#fic: ghost of you

[prodagustd]

ghost of you | myg

Summary: After a few months Yoongi starts to think that his feelings for you are getting out of his control, but they never were in the first place.

this is part three of so it goes: series masterlist

<part two part four>

—pairing: rapper!yoongi x reader

—rating: +18

—genre: friends with benefits (kind of? they're in love) to lovers, fluff but lots of angst!!

—warnings/tags: just cursing.

—words: 4.8k

a/note: Hello friends!! This is the shortest part i've written, but I hope you like the angst. It was difficult to write the dialogue and I hope it makes you angry!!! or sad!!!! as always, feedback is very appreciated, it makes me want to keep writing 😁 you are welcome to discuss the chapter in the asks. pd if you want to be in the taglist let me know.

What is love? And what does it look like?

Yoongi couldn’t remember half of the names of the romcoms you made him watch since you met him, he put himself in your shoes and tried to understand How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days. He didn’t like The Notebook at all, but he loved 13 going 30. He laughed watching Crazy, Stupid, Love and asked if you found Ryan Gosling attractive.

“Not really,” You answered “He’s not my type but he’s cute here.” He nodded and kept watching the movie. 

Yoongi should have known that you weren’t just his fuckbuddy when he started to invite you to his apartment just to watch movies and eat pizza. You were supposed to be naked under him as he fucked you stupid until it was time for him to take you home. You weren’t supposed to be wearing those pink pajama pants and laying on his chest as you watched some movie with Lindsay Lohan and Chris Pine. 

Did you find Chris Pine attractive?  

“Yes!” You confirmed  “He’s cute with glasses and he’s on The Princess Diaries 2”

“I don’t know that one.”

“Have you never watched The Princess Diaries?” You asked, wide-eyed.

“Do I look like someone who watched something called The Princess Diaries?” 

“You’re about to.” You threatened.

He sighed, but as soon as you woke up the next morning you made him watch the first part, and when it finished you watched the second one with Chris Pine. As he tried not to get jealous of a movie character (the fact that you sighed everytime he appeared didn’t help) he thought he didn’t know what love looked like, he didn’t know how to see it coming, no amount of romantic movies could teach him about love. 

The memory of the moment he realized he was in love knocked on his door every night since you left his apartment that weekend. He remembered your red lips and the words they spoke and wished he could read between them, wished he could relive that night one more time just to see if he missed something, a clue that could help him solve the riddle in his mind. 

Yoongi thought love looked like you and Holly sharing his bed, he thought it sounded like you saying his name in a whimper at night. It felt like your hands covering his when it was cold, It tasted like your strawberry lip gloss. 

For a while he thought he had control of things, he thought he didn’t have to worry about what he said at Nayeon’s birthday. Yoongi should’ve known that things were out of his control when you asked about his birthday. 

Yoongi didn’t like his birthday too much. When he was a kid he liked the presents and the cake but as he grew older the feeling started to wear out, presents started to disappear and his mom was far away in a different city to make him a cake. When he met Namjoon and Hoseok it changed, they forced him to go out and celebrate but he still felt that cloud of awkwardness that came with the passing of the years, like he was too old to celebrate.  

“It’s just another day.” He would say. 

Maybe it was the fact that Yoongi had to grow up quickly, not having much time for birthday cakes or colorful birthday parties, but when you noticed his birthday was just around the corner, you tried to make him say it. 

Rolling on his bed with your phone in your hands, you put your head on his shoulder as he texted Hoseok about the track they were working on. 

“You are a pisces, aren’t you?”  You asked him, knowing damn well his sign. 

“Uh, yeah, I think so.” Yoongi answered without taking his eyes off his phone. 

“Do you know your rising?” He locked his phone and looked at you like you just asked him to solve a math problem. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Your rising sign, Yoongi.” You said rolling your eyes, he was such a grandpa. 

“I don’t know my rising sign, I don’t even know what that is.” 

“Okay, what time were you born?” You asked, already looking for an internet page that could easily calculate Yoongi’s natal chart. Then, you started to explain to him what a natal chart was. 

“I don’t believe in all that stuff.”  He simply answered with his hands on his phone, typing a message to his mom that said “Mom, do you know what time I was born?”

Yoongi’s mom answered in just a few minutes, you typed his location, the time he was born and his birthday: march 9th, that was just three weeks away. 

“You’re an aries rising…” You said scrolling through the chart, he looked curious, trying to understand the weird graphic shaped like a circle that showed on your phone.

“What is that?” He asked.

“Well, you know you’re pisces, that’s your solar sign which can say a lot about you but not enough. Your solar sign represents your inner self and rising your external self, like inside you’re a pisces but outside you show as an aries.” You explained to him “Which is quite interesting, you show like you’re fiery and strong but on the inside you’re emotional and sensitive.” 

“You’re like, psychoanalyzing me now.” He laughed.

“See, it’s real.”

“I never said it was.”

“Anyway, your moon is in Virgo and Venus is in Aries, how about that?”

“Venus?” Yoongi asked again, you looked at him like he made a forbidden question, already feeling your cheeks burn. 

“Venus is the planet of love.” You almost whispered, like it was a secret “Quite complicated, you want things right away and get bored easily.”

“How do you know all of that?” He asked again, bringing you closer to him by hugging your waist. 

“I don’t know anything, but Nayeon does, she talks about it all the time and I learned some things.” 

Yoongi nodded, taking his eyes off you. Then, he can’t help but ask one stupid question:

“What’s your venus?” 

You bite back a smirk before answering.

“My venus is in taurus. So don’t get your hopes too high, we’re not compatible.” 

You heard his laugh right next to your ear but then, nothing else. Suddenly it seemed like you remembered the main goal of the conversation. 

“Your birthday is in three weeks.” 

“You’re smart, I see.”

“What are you planning?” 

“Nothing, it’s a tuesday. I have to work, you have to go to school. Probably just… I don’t know, sleep three hours more, that would be a good present.”

You rolled your eyes again. 

“You should be doing something. You don’t turn twenty-eight everyday!” 

Yoongi didn’t know, but you started to plan his birthday right at that moment.

“Come on!” You insisted. “You can say it’s just a dinner and everyone would know that after eating they have to leave.” 

“I have to feed them, too?” He asked, laughing. 

“Oh my God, Yoongi, you’re really that boring?” 

“Not wanting to feed my friends on my birthday doesn’t mean I’m boring.” 

“Yes, that means you’re boring. That’s literally the definition in the dictionary, look it up.”

He sighed again, thinking for a few seconds. 

“Okay, I’ll be inviting them to eat. But as my birthday present I want you to cook for me.”

You looked at him, happy that you convinced him, grabbing his cheeks and pressing him a short but loud kiss on his lips.

“That’s the only thing you want?”

“Mmm… Maybe you in a babydoll, too.” 

An ugly loud escaped from your mouth, making him laugh with you. 

Three weeks later, you kissed him on the cheek and whispered the third happy birthday of the day before leaving his bed. Hours later when you finished your classes you looked for him in his studio with a box full of chocolate cupcakes in your hands. 

He thanked you with a smile, grabbing your hips to sit you on his lap. As he chewed the first one he asked, 

“These aren’t yours, are they?” 

“No, these are from that lady friend of mine.”

“Grace?”

Grace was an old woman you had met in a pastry course months ago, you always envied her skills, she never seemed to struggle. Instead of hating her and her cupcakes you decided to be friends with her and steal all her secrets. 

“Yes, I asked her to make them for your birthday, you know cupcakes aren’t my thing.”

“Tell her thank you.”

“I will, she wished you a happy birthday.”

Yoongi smiled and as you shared the cupcakes he imagined your conversation with Grace. Did you tell her it was your friend’s birthday? 

You arrived at his apartment shortly after and he helped you place the food and drinks on the table and together waited for his friend to arrive. Yoongi couldn’t help but smile the whole night and towards the end of the dinner he looked at you and asked you if you were going to stay the night. 

“If you want to.” You answered. He kissed you and he tasted your strawberry lip gloss.

When everyone went home you waited for him sitting at the edge of his bed. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. 

“Are you my present?” He asked. 

“If you want to.” A mischievous smile tugged from the corner of your lips. 

He took off your blouse and kissed your neck, you heard him scoff. 

“What?”

“I’m a bit disappointed.” He confessed “About the babydoll, you know?”

You punched his arm “You’re kidding.” Yoongi’s shoulders started to shake as he laughed. 

“Maybe for my next birthday. Or christmas.”

Yoongi felt like he was floating on a cloud for a whole week. You were next to him the whole time but he couldn’t help but feel that something was about to go terribly wrong. 

Maybe things started to go wrong way before, but he felt it for the first time at one of Jungkook’s gatherings at his house. It was just him,Jungkook, Namjoon, Hoseok, Nayeon and you, everything was okay until Namjoon asked something. 

“What about your girlfriend, when do we meet her?” He asked Jungkook.

“She’s not his girlfriend yet.” Nayeon answered for him. Everyone stared at her. 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook questioned her.

Poor boy. 

“Have you asked her?” You asked this time. 

“Well… no, but..”

“Then she’s not your girlfriend.” Jungkook and every boy in the room looked at you like you just insulted him.

“Does it matter?” He was bold enough to ask. 

“Of course it does.” Nayeon supported you. 

“It’s important for a girl to know if a guy wants the whole deal.” You said. 

Jungkook seemed to be one of the most attractive men in the world yet he still didn’t know shit about girls, but the worst thing was that Yoongi realized that he didn’t know shit either. 

Of course he knew you weren’t his girlfriend, but he thought there was an unspoken agreement about your relationship. The bad part about unspoken agreements was that you couldn’t talk about them, you can’t talk about the terms of them, you can’t discuss them, you have to act like they don’t exist. 

So where did that leave the two of you?

“Wouldn’t it be dumb to ask her?”

“You are dumb for asking that.” Nayeon informed him. 

“You wouldn’t have an anniversary date otherwise.” You added. 

Yoongi could see Jungkook made a mental note of asking his not-girlfriend to finally be his girlfriend. Then, he felt himself sinking in the couch next to you, feeling like he was staying behind, dragging you with him. 

You came back to his house like every other night, laid on the bed laughing as you remembered a joke Hoseok made and how red Nayeon’s face turned because she couldn’t stop laughing. You told him that no other man was capable of getting more than a scoff from her. Yoongi managed to giggle and got in bed with you. 

There was a heavy weight on his chest again, but no actions or words from you were capable of easing him this time. He hugged you from behind like it was the last time he was going to do it, like you were about to get up and leave. He fell asleep feeling like he was hugging the ghost of you. 

How selfish he was, he thought; you woke up the next day and didn’t leave the bed until he did, it was one of those special mornings where he asked you to stay and you did. You looked at him with shiny eyes and he knew you felt the same for him, how many people could look at the person next to them and say the same thing?

Yoongi knew that people thought you were completely opposite from him, but he also knew that was not true. You both passionately loved music, you liked the comfort of silence, cooking together, every old sitcom airing after midnight that no one watched except the two of you. You liked driving around and going to the movies, you laughed at the same jokes and liked to help your friends whenever they needed it without complaining. You were similar and yet, he wished he could be a little more like you. He wished he could look at you the same way you were looking at him that morning without wanting to run away and hide forever. 

Coward. 

He was a coward, he couldn’t escape from that. 

When he left you at your apartment he came back to his own and as he walked down the hallway he couldn’t help but feel he was walking towards the guillotine, towards a home which every corner reminded him of you but you weren’t there. His sheets smelled like the soft perfume you were wearing the night before and your coffee mug was freshly washed on the counter. He looked at your slippers, asking himself when he decided that to buy you a pair of slippers was normal? And when did he let you buy those curtains for him?

The next days were like hell.

He needed some time alone to think.

Yoongi and you almost never fought. You couldn’t call them fights, it was always a misunderstanding or something silly. 

You remembered one time when Yoongi was upset with you because you forgot a date he had planned. It was okay, you thought it was a different day and you said sorry. 

Two months ago he ruined all your notes when he spilled coffee all over them while he was trying to mess around with you. You got upset but it was okay, it was an accident and he helped to save some of the pages afterwards.

You almost never fought, why would you? Maybe Yoongi barely texting in the past four days could be a reason, but not really, he was working on this big project with Namjoon and Hoseok, you couldn’t blame him. 

You texted him about it, just in case. 

[You]: Is everything alright? Just checking. 

[Yoongo]: Yeah, just tired from work

[You]: Okay, take care of yourself.

[Yoongo]: I will. 

On Friday you decided to go to his apartment before he arrived from work. Using the spare key he gave you, you opened the door and took off your shoes before realizing the mess that his place was. Was he this busy?

Holly came running to greet you, he looked at you like he knew something that you didn’t.

“What happened here, Holly?” You asked, squatting down to greet him too. 

There were a bunch of clothes in the chairs, shoes all over the place, two empty boxes of pizza on the table and those were the things you could notice at first glance. You figured you could help him, do a nice thing if he was stressed with work, he would have done the same thing for you. 

You dropped your bag on the couch and started picking up some of the clothes, throwing them in the laundry basket or folding them to put them in his room. Holly followed you around as you put Yoongi’s shoes in their place and made the bed. You saw a few beer cans next to his music equipment, you grabbed them and threw them in the trash. It was hard to remember a time when Yoongi was so caught up with his work that his place ended up looking like this, you felt bad for not checking up on him sooner.

After an hour you sat on the couch, satisfied when the place didn’t look like a mess anymore. Yoongi didn’t have candles in his house but you wished you could light one after cleaning the place, so you made a mental note to buy him one. He would laugh at it at first because he’s not the type to light candles, but with time you would introduce him to the world of candles and he would like them, you would laugh at him then. 

Holly laid his head on your lap and both of you waited for Yoongi to arrive. 

You heard him opening the door a few hours later. When he entered you saw a very pale and very tired Yoongi. When he saw you he jumped a little, surprised to see you there. 

“You scared me,” He murmured as he took off his shoes. 

“Sorry, I thought it was okay if I… dropped by.” Your voice sounded hesitant, for some reason he didn’t look like everyday Yoongi. But he did not look tired, he looked exhausted. “Have you eaten?” 

“Uhm… No…” He said as he looked around the living room, pressing his lips in a straight line, he stared at you like the mess was supposed to be there. “There’s some left overs in the fridge if you want. I’m gonna go ahead and try to sleep.” 

You frowned and got up to follow him “Wait, have you been eating lately? You look very pale, Yoongi.”

“Yes, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry.” 

“It didn’t look okay when I got here.” He opened his wardrobe and stared at it for a second. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” He mentioned in a low tone. 

“It was no problem, you said you were tired and I wanted to help.”

“Yeah but…” He said grabbing one of his tshirts “I didn’t ask you to.”

His words took you by surprise, you noticed he tried to sugarcoat them with a scoff but it didn’t work, it made it worse. 

He disappeared in the bathroom without giving you  a chance to respond to him. After a few seconds you heard the sound of the shower and then, nothing, just your thoughts.

What happened for him to be in such a bad mood? He always said thank you, no matter what. 

You wait on his bed, thinking of what to say next. 

When he came back he said nothing, you knew he was not going to. 

“Is something wrong?” You asked and Yoongi looked at you then, bare feet wearing a blue blouse he had never seen before, wearing your hair up in a ponytail like you never did, looking like a foreigner on his bed when you were supposed to feel like home. 

“No.” He answered. 

“Then, what was that?”

“I just… I didn’t ask you to come here and take care of me. I don’t need it, that’s all.” He murmured, avoiding your gaze. 

“I didn’t come here to take care of you, I just wanted to do something nice. Are you upset about something?” 

“I already told you no.” 

You take a second to think, you surely didn’t think Yoongi would be bothered by this. He was not the type of person who would be annoyed if someone touched his things, he didn’t care if someone looked into his wardrobe, certainly not you, who stole his clothes all the time. Have you done something that may upset him lately? You tried to think, but he seemed okay when he dropped you home the last time. 

“You don’t sound like nothing is wrong…” You insisted.

Maybe a rational person would get up and leave, thinking that maybe he needed some time alone, but you weren’t quite the rational person, you were stubborn and you were worried about him. 

But he just sighed as if he was already tired of the conversation, already tired of you. 

“You know, I don’t want you to… confuse things.”

A pause. 

“What do you mean you don’t want me to confuse things?” You toned changed and he noticed, but he couldn’t turn back now. 

“You know what I mean.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. You stared at him but he didn't stare at you, you tried to look for his gaze but you couldn’t, he ran away from you.

“I don’t know, actually.” You murmured. 

“You don’t have to feel responsible for this.” He tried to explain “You don’t have to feel like you need to do these things, we are not, I’m… You’re not my girlfriend.” 

You felt your stomach drop, his words echoed in the room and then, a moment. Reality hit your face because he was right, he was not lying, you weren’t his girlfriend, but why did it hurt when he said it like that?

The rational person would choose to leave, but you chose to be angry and stay. 

“So you think that because I folded some of your clothes I’m acting like your girlfriend?” You spat. 

“In general, yeah.” He just said. 

“Are you kidding me?”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He retracted himself  “I shouldn’t have said that, but I mean it when I say that I don’t want you to confuse things anymore.”

Yoongi tried to act calm, but everytime he spoke it made you feel angrier. 

“No, you shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t tell me not to act like your girlfriend because what have you been doing these past months, Yoongi?”

It was weird to see you angry. Yoongi had seen you sad, upset, happy, disappointed but never angry. When you were sad he wiped your tears and told you everything was okay, when you were upset he tried to make you laugh and forget about it, but he didn’t know what to do when you were angry, especially if you were angry at him. 

“Well, maybe I should have been more careful and put limits to this, you’re right. That’s why I don’t want to talk about these past months, I…” You take a big step until you are facing him, his words get caught up in his throat. Maybe he knew you were right about more than one thing, but he didn’t want to admit it.

“Too bad.” You said “Because I do want to talk about these past months, like what the fuck was that whole thing at Nayeon’s birthday party and what the fuck is this?”

He raised his head and looked at you after a long time, he looked at you like you should have known, you should have been smarter. 

You weren’t smart enough. 

You sighed deeply, staring at his face you realized there’s no right answer for your questions, just a bunch of messed up, senseless reasons. It was a test and you failed. You felt it, it’s time to go home. 

You took a step forward and tried to reach his bedroom door but he stopped you, grabbing your wrist and putting you back in the place that you were. 

Let me go already, you thought.

“You know I can’t make any promises.” He said. For a moment you thought you saw a glimpse of the Yoongi you knew, but it disappeared in a second.

Yoongi always talked like that, for a while it flattered you but now it just made you want to vomit. 

“You know how much I like that movie.” He would say. “You know I don’t like my coffee too sweet.” or, “You know I can’t keep my hands off you.” 

You know, you know, you know. But sometimes you didn’t, even when you should have. 

“But you did.” You answered “Countless of times you did, and now you want to act like you didn’t, like I invented everything in my head because I confuse things.” 

You felt your eyes fill with tears. You tried hard not to cry but it was difficult to keep talking.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” 

You wanted to scream. 

“No, Yoongi.” You stopped him “That’s exactly what you meant. I was patient, I waited after you made me meet your friends, I waited after you made me meet your brother and I waited after Nayeon’s birthday but now I realize that I looked like a fool the whole time.”

“I never asked you to!” He exclaimed, you close your eyes as if that would make him disappear. “I never wanted you to wait for me, I told you I’m not built for this and you did whatever you wanted.”

A silent sob escaped from your lips but he didn’t stop because of it, he didn’t lean forward and tried to wipe the tears falling down your face. He stood there and waited for you to say something. 

You took a step back and tried to look at him. 

“Stop talking to me like that.” You said “You’re an adult, we both are. You should talk like one.” 

Yoongi stares at you, paler than ever, not expecting what you were going to say next. 

“You told me your ex girlfriend broke your heart, that you couldn’t trust people like that. The next month you gave me the keys to your place. You told me she was an alcoholic and almost destroyed your relationship with your family and friends, then you introduced me to your brother and every single one of your friends. You told me you can’t make any promises but on Nayeon’s birthday you told me I was the only one you wanted. I tried to stay away from all of this but you keep looking for me and don’t misunderstand, I would never stay if you don’t want me here, but what was all of that? Why are you acting like I’m the one who confused things when you were the one who confused me?”

Your face was all wet from your tears but he couldn’t say anything, he was speechless because how could he explain that he was a coward?

“Were you lying on Nayeon’s birthday?” Your voice trembled. “Why?”

“I wasn’t.” He confessed “But it’s hard to talk about it right now, I need time.”

You looked around the room, you stared at the bed, the mirror, his clothes that were yours as well, the space he had made on his desk next to him for you to study and the plant you gave to him. You knew this was not forever and you were lying if you said you didn’t see it coming. How could you allow yourself to feel at home with him?

The human being is not so complex, and you thought that you were the least complex human being to ever exist. You were weak, you failed the test. 

“I can’t allow myself to wait for you anymore.” You whispered, feeling the tears falling  down your face. “Not after everything you said.”

You started walking down the hallway and tried to reach for your shoes, you heard his steps behind you. 

“No, don’t go yet.” Yoongi stopped you. 

“I want to go home.” 

“Don’t, please stay. We can talk about it later. It’s just… We don’t have to talk about it now.” He begged. 

“I’m leaving.”

“I can fix this. Stay, please. It’s late, you don’t have to leave.” There was a certain despair in his voice, but you didn’t understand it. You couldn’t connect this Yoongi to the one who told you all those horrible things. You were too tired to try.

You wiped your tears with the sleeve of your blouse “I don’t want to stay here anymore. I don’t want to stay with you, I don’t want to see you.”

In his eyes you could see that your words hurt him, but you didn’t care, he did it first. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch and I’ll leave you alone for the night if you want but please, stay. Stay and we’ll think about it and talk about it later.” 

He’s not willing to let you go, not tonight at least. You wipe your tears once again and think about it for a second. Then, you said,

“You know something? In my mind you needed to say just one thing for me to stay, and just one thing for me to leave. But not this, never this.” 

You start walking towards his room again, feeling like the dumbest person on earth, coming back to the place where he destroyed you just a few seconds ago. When you reached the door you closed it behind you. 

Yes, you stayed the night, but when the morning came you left before he knew it. 

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#min yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts au #min yoongi one shot #min yoongi x oc #bts smut #min yoongi x reader #fic: so it goes #yoongi one shot #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #yoongi imagine #one shot #fic: ghost of you

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐀𝐕𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐋𝐀

❝ Avi had been a vampire since the early 1800s, when he had nearly died from fever and the man whom he had been working for as a house servant had taken pity on this poor, orphaned young man and made the decision to grant him immortality. When he had awakened from what he had thought had been his fevered death throes, Avi had been amazed to discover that he was now supernaturally fast and strong, had a fierce desire for blood, and even more amazingly, had the ability to force people to tell him the truth simply by looking them in the eye and asking them to.

For many years, Avi lived in peace with his old master, moving around constantly so as to avoid detection by humans and feasting on the world’s less savoury characters when they needed food… until the Volturi found them. Apparently, the man Avi had come to regard as a father had had some previous dealings with “children of the moon,” as the black-cloaked vampires called them, and so he was murdered right in front of Avi, torn apart and set ablaze as one of the stronger Volturi held him back, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries.

They had been planning on killing Avi, as well, finding him guilty by association, but, desperate to survive, Avi showed them his gift and insisted that he could be useful to them. It seemed Aro, the leader of the Volturi, agreed, because three days after being brought back to the Volturi’s home in Italy to show off before the powerful vampires, Avi had been given a cloak of his own and made into a member of the Volturi Guard.

And while being useful to the Volturi may have been the key to Avi’s survival, he hated it - hated being forced to slaughter others of his kind the way his master had been slaughtered, hated how he was forced to live among such constant tension and distrust. He had broken Chelsea’s spell of loyalty long ago, his own ability to gain the truth helping him remain aware of his true feelings about the Volturi, so he had no true reason to remain in this prison except fear - fear that the Volturi would never let him go, fear that they would kill him if he ever tried to leave.

But for a short while, he had managed to leave. Fleeing from the Volturi headquarters in the middle of the day, a hood securely over his head to disguise his glittering skin, Avi had sought out a vampire coven who would be willing to take in a runaway. He had found the Olympic Coven, a relatively small family of vegetarian vampires who had just moved away from their former home in Washington. Despite resistance from some of his adoptive children, Carlisle, the leader of the coven, agreed to take Avi in, recognizing the desperation to get away from the Volturi he himself had felt so long ago.

While staying with the Cullens, Avi developed a deep bond with their newest member, Emmett. Though the feelings between the two went unsaid for a good while, they were deeply drawn to each other, and even shared a heartfelt kiss the night before Avi made the heartbreaking decision to leave and go back to Italy.

Because he did leave. He did not want to, but he felt as though he had to. Adjusting to animal blood after feasting on humans for so long was a painful struggle, and on top of that, he had never truly felt accepted by any of the Cullens except for Emmett and Carlisle. He did not belong with them; he was intruding on their peaceful lives simply by being there. He would be better off returning to the Volturi, where he would be miserable but at least useful and wanted, and doing his best to forget about Emmett Cullen and how he had never been as happy as he was when he had been with him.

Despite the circumstances of his departure, Aro had welcomed Avi back to the Guard with open arms; his power made him too valuable to do otherwise. So now, several decades later, Avi is still a Volturi Guard, hating himself for every vampire he kills and unable to stop longing for the one many miles away, the one with dark hair and a smile that looks breathtaking in the moonlight.

But all of a sudden, with Emmett’s brother having fallen in love with a human and the Volturi pushing ever harder to get Edward and his sister to join them, it seems that Avi might have a chance to return to the love of his life. But after everything, he isn’t quite sure that Emmett will want him back… or that any of them will survive the coming battle. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginevrastilinski, @luucypevensie, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @ocappreciationtag.

#my ocs #introducing my ocs #ch: avi chawla #oc: avi chawla #queerocs #fyeahocsofcolor #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahtwilightocs #twilight oc #yes hi i’m giving emmett cullen a boyfriend #this may be the longest intro post i’ve made yet #slay i guess #fic: ghost of you

[bitten-fruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

#bet simon knows how to apologise to you #spoilers it involves his tongue #cod fic #cod smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost x reader #call of duty smut

[suguann]

When you first introduce him, Simon instantly knows that he hates your now ex-boyfriend—especially after he broke up with you only two months into the relationship, and the reason behind it sets his teeth on edge.

You’re perfect and so sweet; how could he—

“He broke up with me because…I um…Do I really have to say it? It’s embarrassing.” 

He bumps his knee into yours because he really fucking sucks at saying the right thing when the moment calls for it. “You don’t have to say anything.”

With a huff, you get a little flustered and glance down into your glass of beer, brows furrowed. “I couldn’t make him fit.” 

It’s so soft, but he hears it as if you’d shouted it across the bar.

The only thought he can think of is that your ex-boyfriend is an idiot once he has your back pressed up against his chest and trembling thighs spread over top of his. Three of his thick fingers already work deep inside of you, filling the room with filthy squelching sounds and your breathy moans.

His thumb carefully drags over your clit, loving how you twitch in his arms. “See? Someone just needed to stretch your little pussy properly, huh?”

“Mhm.” You nod, pressing yourself further into him, thighs butterflying open. “It feels so good.”

“You’re so loose and wet. I bet my cock would slip right in.”

Your walls clench and flutter around him, and it takes everything in him not to toss you onto the bed and fuck you into his sheets. “Simon, can you fuck me? Please?” 

It’s hard to deny you when you ask so sweetly, but he can’t give you what you want—not yet. You whine when he pulls one of his fingers out, but it cuts off into a surprised squeak when he grabs your smaller hand to bring it between your thighs. 

“Put one of your fingers inside your pussy.”

You turn your head to look up at him, kiss-bitten lips pulled into a pout. “But—”

“Come on, love, be good for me.” Teeth nip your jaw as a warning. “I know you can be so good for me.”

Slowly, you ease your finger in beside his with little pants of his name. His cock jumps against your back as he watches your cunt open up to suck in the intrusion—it makes his stomach twist. Simon traps your finger between his and curls them alongside his inside you, tearing a sharp cry from your chest.

“You’re so gorgeous.” His words are raw, rumbling somewhere deep within his chest. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. So full. Better than your boyfriend ever could.”

Masterlist

#simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost smut #cod smut #cod fic #cod imagine #cod x reader #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #.things i write

[rileyslibrary]

After suffering a gunshot wound, you wake up in a hospital bed with Ghost sitting by your side. Unfortunately, the effects of anaesthesia leave you unable to recognise him and, worse, confuse him with someone else.

A/N: Fluff. Based on a request I received a while ago. Hope you like it, anon!

———————————————————————

A machine on your left beeps rhythmically. The taste of something metallic lingers in your mouth, and the iodine smell stinks your nostrils. Your eyes open slowly, but the bright ceiling light forces them shut again. You lick your lips and attempt to swallow a couple of times. Dry. Your mouth is dry. You need water. Your hand moves towards your face, but a low, raspy voice advises you against it.

“Careful now,” it says, and a hand gently grabs your wrist. “Don’t pull the IV off.”

You turn your head towards the figure beside you and squint. It’s a man, but your blurry vision doesn’t help you identify him. Your eyes travel to your wrist and focus on the closest part of him: a skeleton’s hand.

You try to shake your hand off his grip, but it turns out futile. Frustrated, you give up and raise your middle finger at him.

“Not my time yet,” you declare. “Fuck off.”

“Pardon?” he asks.

“Not ready to go yet,” you reply, tucking your middle finger in your palm and lifting it back up again. “And also, fuck off.”

The man releases your wrist, placing your hand gently beside you. He clears his throat and leans forward. Though your vision remains blurry, you spot what looks like a human skull with a hood over it.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks, his tone softer.

“How am I feeling, love?” you repeat. “Did Hell improve their customer service?”

“I’m not-” The man begins but pauses. He sighs, shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. “Never mind.”

“Where am I?” You ask.

“Hospital.” He replies. “You took a bullet.”

Directing your attention to your body, you feel a dull throb in your chest. You wince as your fingers brush against the bandages.

“You are joking.” You reply and slap your hand on the bed. “Why? How?”

“Well,” He says and tilts his head to the side. “You exchanged a few shots with the enemy, your gun ran out of bullets, his didn’t, and here we are.”

“My gun?” You ask, shocked. “I have a gun?”

“Several.” He nods.

“SEVERAL?” You shout. “Why would I possibly need several guns?”

“It’s your job, love.” He replies.

“My job is to have several guns?” you ask. “And shooting at people?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he explains, “but it’s mainly for defence.”

“Well,” you shrug and wince at the pain. “Doesn’t look like I’m that good at defence—especially for having several guns.”

“I was really worr—”

“Water,” you interrupt and gesture at your mouth. “I need water.”

“Doctor said it’s not the time for water yet,” he replies.

“Why?” you ask, pretending to check a non-existent wristwatch. “What time is it?”

“No, love,” he replies and muffles a chuckle. “Doctor said you need to wait until you have some water.”

“You throw the ‘love’ thing a little too freely,” you mumble, licking your lips and lifting your index finger. “I’d be really careful if I were you.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why?”

“I,” you say and point at yourself, “got a boyfriend, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” he exclaims and tilts his head. “Is that so.”

“Yup,” you nod. “And he can kill you.”

“Can he?”

“Can?” You say, and a smug smile forms on your dry lips. “He will absolutely, one hundred and a thousand per cent kill you.”

“Is he that good?” He asks.

“I mean,” you shrug, motioning at the bandages on your chest. “He’s much better than I am.”

“Oh wow,” he exclaims and leans forward. “Is he as good of a boyfriend as he is a shooter?”

“Far from it,” you reply, letting your hand fall to your side.

The man doesn’t speak. He doesn’t seem that comfortable all of a sudden. He shuffles in his chair, trying to find a better position, and when he does, he clasps his hands together.

“Go on,” he finally says. “Spill it.”

“Ok, so,” you begin, “first things first, he doesn’t listen to me when I want to vent, and whenever he does, all he says is nonsense.”

“The lad gives you solutions,” he snaps, “and you call them nonsense?”

“I don’t want solutions, man,” you reply, shaking your head. “I want him to just listen to me.”

“Even if the solutions he provides are literally the answers to your suffering?”

“Even then.” You confirm.

“Gotcha,” he nods. “What else?”

“Oof,” you sigh, “how much time do you have?”

“I’m immortal,” he reminds you, “plus the next reaping is in five hours.”

“Oh boy,” you reply. “Business not going that well lately, huh?”

“Not many deaths to take care of,” he spits. “I guess some people could use some serious training when it comes to their aim.”

“Speaking of training,” you say, “he’s always at work and never spends much time with me.”

“The guy’s trying to spend as much time with you as he can, for fucks sake!” he shouts, throwing his hands up. “He even lied to get you on his team!”

“How do you know he put me on his team?” You ask.

“I keep a close eye on him.” He replies.

“What did he lie about?”

“Your precision in aiming,” he jokes and motions for you to continue. “Next one.”

“I can’t think of anything else,” you reply. “Other than he doesn’t say how much he loves me.”

“You’re having a laugh now, aren’t you?” He says, and his tone feels almost threatening. “He’s showing it to you daily; offering advice, keeping you close to him, even risking the possibility of being accused of nepotism for crying out loud! He doesn’t need to say it as well for you to know it!”

“It’s just nice to hear it sometimes,” you sigh and twist a thread from the bed sheet. You turn your head slightly toward him, and he lowers his head to the ground.

“How about you?” You ask. “You have a girlfriend?”

“I do,” he confirms.

“Shut up!” You shout, widening your eyes and immediately closing them back again. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Hell,” he replies. “Right in the pits of it.”

“How is she?” You ask.

“Perfect.” He states.

“Bullshit,” you murmur. “No one’s perfect.”

“She is to me.” He says, shrugging.

“Do you love her?” You ask.

“Absolutely,” he replies, nodding slowly. “One hundred and a thousand per cent I do.”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #simon riley #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fluff

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

#angst #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley angst #cod mw2 fic #cod x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #141 x reader #141!reader #ghost x gn reader #gn!reader #ghost x you #ghost angst #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john price #kyle garrick #john mactavish #mw2 141 #captain price

[ghouljams]

The Ghost distribution system... He really is like a stray cat, or a bear that learns minivans have food in them, he just keeps coming back no matter how many times you try to send him on his way. It doesn't matter how it happens but any scrap of kindness and he just determines he's going to attach himself to you.

Maybe he offers you a hand moving your couch when he passes your place and hears you swearing. You offer him dinner and Ghost has never been the sort to turn down a free meal, so he sticks around. It's weird that he doesn't even pretend to refuse, just takes you up on it immediately and even offers to help cook. You send him home and he's... there again the next day, waiting on your doorstep with a box of pasta asking if you could do anything with it. He's going to come back, he's going to keep coming back.

Maybe it's from meeting you at a bar. He's the biggest guy you can grab when your ex walks in, and somehow he seems approachable despite... well, everything about him. Fake boyfriend for a few hours at the bar is one thing, having him show up the next day to fix your sink because you mentioned offhandedly that it was leaking the night before is another. Having him sit in your kitchen and peal an orange for you because you said you were hungry is really driving home that this guy isn't leaving.

Hell maybe it's just a one night stand that never seems to end. You wake up and Ghost has already made breakfast. The two of you sit at your little table and eat quietly, Ghost scrolling his phone while you eye him warily, trying to figure out his game. He asks what you want to do today and somehow you can't find the right way to ask when he's planning on going home. He just sort of moves in, you realize he's printed a key for himself while you're grabbing groceries. It's nice he offers to pay, but you don't know when having him around became your normal.

Ghost sees you, he wants you, you're his. He's not leaving, he'll come back. He knows that this house has food and warmth, he knows that families forget to tie their trash up off the ground. He's a man of instinct, and you are going to be his perfect match.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #tbh this is how he ends up with love lol #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #simon riley x you #gn!reader #I know there's a million neighbor!Simon fics but goddamn #I love that shit so much #the man just decides you're his because you share a wall #gets me every time #the ghost distribution system

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

#will I turn this into a full fic? #idk don’t tempt me #just trying to get this out of my system so I can work on my other ongoing fics #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #john price #john price x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #cod #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price x you #mechanic au #drabble #holly writes #poly 141 x reader #poly 141

[sketchyfandomgirl]

Simon “Ghost” Riley who gets terrible acne when he goes for days on end without taking his mask off. He gets so sweaty and gross that when it finally come off, Simon has a terrible breakout and it can take days to clean it all up.

That’s why he turns to you, probably the only other member of 141 who has a good skin care other than Gaz, but he won’t let the kid know he’s got acne.

He also trusts you more to find something that agrees with his skin and even goes on a shopping trip with you to pick out something he might like, and a few others to try with your expertise. The man is so confused reading every label as you work through the aisles like it’s the back of your hand. It makes his head dizzy thinking about it too much.

And no Simon, do not pay too much attention to the bunny ears headband, it’s not that important, look at this clay mask instead! It’ll help with pores!

When it’s all over, it’s almost as if you bought half the self care aisle back to base, but it’s for the greater good! Plenty of creams, pore strips, face masks, clay masks, lotions and even a roller with oil to make the face feel fresh!

It’s a whole evening helping Simon find what’s best for him. He complains soooooo much about the steamer, but you hush him and say it’ll be worth it. Maybe give him some snacks to appease him as he roasts his face for his health! And yes, he is wearing the bunny headband to keep his curls out of the way.

Simon takes a backseat as you do your magic applying the creams and clay mask to his face. Yes, there is a difference between the creams and masks Simon!

He definitely asks you to explain what you’re putting on his face and what it does. He wants to learn! Simon isn’t simply there for you to take care of him lies, he’s totally enjoying the attention

Play a movie and the man is comfy in his seat as you pamper and fuss over him, cleaning him up of that icky acne :(

The cherry on top of this delicious sundae is when you bully Simon out of his seat to sit on the floor, stealing his spot and positioning him to sit between your legs. Laying him to lean against your chair, you massage the oil into his face, using the roller to run across his face. He almost moans in appreciation as your fingers work their magic, rubbing his cheeks, jaw and forehead with great care to make his eyes flutter shut. It’s so comforting he falls into a lull of sleep and you don’t even realize it until you hear a gentle snore.

What a wonderful day for self care. Maybe Simon will make sure to dirty his face again for another day like this.

#he needs some self care :( #call of duty ghost #call of duty #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #headcanon #cod fanfic #cod fic #simon riley x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fanfic

[miserycanary]

BREAK MY HEART INTO TWO ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost has been feeling pissed off lately, and happens to lash out on you

tags: slight angst, misunderstandings, very slight mention of violence

He knew he was not in the right headspace. With the newly added task of training new recruits, the dead-end mission, and overall exhaustion. Ghost could feel his patience nearing nothing and he could feel it in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to control himself from lashing out soon— even if it was you. 

That’s why he started to distance himself and avoid you like the plague. Only responding with grunts or one-word answers. It’s not the best action but he couldn’t think of anything else. Despite the frustration clouding his mind, he still vows to never hurt you. He promised you that; reassured you that he would never ever raise his voice at you, his hand stroking your back and kissing your temple, after you told him about your past one drunken night. 

The first time Simon came home and didn’t immediately wrap his arm around you, nosing the crook of your neck, you knew something was up. You didn’t push the matter though. Brushing it off as something trivial and proceeding to go your usual routine. You did notice things that you never brought up with him: heavy footsteps, the lack of teasing from him, and uncharacteristically never clinging onto you  

What finally pushed you to visit the base was when Si, your husband who would go through all levels of hell just to be close to you and never lets a night pass without you with him in bed, suddenly tells you he will be sleeping on the couch. It baffled you. This is the same man who wrapped all his limbs around to keep you from leaving after a big fight. The same man that acts like a big baby when you tell him you’re gonna be away on a work event. Suddenly, the idea of him getting bored of you and finding entertainment with another woman intrusively swirled in your mind. 

Were you too loud? Too chatty? Clingy? Maybe you didn’t satisfy him enough. Maybe he wanted a wife available to always cook for him after work. It scared you. You love him; love him enough to change just to keep him.

You needed to talk to him. Whether he likes it or not. 

“Price, please. Just call him for me?” The captain looks at you, hesitating. Even though he was aware of Ghost’s thinning temper and didn’t want to put his comrade’s wife in a position that could result in a fight, he also knew that you needed to solve this. He scratches his beard, nervously looking at you. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know. The man.. he.. he hasn’t been the best these days? Maybe you should go home and wait for him—“. You cut him off, “he doesn’t want to talk to me! Please, just 5 minutes and I won’t even cause a scene. I promise!” With a sigh, he finally relents and tells you to stay there while he calls for your husband. You crack a smile, nodding and feeling a sense of relief wash over you. 

Moments after being alone, a new recruit (you assume considering you’ve never met this man nor did Simon ever mention him) approaches you with a low wolf whistle. His hands find your waist before you can even comprehend what’s happening, pulling you close to his chest. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” You freeze, and disgust starts to bubble up inside of you. You plant your hand on his chest in an attempt to pull away in fear that Simon would witness this and think differently. Before you could say to leave you alone, a voice booms out. A voice you know too well. 

“Y/N!” Simon takes three strides and he was near enough to pull the recruit away from you and land a punch. Scandalous gasps went around while the yells of other members went inaudible to you. You stood there in horror as Price stepped in, pushing Ghost away and yelling to stand down. This was not your Simon. Your Simon would never be this violent in front of you— he was too scared to frighten you and do something to push you away. These weren’t the same hands carried you as if a delicate flower he plucked as well. The hands that routinely offers to brush your hair every night and washes you every sex session while he kisses your shoulders, showering you with endless praise with a voice filled with adoration.

Ghost whips his head. His cold stare made you falter, taking a step back. Something you never thought you’d do when faced with him. You could see his mask move, undoubtedly hiding his disappointment and furrowed eyebrows. 

“What are you doing here?” He seethes, roughly gripping your arm tight enough to leave a bruise.

“I-I... I wanted to see you—“ Before you could even finish, Ghost groans with frustration. “I fucking told you to not come to the base. Were you even thinking? Use that pea-sized brain of yours once in a while! Just.. leave me alone and go home.”

Silence. The whole base quiets down with his words, a tense atmosphere building up. You freeze. From the corner of your eye, you notice Price’s contort with concern and hesitation if he should meddle. 

The pain you felt was indescribable. It was as if Ghost took your heart and crushed it with his bare hands. Your breathing got labored, your eyes flicked down, taking deep breaths to hold back tears. Before the realization has fully settled, you pull away from Ghost, mumbling something incoherent. In that moment, Ghost knew he fucked up. He hurt his darling flower. He hurt the only person he treasured. The person that stayed with him through thick and thin. The person he married, vowed in front of God to love forever and to never hurt. 

“No, baby— I didn’t mean to—“

You cut him off, telling him you were going back just like he wanted. You didn’t even call it your home. You always do. Saying it with pride to have something to call home with him. 

God, what has he done? 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: dare I say this man needs a break :} Second part is out. Little detail: I use ‘Simon’ during Y/N’s pov and Ghost for the rest, but used Ghost for her after he yelled at her. :3

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

#simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #light angst #ghost mw2 #ghost angst #ghost fic #simon ghost x you #canary’s melodies

[prodagustd]

hii can i request a drabble? maybe yoongis pov when he saw JK’s story with yn and tae? 🫣 did he message JK to ask about yn? lol

I loved writing this, sign me up for some angsty yoongi!!!

title: drunk (yoongi's version)

pairing: rapper!yoongi x reader

series: so it goes

timeline: during drunk

words: 1.1k

warnings: alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism, mentions of sex in front of a mirror (? sjfdask kind of explicit?

reminder that requests are currently closed until next chapter.

There was a very drunk Yoongi sitting on the stool of his own kitchen. All of the lights were turned off, his face was only illuminated by the bright screen of his phone.

He rested his chin on the mouth of the bottle of beer he was drinking, scrolling through his phone on instagram, hoping to find another welding video made by a fifty year old that could distract him for the rest of the night. 

Yoongi had never been too into social media, he was close to being thirty and was barely interested in that stuff. The only reason he had an instagram account was because his manager told him so, he said that it was a great way to promote his music, (which Yoongi thought it was logical) interact with his fans (which Yoongi agreed) and to stay relevant (which Yoongi thought it was bullshit). 

His instagram feed consisted mostly of pictures of his studio, selfies of himself that you helped him choose and maybe a few pictures of Holly, but nothing else. He barely used it, he was not interested until three weeks ago when you left his apartment. Now he watched all of your friend’s stories, hoping to see you in one of them. You know, modern age love. 

That night Jungkook’s icon shined bright on his screen, indicating that he had posted a story. He waited a few seconds to open it in case he just posted it, he remembered you told him that it was weird to watch someone’s story if they posted it seconds ago, Yoongi didn’t understand why. People posted for people to see, right? Why would it be weird? Apparently, no one agreed with him, so he just waited. 

He headed to his room with his phone in his hands, keeping Jungkook’s story in sight in case he suddenly deleted it. When he couldn’t wait any longer, he laid on his bed and tapped on the icon, waiting for the story to appear. 

They were two, the first one was a picture of Jungkook with Bora, his girlfriend. She was kissing him on the cheek while he smiled with his eyes closed. Jungkook posted those kinds of pictures a lot lately, it made Yoongi feel incredibly sick and jealous. He could never see himself posting photos like that with you, but he could totally see you doing it. 

Before watching the next story, he closed the app and opened his gallery, curious about how your pictures together looked like in contrast to the ones that Jungkook posted. 

Most of the pictures were taken by you, there was one where both of you were eating ice cream on the street and another one on his bed one morning, he was hugging your neck with his arm and you were making a duck face. He was smiling in each one of them, but he seemed… distracted?

When he scrolled down enough, he came across a private folder that he had, it was the reason he didn’t let anyone touch his phone except for you. He scoffed, thinking how strange it was that he did not have a single photo kissing you yet a whole folder with pictures of you naked. 

Some of them you sent to him and some of them he took himself, there was a time where he looked at them and couldn’t decide which ones he liked more. Yes, he liked snapping pictures at you when you were in bed with him, but there was something about picturing you taking your clothes off to pose in front of the mirror wearing just black lace panties. 

There was a particular video that caught him off guard, the one you both decided to record when Yoongi was about to fly to Japan and stay there for work for a whole week. Yoongi hugged his pillow and allowed himself to watch the beginning of it. He was sitting on the edge of the bed in front of the big mirror of his room, you were sitting naked on his lap, your back was pressed against his bare chest, spreading your legs for him. In the silence of his room he could hear your low moans and shaky breaths as he thrusted in and out of you, running one of his hands all over your torso to keep you in place, recording the reflection on the mirror with the other one. 

In the video you threw your head back to his shoulder as he kissed your neck and played with your breast with his long fingers, he could clearly see how you were coming apart with each one of his movements. It was just the first time that you decided to do something like that, but Yoongi was quick to notice that no matter how shy you were, you liked being watched like that. 

After coming back from Japan he had asked if he could keep the video, you told him that he didn’t need to ask that. 

His heart clenched, he closed the video before it finished. He couldn’t remember how many times he watched it when he was away, but now it just felt bad. He found himself feeling jealous of the Yoongi on the screen, he had you all for himself but the Yoongi of the present decided to screw everything up. It was hard to see you so close to him when you were so far away.

He sighed, suddenly remembering why he was watching those pictures in the first place, Jungkook’s story. He opened the app and searched Jungkook’s profile, tapping once again on his icon. 

At first, Yoongi was too drunk to see that after three weeks of stalking Jungkook, he had finally posted a picture of you, but his eyes were betraying him by making him believe that you were sitting next to a guy. Yoongi tried to focus his gaze, but he couldn’t be sure of how close he was to you. 

He rubbed his eyes and when he regained consciousness enough, he could see that you were indeed next to a guy, he was tagged on the picture too. Wasting no time, he tapped on his name and started stalking his profile, it was someone he never met. Yoongi didn’t remember you ever mentioning someone called Jaehyung…or did it say Taehyung?

It was at that moment that he decided he didn’t like that guy, whoever he was. After five minutes of going through each one of his posts, he didn’t understand why you were in that picture with him. Were you hanging out with him? A devilish voice in Yoongi’s head told him that it was probably a double date, it made sense in his intoxicated mind. Jungkook was with Bora and you were with Baekhyung (Taehyung).

No, you wouldn’t accept going on a date now, you were with him (no, you were not). It cannot be possible, but the proof was right in front of him. 

Then, he got out of bed, determined to do something about it. But first, he opened another beer.

#asks #fic: so it goes #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts au #min yoongi one shot #min yoongi x oc #fic: ghost of you #min yoongi x reader #yoongi one shot #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #bts x reader #bts smut #suga #yoongi #so it goes drabbles

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #female reader #codmw2 smut #smut #smutty #smut fanfiction #smut fic #captain john price #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #alex keller #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #keegan russ #Kim Horangi Hong-jin #ghost x reader #könig #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #john price x you #konig x reader #konig x you #captain john price smut #sex pollen

[suguann]

Being a camgirl comes with its fair share of ups and downs, but you never expected one of the downs to be one of your unboxings from a fan going horribly wrong during a live stream—the proof of it still buzzing between your thighs beyond your finger's reach. 

A rush of embarrassment comes with knocking on your roommate’s bedroom door and asking him for help because you’re nearing the brink of overstimulation and can’t think straight enough to get the words out. It’s worse when he stands there and says nothing—all imposing with two tattooed arms crossed over his chest—while you try to get through a sentence without moaning. 

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway. 

Then he finally says, “Get on the bed,” in a steady and low voice, opening his bedroom door wider.

You fidget under his scrutinizing gaze as you settle back against his pillows, biting back whimpers with a too-hot face and sweat dripping down your back. 

Him settling a knee on the bed makes you jump, “Let’s take a look, love.” 

Simon crawls up the bed, forcing your knees open, and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad and big he looks, towering over you—every part of you laid bare for him to see. A large hand presses right below your belly button, jostling the toy inside you, and this time, you can’t hold back the squeal that rips from your chest. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice imperceptibly deeper, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Okay, you’re going to feel a slight stretch.”

You bite your lip. “A-alright—”

Slight doesn’t even come close to the fingers sliding into you, spearing your sensitive walls open and pressing into a spot where you’ve never been able to reach with startling precision. You remind yourself that he has to do this, that he’s just being…friendly, or whatever makes the lines less blurred. 

None of this stops the fact your lower stomach burns with the promise of another orgasm when his fingers brush against the egg vibrator before accidentally pressing it deeper inside.

“Ah, there it is.”

At the sight of your scrunched nose, he asks if it hurts. You shake your head; eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to hold back the stinging pleasure racing up your spine. “N-no,” you whimper.

“Relax, okay?”

Simon doesn’t comment on how you’re implying that it feels good. So good, you think, his thumb just barely touching your clit as he twists his hand to try a different angle. Then he pushes down on your belly again, and his long fingers finally grip the vibrator.

“Oh!” you moan at the feel of it dragging down your front wall, your fingers gripping the sheets. 

He has to tell you to relax again, his voice cracking, but you hardly hear it over your heart beating loudly in your ears. His fingers drag the toy out slowly, almost too slow that you can feel it bumping against every slippery ridge inside you.

“Ah, sorry,” he says when you twitch—unapologetic—using his thumb to rub soothing circles into your stomach. “You’re so wet. I need to make sure I don’t lose it again.”

You nod, cunt clenching down at his words.

And then Simon’s fingers curl up: your thighs start quivering, breath caught in your throat, and your jaw locks up until your orgasm ripples through you. It’s unending, the strongest one yet, and just when you think it’s over, you feel the press of his palm against your clit.

“W-wait! Simon,” you moan, pushing at his hand. “No more, I‘m sensitive!”

He gets you to fall over the edge one more time before finally slipping the vibrator out of you, letting it hum softly on the bed, and your exhausted body sinks into the mattress once again. Simon gathers you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You swallow lungfuls of air against his chest, head still spinning and walls spasming from the aftershocks. 

He murmurs in your ear about how good you are, kisses your temple, and rubs your sides, and it’s… enlightening. Moments pass before you finally return to yourself, and when he pulls back, his brows furrow at your pout.

“All good?”

You shake your head and go with honesty. “I didn’t think you’d cuddle me afterward.”

He smiles, thumb flicking your bottom lip. “You wanted me to fuck you?” 

Your mouth falls open. “N-no—”

Then he leans down, lips brushing against your ear: “Don’t worry, love. Good girls get fucked hard.”

#simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost smut #cod smut #cod x reader #cod fic #cod imagine #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #.things i write

[rileyslibrary]

You burst into the office and slam the door behind you. Ghost jumps from his seat and looks up from the paperwork he’s been filling out. His eyes widen as you sprint towards him.

“What the f-”

“Just play along,” you interject, dragging a chair and plopping down. You grab two sheets of paper from the pile next to him and snatch the first pen within reach.

He keeps staring at you dumbfounded before managing to utter something.

“Can you at least-”

“Nope,” you cut him off while focusing on the papers and nibbling on the pen. “No, can’t do. You need to trust me on this one.”

“Define what ‘this one’ is.” He demands.

“Shhhh,” you hush him, waving your hand dismissively and glancing over your shoulder at the door. “He’s coming.”

“Who’s com-”

The door swings open, and footsteps approach. They settle beside you, and a hand slams on the desk. Ghost looks at the hand, then upward.

“Captain,” he says. “What brings you in-”

“For the love of everything you hold dear, Simon, you better not be involved in any of this,” Price warns. He slams his hand on the desk again and looks at you. “Why were you running away from me?” He asks.

You stare at him with furrowed eyebrows before removing the pen from your mouth.

“I wasn’t running away from you, sir,” you reply, pointing the pen at Ghost. “I was late for my meeting with the lieutenant.”

Price turns towards Ghost, seeking for an appropriate answer. The lieutenant sits up straight on his chair, clasps his hands together and motions with his head towards you.

“Very punctual, this one.” He says.

“Cut the crap, Simon,” Price orders and turns to you. “What were you doing inside Bravo Unit’s barracks last night?”

“Bravo Unit has barracks?” You ask Ghost. He shoots you a side-eye and raises one eyebrow.

“Stop playing dump and answer the question,” Price warns and points at Ghost. “And don’t look at him—he’s not covering for you this time.”

“How about you start from the beginning, boss,” Ghost interjects. “What happened?”

“Someone broke into Bravo Unit’s barracks last night and stole every inch of toilet paper they had,” Price says, looking at you, then turning to Ghost. “And not just toilet paper, mind you! Kitchen rolls and tissues are gone as well.”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Ghost murmurs, shaking his head. “Such an inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience, Simon?” Price whispers, leaning on the desk. “The entirety of Bravo Unit had to wipe their ass with parchment paper this morning.”

Ghost brings his hand to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. He lowers his head and takes deep, laboured breaths. Price is already fuming, so you decide to intervene.

“I was never inside Bravo Unit’s barracks, sir,” You state. “I just happened to walk through it once.”

“Oh, I see, I see—you walked through it once,” Price repeats, nodding. He removes something from his pocket and slams it on the desk.

“The instigator left this behind,” he states, looking back and forth between the two of you.

You and Ghost look at the garment on the desk—it’s a skull balaclava that once belonged to the lieutenant. He gave it to you last Winter since your ears and nose tend to get cold during patrol.

“Now,” Price states, “would you care to brief me on who this belongs to?”

“Hm,” you murmur, setting the pen and papers on the desk. You pick up the mask and start examining it. You look at Ghost, who stares at the mask with his eyeballs threatening to pop out of his face. He shoots you a deathly stare, and you redirect your attention to Price.

“That looks like it must be the lieutenant’s,” you reply, lifting the balaclava next to Ghost’s masked face. “With the skull and all—it’s a perfect match, actually.”

You both turn to Ghost, whose expression has transformed from utter disbelief to an inexplicable calmness.

“Indeed, that looks exactly like the one I lost,” Ghost confirms, taking the mask from you.

“Is it now?” Price asks in a high-pitched voice, tilting his head to the side. “Do me a favour and smell it for me, Riley.”

Ghost does exactly as he’s told. He brings the mask close to his nose, sniffs it, and nods. “Yup,” he confirms. “Smells exactly like me, too.”

Price sighs, takes a bottle from the pocket of his cargo pants and slams it on the desk. “So you want me to believe you use ‘Magnolia Blossom with Moroccan oil’ as a shampoo?” he asks.

“I’ve got dry hair.” Ghost shrugs.

“You should try coconut oil instead,” you suggest to Ghost, “it’s cheaper.”

Price kicks the chair next to you, and you both turn to look at him. He presses his lips together, and a red flush creeps on his neck, threatening to reach his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him.

“Why did you go through peoples’ stuff without their permission, sir?”

“Oh, I wasn’t going through anyone’s stuff,” Price explains. “You just were dumb enough to ditch the balaclava right behind the barracks. The detection dog picked up on the smell and led us to your stuff—it was a perfect match, just like you said.”

“You had sniffer dogs involved in this?” Ghost asks.

“I had to.” Price replies. “Pair the parchment paper with a day full of training, and Bravo Unit developed the worst rash they had since wearing diapers.”

A chuckle escapes Ghost, and he tries to silence it with his hand. He takes quick gasps of air, and you try to retain your laughter, too.

“Please tell me you’re not laughing!” Price shouts.

“No, boss,” Ghost says and wipes his tears, “It’s just so-”

“-sad,” you say and wipe your eyes as well. “It’s so sad.”

Price looks at you, then at the lieutenant. Now defeated, he sighs and throws his head back, shutting his eyes.

“I’m done with both of you.” He says, lifting his arms and dropping them to his sides. “I expect all toilet papers to be returned today. And as for you, you are responsible for cleaning Bravo’s toilets for the entire month.”

“For the whole month?!” You shout and wince at the idea.

“Be glad I didn’t make you wipe their asses as well.” He shouts as he walks to the door and slams it behind him.

Ghost recovers from the laugh and directs his attention to you. He tries to be serious but his teary eyes betray him.

“That was a hazardous operation you did back there,” he says.

“I didn’t do anything.” You reply, still vouching for your innocence. “But whoever did it taught Bravo Unit not to mess with our thermostats again.”

Ghost shakes his head. “I just happened to walk through the barracks once,” he says, repeating your earlier statement. “What were you thinking? Who walks through barracks?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, shrugging. “Ghosts would be my guess.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley crackfic #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #ghost cod #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction

[criminalamnesia]

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

#ghost cod #ghost x gn reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost angst #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley angst #call of duty fic #captain john price #gaz call of duty #soap call of duty #captain price #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #141!reader #141 x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #ghost mw2 #call of duty angst #johnny mactavish #john price

[dyinggirldied]

Danny, burnout and exhausted of being the basically only one who can fight ghosts but still gets villainized and hated by the people he saved, decides he's done.

Because he's 14 he runs to another city, one where his parents and GIW cannot willy dilly do whatever they want. Yes, he runs to Gotham. Without telling anyone.

At Gotham, he ultilizes his intelligence in making fake ID and studies at a normal if a bit run down Gotham high school, not the fancy one where Tim or Damian is studying because 1) he's trying to lay low and 2) he hates the rich. He uses an old abadoned fire station as his home.

It's all fine and dandy. He doesn't need to intervene much since there are plenty of vigilantes in this city and he's free to just...focus. On himself, his education.

Meanwhile, Amity Park is literally and metaphorically under fire with his absence.

#why not more fics of danny going not my prob anymore #he retires from being a hero and a fenton #and his mental health improves somewhat #while at amity park vlad is regretting since he is the mayor and ghost attack complaints are getting longer #eventually this somehow gets the justice league's attention #and social media explodes #danny looks up from his coke and goes eh you poor unfortunate souls #and goes back to his homework #dpxdc #dcxdp