone on set at Supergirl called me Mel. I think because one of the stunt coordinators, Simon, started calling me Mel, and then all of a sudden I became Mel. Which, never in my life was I ever a Mel, suddenly on Supergirl I was a Mel - I was fine with it! You're awesome too, thanks for the support, thanks for reaching out, I send all my love!

#real talk I was dying to know if she actually goes by Mel or not lol #anyway she's fantastic #mel stuff

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b0g-b0y · 1 year

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Ghost x M Reader Requested:@imcoughing

Key: c/n code name

Trying my hand at slow burn.

Well writing this I have no idea what I’m doing;-;

———————————————————————

Walking through the base with boots that were still caked with blood that seemed to be dry, giving small smiles to new recruits well you walked by ignoring how they would slightly move away from you. Y/n was tired he just finished a mission and knew he would get chewed out for a slip up he made but it wasn’t his fault he killed to guards they were in his way to get to the intel and instead of letting them walk away y/n decided to save time by just killing them.

Well, continuing the walk down the hall with a smile on his face, lost in his own thoughts of a nice shower and his warm bed, and getting lost in thought meant he wasn’t paying attention as his body ran into someone else.” Oh shit sorry lieutenant”. You said as you looked at the man with the skeleton mask. All you got back was a glare as he continued on his way. After taking care what you needed to do y/n couldn’t help but find himself running into Ghost more often it wasn’t on purpose, but even time you ran into him you’d give him a friendly smile and a small hello most of time y/n didn’t get anything back in return to his small jesters.

After a few days of not seeing Ghost you assumed he was out on a mission y/n found himself missing the man even if every conversation was one sided. The sound of the electric kettle finishing boiling brought you back to your surroundings now finishing making your expensive tea. Hearing a deep laughter in the hallway along with a Scottish voice that you knew belonged to Soap. Without thinking you started to make the lieutenant a cup of earl gray as well. Ghost seemed to walk in at the perfect time because you finished making the cup.” Ghost! You want a cup of tea”. Y/n spoke with the biggest smile on their face.” A man after your heart LT”. Soap spoke, well giving him a friendly bap. Ghost just looked at you as he took the cup from your hand.”Thanks c/n”. Ghost said. The both of you just stared into each other’s eyes getting lost in the moment. Who knew the fastest way into Ghost's cold heart was a cup of tea.

Ever since that day you and Ghost talked more and every time the both of you would ignore Soaps little comments about how terrifying cute the two of you are together. To be fair Ghost was the one to tell you to ignore Soap. But at times when it was just you and Ghost no Johnny just the two of you, Ghost found himself falling for you the way you would ask if you could touch him made his heart race c/n treated him so gently even though he was a big guy and could take a beating out on the field. Ghost found himself looking forward to seeing you smile every time he saw you. It hit Ghost hard when the realization set in that he might be in love, instead of facing this head on he was trying to run from it. He was Simon Riley, a Ghost of a man he didn’t need love but what he really meant was that he was scared he was scared that he’d end up like his brother and all over again it would be his fault. These thoughts kept him up at night. It had a big effect on him. He looked terrible every morning, he would be met with concern from you, your worried eyes being too much to handle for him. He would only tell you that he was fine and just couldn’t fall asleep. That was a lie. Sometimes he would go find Johnny late at night he felt safe with him he would talk to Soap about his issues even if he was half asleep. But things were starting to get out of hand y/n was getting worried about Ghosts he would ask Soap about it and get back I don’t know what you’re talking about, you also noticed his little comments about you and Ghost stopped needles to say you were worried, and if Soap would tell you what was wrong you would just go to someone that would give you an answer and would do something about it. Who might that be no other than Captain Price himself. It wasn’t ideal to go to a captain for something silly like this but it was killing you inside you cared for Ghost a little too much. So here you were standing at his door giving it a knock waiting for a come in.”c/n what brings you here I hope it’s not more paperwork”. Price said.” No sir, I come here because I’m concerned about one of the members in 141”. You said. Price put down his pen and lit up a cigar. He prayed to god that Soap didn’t blow something up, he also hoped Ghost didn’t lose his temper at a new recruit again beat the poor boy to a pulp.” I’m worried about Ghosts don’t he's been sleeping much, he’s been more distant and snappy lately. I tried asking Soap but he won’t tell me anything and I’m getting so worried”.y/n finished. “ Fucking Simon”. Price mumbled. “ I’ll take care of it, thank you for bringing this to my attention”. Price spoke again.

And Price clearly did something about it because the next thing you knew an angry Ghost was walking your way there was no way out of this you couldn’t run in the opposite direction you could only hope he walked past you.” THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU SAY TO PRICE YOUR OUT OF LINE SARGENT! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT GOING TO MY CAPTAIN LIKE YOU DID. MAYBE THAT'S WHY NO ONE FUCKING LIKES YOU ALWAYS IN PEOPLE BUSINES? YOU THINK YOUR TOUGH BUT YOUR NOTHING MORE THAN A PIECE OF SHIT ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD THAT PEOPLE AVOID YOU FUCKING STAIN”. Ghost yelled in your face. You could feel the tears threatening to spill. You hated how you didn’t do well when people yelled at you.” I was worried, Simo-Ghost. I was worried about you I-I just wanted to know you were ok, Soap wouldn’t talk to me you avoid me I didn’t know what else to do”. Your voice cracked as you spoke. You only hoped Ghost wouldn’t notice your slip up of using his name after hearing it come from Price, it's all that you could think about. He noticed. “ You don’t get to call me that”. Ghost spoke his words laced with venom. Before leaving he kicked the side of your knee causing you to fall giving one more hard kick to your body before he left. Word of what happened spread like wildfire eventually finding its way to Soap and everyone else in 141. Price wasn’t pleased, Gaz didn’t really care, Soap was worried, he had Ghost confess late at night that he loved c/n and how it scared him. Soap went to Ghost and had a long talk with him ending up getting through to him that he fucked up and need to go talk to c/n.

Eventually when Ghost tried to talk to an apologies it was clear that the damage was done, he wasn’t met with your warm smile and bright eyes that he loved but a look that made him upset c/n looked like a kicked puppy. Before c/n could walk away Ghost grabbed his wrist only to be met with you trying to get out of his grip eventually he let go.” I’m sorry”. Ghost said. You couldn’t believe it, all you got was a sorry, the man in front of you not only yelled insults at you but he also kicked you multiple times and all you got was a sorry.”I’m sure you are please go away”. You responded.” I’m sorry I hurt you and yelled I’m really sorry I lashed out… I was scared”. Ghost didn’t meet your eyes.” Are you sorry lieutenant? I was just worried about you and you responded like I did the worst thing to you”. As much as you loved him you tried to push it down. You shouldn’t love someone like that.” I was scared of loving you, I’m scared that you’ll end up dead”. Ghost said softly.” I love you too sir but I don’t I don’t know”. Looking at Simon you didn’t see a scary military man but more like a scared kid.” Please can we work something out, I’ll try to open up more. I'll try not to push you away please just don’t leave me”. Ghost said.” Ghost the best I can offer is baby steps jumping into a relationship right away might not be good. I'll be yours and you can be mine but baby steps”. You said. “ You can call me Simon, but I’ll take baby steps y/n”. Simon said.

#cod x male reader #x male reader #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x male reader #simon riley x male reader

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heliza24 · 1 year

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Love your blog and all your analysis!!

Many people didn't like S2 because Simon, according to them was just a tool to drive Wilhelm's story, a love interest only and didn't really have his own story. In particular, many are frustrated at the lack of narrative on the video's effect and Simon's subsequent trauma. Of course, everyone's allowed their opinions but seeing as you have experience in the world of writing and making tv magic, wanted to get your insight on this. Thanks, a S2 fan! 💜

Hi anon! Thanks for the question.

I’ve already written pretty extensively about Simon’s arc in season 2 and why I like it in this post. In short, I think he grows a lot in season 2, but his growth takes him towards emotional vulnerability and openness, which is not something we’re used to seeing in characters (especially not male ones).

I also don’t mind how they address Simon’s trauma in season 2. I’m going to approach this momentarily not as a writer, but as someone who has been in therapy for years. There are some traumas that have happened to me (like a serious car accident when I was a kid) that are very concrete, with a set beginning and end, and that began to affect me right away. (I had ptsd symptoms pretty immediately after that accident). But there are other traumas that feel like a series of small cuts instead of one big punch. It’s harder to decide where they begin and end, and their effects are more subtle. Sometimes it takes me years to even realize that they were traumatic and that they are still affecting me. (The medical trauma I’ve experienced as an adult over several years is like this). To me this is more what Simon is dealing with with the video. Once the video goes online, it’s not coming down. There’s no set end date, and Simon spends most of season 2 not even knowing who the perpetrator was. He’s in the kind of no-man’s land between the initial blow and coming to understand how the whole process has affected him. That being said, I do think we see some changes in him that reflect what he’s gone through. He seems to care a lot less about his academic classes than he did in season 1. He’s writing music in an attempt to process what he’s been through. And you could even see his attempt to have sex with Marcus as a trauma response. The last time he hooked up with someone his agency was taken from him. So it makes sense to me that he’s eager to have sex again but fully on his own terms, to partially erase that feeling of not being in control. I don’t know for sure if this will happen, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we see more traditional ptsd symptoms from Simon in season 3. If there’s some sort of legal action against August that would signify a sort of “end” of the video trauma, and would also probably be re-traumatizing in a lot of ways. I also think interacting directly with the royal family might stir up some things as well.

Ok, now I’m going to totally switch gears and approach your question from a writing perspective. Let’s talk about story structure for a minute, specifically TV story structure. Most TV has an A plot and a B plot (and sometimes a C plot too). In old school cable procedurals, the A plot would be the mystery of the week, while the B plot would be about whatever was happening in the characters’ personal lives. If there was an overarching mystery or storyline that tied the whole season together, that would be the C plot. As you can guess by how they’re named, the A Plot would take up the most time and do the most to drive the episode forward. The B plot is next most important, etc. Once shows started to become more serialized in the age of streaming, the concept of A and B plots changed a little bit. Now the plots are divided by character and theme. The A plot will be headlined by the protagonist and will explore the main themes of the show. The B plot will be headlined by a secondary protagonist, who doesn’t have as much to do as the A plot lead, but is still answering a dramatic question that relates to the central themes of the show. A lot of times the primary and secondary protagonists’ actions influence each other, but they don’t share a ton of screen time. (If they did, their stories wouldn’t be separate.) You can think of the A and B plot protagonists as two sides of the same coin. They’re intricately connected, they’re exploring the same ideas, but they rarely come face to face, and they often represent different perspectives on the same themes. Black Sails is probably my favorite example of this. (I’m not as active in the Black Sails fandom as I am in the Young Royals fandom, but Black Sails is probably my all time favorite show and I absolutely love all the ungovernable pirates over in the Black Sails tag. Shout out to them). James Flint is the main protagonist and headliner of the A story, but Max is the secondary protagonist that headlines the B story. Both are struggling with the question of how to achieve and wield power in an unjust world, and their political maneuvers consistently influence each other’s plots. They share a lot of secondary characters across both of their plots, but they themselves never interact. So that’s one example, and if you look around at your favorite shows you’ll be able to find lots that adhere to this formula, including, I would say, Young Royals.

I think a lot of people are kind of subconsciously looking for this kind of structure, and have decided that Simon is the protagonist of the B plot. I understand this, because we all love Simon. He’s really well written and acted, his personality is so compelling, and his chemistry with Wilhelm is great. I spend a lot of time writing him in fic (I’m the writer of all the Simon content in Heart and Homeland) so I understand this impulse. But if you were looking for Simon to be anchoring the B plot in season 2, you might have been disappointed. Because in reality I don’t think he’s the secondary protagonist. I think Sara is.

Sara is set up as a foil to Wilhelm, the main protagonist, in so many ways. I always say that the driving dramatic question of Young Royals lives with Wilhelm, and it’s something along the lines of “should I conform and live the oppressive life that was designed for me, or rebel and find my own path to happiness?” Sara is wrestling with a similar question that’s kind of the inverse of this; for her settling into a prescribed role in the Hillerska class system initially seems like a relief. So maybe for her the dramatic question is something along the lines of “is the price of fitting in worth it? Will it lead to true happiness?” They feel so much like opposite sides of the same coin to me.

So Sara and Wilhelm are both trying to define themselves in relation to their families and also the class system. This comes up in the similarities of their family structure (they both feel very connected to their class position through their families; they both have complicated relationships with their mothers and bad to negligible relationships with their fathers; they both have a deep connection to their siblings) and in the relationships they choose to embark upon. They’re both navigating a very serious and complicated first love. They’re both dating across class (in the opposite direction, a perfect example of the “different views on the same theme” aspect of primary and secondary protagonists). They both have concerns about how and when their relationships become public, and by extension are both playing in the sandbox of themes around privacy and authenticity that define so much of the show.

Both have difficulty regulating and recognizing their emotions. Sara seems to exhibit alexithymia, a common aspect of autism that makes it hard to recognize one's own emotions. Wilhelm has been taught to repress his emotions, which he does well until he explodes (like when he got into the fight at the top of the series or when he yells at his mom on the phone). He’s also managing a lot of physical symptoms of anxiety.

Both also struggle with questions of justice and how to make things right. In the beginning of season 2, Wilhelm is initially determined to destroy August because he thinks August will never repent, but by the end of the season he’s starting to realize that this was the wrong technique. He realizes this largely because of Simon; he only puts down the gun and walks away from August because Simon does first. Sara makes the opposite journey: she starts by trusting that August will change and repent on his own, but then she is forced to confront the fact that this is not true, and that she needs to use the legal system to bring August to justice. She makes this realization largely because of Simon, and seeing the ways that she has hurt Simon, in the same scene with the gun.

The other big argument in support of Sara as the secondary protagonist of the show is that she and Wilhelm never directly interact. Their actions affect each other all the time, but they don’t share a scene together. They’re living on parallel but separate story tracks.

Simon is a crucial character in both Wilhelm and Sara’s stories, but the fact that he is close with both excludes him from being a protagonist of his own plot line. (I would say the same about August, who is a catalyst for both Wilhelm and Sara.) That doesn’t mean that Simon isn’t well written. He has a very compelling character arc, motivates much of the plot, and his relationship with Wilhelm forms the heart of the show. But I think the reason people were disappointed in his story in season 2 is that they were expecting something from him that the structure of the show doesn’t support.

If you’re interested in reading more about A/B/C plot structures I found this website really easy to understand. Also shout out to @bluedalahorse for talking to me about Wilhelm and Sara and helping me articulate what I was trying to say here.

Thanks again for the ask, anon and for the vote of confidence in my analysis! I really appreciate it. If anyone else has a Young Royals scene or question they want me to break down from a writing or cinematography perspective, my ask box is always open.

#young royals #my meta #ask box #writing break down #simon eriksson #wilhelm young royals #sara eriksson #prince wilhelm

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lemoncrushh · 2 months

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The Entertainer - Track 03 - Pick a Memory

Summary: Set in the 70s, Sky Jones, a young woman from L.A., meets Harry Styles, an up-and-coming musician and frontman for the band Wildfire. Told in first person from Sky’s point of view, she shares her journey and what it’s like to fall for a rockstar.

STORY PAGE

Track 03 Word Count: 3.1k

Halo had a shift at the bookstore where she worked, but I was off so I was glad to have the apartment to myself for one afternoon. I was in my room practicing a Joni Mitchell song on guitar when the doorbell rang. I opened the door just enough to peek through the crack, the chain still on it.

“Hi,” he said hesitantly.

“Hi.”

Harry dropped his head, then looked back up at me.

“Can I come in?”

“I guess.”

I shut the door and removed the chain before reopening it and stepping back for Harry to enter. I noticed his eyes were no longer bloodshot, and his hair was wet like he’d just taken a shower. When I closed the door behind him, I got a big whiff. Yep, definitely a shower.

I followed him into the living room where he stopped next to the sofa but didn’t sit down. Instead he turned to face me, his voice still low and gravely.

“I’m sorry.”

I scratched a nonexistent itch on my arm. “Yeah, you mentioned that in your note. But what exactly are you sorry for?”

Harry dropped his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. “Can I explain?”

I nodded, gesturing toward the couch. Harry sat down and I followed, though I made it a point to remain on the opposite end. I watched as he swallowed hard, wringing his hands nervously.

“Something happened last night.”

I wanted to make some snide remark, but I didn’t. I bit my tongue, deciding to hear him out.

“I um…after you’d left The Troubadour, someone came up to me. He claimed he was a manager and wanted to represent Wildfire. Even though we already have a manager, I agreed to have a chat with him. We sat at the bar and he bought me a drink. I was kinda feeling the effects of the show, you know? I was on this natural high, but my head was pounding, I suppose from the adrenaline. So this bloke offered me some pills. I swear, I thought they were just for a headache.”

“You took strange pills from a strange man?”

Harry groaned. “I know, it sounds ludicrous. But I had a headache and I thought they were aspirin or something.”

“What were they?”

“I dunno exactly. Probably some sort of hallucinogen like PCP. I started feeling dizzy and told the bloke I had to go. He said something about giving me a ride and for some reason I took it. He drove me here. I honestly can’t even remember giving him the address, and I dunno how I remembered it.”

“Do you even know who this guy was?” I asked.

Harry shrugged. “I think his name was French. For some reason that sticks in my mind.”

“You mean he had a French name, or his actual name was French?”

“His name was French. His last name.”

“But you’d never heard of him before?”

“No.”

“That’s…scary.”

“I know.”

“What if you hadn’t made it here, Harry? What if something worse had happened?”

“It did.”

I glared at him. “Huh?”

Harry looked down at his hands and twisted one of the rings on his finger.

“I was horrible to you,” he mumbled.

I swallowed hard and traced a pattern on the sofa.

“I don’t remember most of it, Sky. But I remember being a jerk, and you didn’t deserve that. You have to believe me when I say that wasn’t me.”

I nodded slowly. “I knew it wasn’t. You frightened me.”

Harry shifted on the couch to face me. “I’m so sorry. I don’t…I don’t do drugs like that. I don’t like not being in control. And I was completely out of control.”

I chewed my bottom lip and sat up straight. He hadn’t mentioned Simon, and I didn’t bring up his name. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to know about that, and figured he would tell me if he wanted to.

“Apology accepted.”

Harry sighed. “Good. So…what exactly did I do?”

“You know what?” I raised my hands. “Let’s just…forget about it.”

“Alright.”

“Would you like something to drink?” I rose from the sofa.

Harry grimaced, touching his stomach. “Um…maybe just a glass of water.”

“Okay.”

I hadn’t expected Harry to follow me into the kitchen. He stood at the end of the counter, watching me fill two glasses, before handing him one.

“I do remember one thing,” said Harry after he’d emptied his glass.

Oh, no. “What’s that?”

“Your eyes.”

I felt myself start to smile, but I pursed my lips together. “What about them?”

“Um…something to do with…rain clouds.”

“Hmm.”

I averted my gaze, focusing on my glass of water as though it was the best thing I’d ever drunk in my life. Then I set the empty glass on the counter and released a deep breath.

“Sky?”

“Yes?”

“Are you ever gonna tell me your real name?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not important.”

“What is important then?”

I shrugged. “Music.”

“What about people?”

“Yes. Some people.”

“I wanna know more about you, Sky.”

I blinked and looked up at him. “What do you wanna know? Besides my name?”

“Why do you always wear that locket?” he pointed at the gold pendant that hung from my neck.

“Why do you always wear that cross?”

“I asked you first.”

I sighed and looked down at the necklace, fingering it for a moment before I opened the clasp.

“It’s my brother,” I said as I watched Harry’s boots when he took a step closer.

“Your brother?”

I lifted my eyes, not quite meeting his. He took the locket from my hand, cupping it gently in his own, then looked up at me questioningly.

“He died in Vietnam.”

Harry inspected the tiny photo for a while before clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Thanks.” I closed the locket, making Harry’s hand fall to his side, though his face was still inches from mine.

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you wear it?”

“That’s a stupid thing to ask,” I spat.

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s a genuine question. I know why you have a picture of your brother in a locket. That makes sense. But why do you wear it everyday? All the time?”

I considered his question for a while, first wanting to yell at him that he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about and he had some nerve. Then I thought about his words, really let them roll around in my brain. He was right. I wore it all the time. I never took it off actually, except to shower. My chest shook as the answer came to me.

“It’s been eight years,” I said softly. “He would’ve been turning thirty this year. I guess…I guess I just don’t want to forget him.”

Harry bit his bottom lip and nodded, an unspoken understanding.

“Do I get another question?” he inquired.

I smiled. “I guess so.”

“When I came to your door earlier, I could hear a guitar and singing. Was that you?”

I blushed. “Yeah.”

“It was lovely. Will you play something for me?”

“I’m not that good.”

“Please?”

I took in his expression, his eyes kind and encouraging.

“C’mon,” I said, walking toward my bedroom.

I grabbed my guitar which I’d left on the bed and slung the strap over my head.

“What would you like me to play?”

“The song you were playing before.”

“Okay…but it’s still a work in progress.”

Harry merely grinned and sat on the bed. Then he held his hand out.

“Let’s hear it.”

I nervously began to strum the chords, then took a breath to begin singing, hoping to God my voice wouldn’t crack.

“Rows and flows of angel hair And ice cream castles in the air And feather canyons everywhere I’ve looked at clouds that way But now they only block the sun They rain and snow on everyone So many things I would have done But clouds got in my way”

Harry continued to watch me as I sang and strummed, his lips spreading into a winning smile that made me weak in the knees. I had to keep my mind on the chords and the lyrics I was singing, and not the way he was making me feel, but I admit it was difficult. Why did he have to look like that?

When I reached the last chorus, I had to look away, so I pretended like I was singing to Robert Plant on the poster behind him.

“I’ve looked at life from both sides now From win and lose and still somehow It’s life’s illusions I recall I really don’t know life at all”

Harry rose from the bed and applauded when I finished, although I knew I had messed up a couple of times.

“Beautiful,” he announced.

“Thank you.” I removed the guitar and set it in its spot, my cheeks a rosy pink.

“I like your voice.”

“I like Joni’s,” I commented. I wasn’t very good at accepting compliments. “She’s probably my favorite. I love her songs.”

“She writes some good ones,” Harry agreed.

“What’s your favorite song?”

“Favorite song? Ever?”

“Yes,” I nodded, walking over to the turntable.

Harry shook his head. “That’s impossible. I can’t choose one favorite.”

“Why not?”

“Because…music isn’t about picking favorites. Songs…they’re memories.”

I blinked as I turned around, looking at him standing there next to my bed, the glow of the lamp underneath the orange scarf casting a shadow on the wall behind him.

“What do you mean?”

Harry swallowed. “Well…like, pick a memory.”

“Of when?”

“Anytime. Childhood. A memory of Halo.” His eyebrows wiggled as he grinned. “Of Comet.”

I smiled. “I have great memories of running and playing with Comet in Halo’s backyard.”

“See? Now put a song with it.”

I thought for a moment until a giggle escaped my throat.

“I used to want to be in a girl group. Like The Crystals or The Ronettes. I would sing their songs a lot as a kid, and I have a memory of performing a solo of ‘He’s A Rebel’ for Comet.”

Harry chuckled. “Perfect. Great memory, innit?”

“Yeah.” I looked down at my feet. “But not all memories are good.”

“But if you put a song with it, it is. Even if it makes you weep, Sky. It’s a good thing.”

I raised my head and smirked. “Didn’t know you were so deep.”

“‘m not. Just love music, like you.”

Harry hopped onto my bed like some young boy defying the laws of gravity and proceeded to remove his boots. I watched as he stretched out his long limbs and laid down on my pile of pillows.

“You’re right,” I admitted.

“About what, love?”

“Songs being memories. Even if they make you cry.”

“Mmhm.” Harry closed his eyes and put his arm behind his head.

“‘Daydream Believer’ does that to me.”

Harry popped open one eye. “The Monkees?”

I bit my lip and nodded. “Came out the year my brother died.”

“Oh. But that’s sort of a happy song.”

“I know. I think that’s why it made me cry. My world had just crumbled and Davy Jones was telling me to cheer up. I couldn’t listen to it for a long time.”

I stared at Harry as he rolled over onto his side and stared me right back. I half suspected him to laugh at me, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I understand,” he said instead.

I sighed. “It’s okay now. It’s actually become one of my favorites. I like to think of it as my brother’s way of telling me I was gonna be okay.”

Harry blinked slowly with a nod, then laid back on the pillow. I got an idea and grabbed my smaller stack of 45s, not nearly as impressive as my LP collection. When Davy’s voice sounded, I saw the dimple dip in Harry’s cheek.

“Oh I could hide ‘neath the wings Of the bluebird as she sings The six o’clock alarm would never ring…”

I started to giggle as Harry swayed back and forth on my bed, his eyes still shut, a happy boyish grin on his face.

“Cheer up sleepy Jean…”

Harry popped his eyes open then and sang along with me. Then he sat up, grabbing the tambourine on my nightstand and hitting it against his palm. By the end of the song, I was prancing across my rug to Harry’s percussion.

“Confession,” I beamed, my cheeks already sore from laughing, “a year or so later, I developed an obsession with not only Davy Jones, but all male British singers.”

Harry winked at me. “But of course.”

I blushed.

“The real question is,” Harry said when the record had stopped and he returned my tambourine to its spot on my bedside table, “were you a Homecoming Queen?”

I shook my head hard, making my long hair fan out.

“Not even close.”

“That’s a shame. Why not?”

I shrugged, making a sound similar to “I don’t know,” though my mouth was still shut. “I was never nominated.”

“What would you have to do to be nominated?”

“Be pretty,” I mumbled.

“Well then, you should’ve won.”

Though my smile grew slowly, I couldn’t stop it. My chest heaved like I’d just run a marathon, and inside I could feel a million butterflies fluttering at once.

“Keep the records going, if you like,” Harry gestured to the turntable. “I’m enjoying it.”

“Okay.”

I turned back to my stack of 45s, hesitating when I pulled out the Buddy Holly record. Deciding I wanted to hear it, I placed it on the record player and dropped the needle. When I looked back at Harry, he was lying on his side again, his head propped up in his hand. He raised his brows as the music began to play, obviously surprised by my choice.

“Just you know why Why you and I Will bye and bye Know true love ways”

I couldn’t move. I stood in one spot in the corner of my room as Harry rose from the bed, seemingly in slow motion. Only my chest betrayed me, giving away my nerves and anticipation with each heavy breath as Harry walked towards me. Stopping in front of me, he towered over me like a tree, even without his boots. I stared at his chest, noticing for the first time how tall he was, until he gently lifted my hand, threading his fingers through mine. Then with his other hand, he clipped my chin to look at him before sliding it around my waist.

“Sometimes we’ll sigh Sometimes we’ll cry”

Harry and I swayed as the sound of the strings filled our ears. I hadn’t slow danced since the prom. He turned me around, his eyes never leaving mine. I wouldn’t have been able to look away anyway, even if I’d tried. Harry had a magical quality about him, not just on stage I realized. He was something special. Something beautiful.

I wanted him to kiss me. But I think even if he hadn’t, I would have been okay with it. I wanted to tell him how the song reminded me of my youth, of taking trips to the beach with my family and evening picnics and parties with my parents’ friends and making fun of my brother and his girlfriend when I caught them making out. But none of that mattered now. I was making my own memory.

“Throughout the days Our true love ways Will bring us joys to share With those who really care”

He kissed me softly at first, sending a chill through my entire body. My eyes fluttered open to see his face, his eyelids heavy, still focused on my mouth. He lifted his hand and dragged his thumb across my bottom lip before kissing me again, pulling me closer. I released my hand from his and brought it to his shoulder and around his neck. I felt him sigh as he kissed me deeper, his tongue meeting mine. Then he turned me around once more, guiding me backwards to the bed where he laid me down.

“Sometimes we’ll sigh Sometimes we’ll cry And we’ll know why Just you and I Know true love ways”

The record stopped, but not the music in my head. We kissed for a long time, creating a melody of our own. Harry’s hands slid up my sides, one stopping at my breast, the other continuing to my neck where he cradled my head, his fingers in my hair. He settled his body between my legs, igniting the heat that was already apparent.

Suddenly, I heard a noise, followed by a voice bellowing my name.

“Sky! Lemme in! You have the chain on!”

“Oh, shit,” I cursed.

Harry laughed and sat up. I followed, straightening my shirt before heading for the door.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“’s alright,” he smirked, and I was pretty sure I caught a twinkle in his eye.

“Hey,” I greeted Halo when I unlatched the lock.

“What the hell, Sky? Since when do you put the chain on?”

Halo pushed past me to set a few bags on the table.

“Since forever. But I usually take it off before you get home. Just…forgot.”

“Well, I brought food,” she pointed as she went to the kitchen to get something to drink. “I thought we could eat and then you could help me with…”

It was then that she finally spotted Harry, standing just outside my doorway.

“Oh. Hi, Harry…” she furrowed her brows. “Mitch didn’t tell me you guys were coming.”

“Ah, no,” he scratched the back of his head. “Just me. I came to…talk to Sky.”

“He came to talk to me,” I echoed.

“Oh….oh!” Halo sounded, realization finally hitting her.

I heard Harry chuckle behind me. I turned slightly to catching his dimple as he smiled at his feet, which I noticed now had his boots returned to them.

“I should…probably…” Harry pointed at the front door, “…go.”

“Oh. Okay.” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment.

I followed him to the door and told him goodbye. When I shut it behind him and leaned against it, however, I immediately opened it again.

“Harry!” I called, even though he had only just made it to the top of the landing.

“Yeah?”

Smiling, I closed the door and jogged up to him.

“Thank you.”

He smiled back. “What for?”

“For today.”

Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for his face and kissed him on the mouth. His grin widened as he gazed down at me.

“You’re welcome, darling.”

He kissed me again before turning for the stairs. I watched him descend until he’d reached the bottom and waved up at me. Then I went back inside to a very curious Halo.

Songs mentioned:

Joni Mitchell - Both Sides Now

The Crystals - He's a Rebel

The Monkees - Daydream Believer

Buddy Holly - True Love Ways

If you enjoyed, please like, reblog, comment and consider following me if you aren't already :) xo

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