Ghost X You - Blog Posts

You moving slightly only to meet ghosts ribs with the bridge of your nose smelling his body wash as soap chin rested on your back,you hum and move your hand over his body fingertips moving over his firm built, feeling him flex as he looks over. You open an eye and smile seeing him Leaning against the headboard with whatever book in hand. He gently brought his hand down to stroke your cheek and smiles “ sleep well” you smile nodding and turn your head to see soap still sleeping soundly. You turn having his head rest on your chest, ghost places his book down turning to wrap his arms around you and soap pulling you both close as his lips connected with your neck he groans moving his hand to your breast moving his fingers lightly. You giggled leaning your head back “ needy this early” his crystal orbs move to your face just filled with admiration, soap lightly moves signaling he’s awake opening his eyes he smiles seeing ghost and you . He moves up smirking as he kisses the other side of his neck. You playfully groan “not you too” they both chuckle. Soap Intertwines our fingers as his lips linger on your bare shoulder, ghosts hand moves to your stomach gently moving his thumb in circles as he kisses your jaw moving towards the side of your face near your ear playfully leaving wet kisses along your face as you feel soap kisses turn nippy, you only sigh as your body becomes jello under them both. Ghost moves to remove your shirt, revealing your breast as soap moves your shorts, you only hum with their movements most are Hesitant as they are looking for your objection but only meet with consenting eyes and noises. The movement’s weren’t sexual or rushing just two men who loved their women deeply. Ghosts moves lower bring his lips to you breasts as soap does the same each man doing their own thing, it was passionate kisses and sloppy nips as each of their hands moved down your body, ghost cupping your butt as soap cupped your breast, both moving slowly as ghosts hand Continued to wonder your body soon soaps hand did the same, ghost gently moved your leg up as he moved down kissing your ribs lazily moving his tongue over your stomach kissing/nipping your bare hip seeing the scars and bruises moving to your thighs gently leaving sloppy kisses, soap moved up to your lips fingers running through your hair as he kissed your lips. Humming into your mouth as you wrapped an arm around him, the bed shifted next to you as ghost moved back up, nearing both your faces. As you pulled away turning to meet ghosts lips as soaps hand held ur jaw trying to move ya back possessively. Times like this made them wish they never choose to share you, each man feeling jealousy rise only to see the love the other holds for you. You hum into ghosts lips as your face moves back to soap, their eyes meet both dark primal like. You look between them and smile seeing how greedy both are “ ooo guys come on play nice” they hum as soap kisses ya again, ghost grabs his loose hair moving his forward moving over you to kiss soap roughly slightly pinning him to the other side as ghosts chests hovers over you, you bite your lip and smile, something about them being intimate always made your gut bubble. Their own chemistry was so fascinating to you, both men of equal strength brought together just by little you still amazed you. You smile moving to kiss ghosts neck as he still hungrily kissed soap, ghost only did this when he felt like soap forgot his place or when he missed him, everyone knew ghost was the dom nobody dared challenged him,not even you. His presence alone made ya a dumb bimbo for him, from his words to just him. You and soap would gladly admit to being wiped for him. He knew it too seeing how he would grab your throat if you were being bratty and grabbing the back of soaps neck. It was his form of warning to us both. You glance over seeing soaps face become completely red as his brows knitted together, his submission to ghost made him so cute to you, ghost pulled away as they both breathed heavily. You playfully kiss the side of soaps mouth.

Ghost eyes are soft but yet so dark as he watches your action. “ fuck off doll” you giggle moving to sit up, soap rests his arm over his eyes as you still see big chest rise and fall rapidly catching his breath, you move on top of him as his hand moved over your bare back, ghost leans over kissing your back nipping your should as he cups your butt. Gently grabbing and feeling how it fills his hands. Ghost was an ass guy and soap a boob guy. Ghost lays by soap as your head rests on soaps chest and smile at ghost, he pulls the blanket up cover you both and hums an I love you as you three enjoy the sun heat and calmness in the room.

Random thoughts

I giggle lightly as ghost wraps his arms around my waist as I stand close to him, I wrap my arms around his head and giggle more, his nose above my belly button and forehead in my chest as he just huffs pulling me closer, I gently run my fingers through his short hair and smile as I feel another pair of arms from behind me wrap around my shoulders and a their chin on my head “ ooo bonnie” I smile looking up kissing him as he hums, ghost hums moving me away from the scot. Only to have soap smile. Looking down I catch ghosts this and hum, moving my lips slowly to a peck then a full kiss my lip under his upper one as his teeth nip at my lip lightly before kissing me again roughly , he hums Turing it into a make out session as soap kisses the back of my neck. Ghost hums moving to stand up not breaking the kiss both men had ya between them as each held a part of you, ghost cupped your face as soap interwoven your fingers all eyes closed as each consumed each other. Ghost pulls back breathing lightly as he looked at ya you leaned your head back on soaps shoulder and he just admired how you looked at peace between them.

Wonderful ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Ghost Head Cannons||: Dad Life - Newborn Edition

( No Gender specified for Kiddo or User )

Dad!Simon, who just can't stop staring at his little baby as he holds them in his arms, even when he passes them back to you, he can't stop staring at the little bundle, his head resting on your shoulder.

Dad!Simon, who did cry silently with joy when he was alone with them, processing the fact he's actually got a little family of his own, the possibility once seeming so far from him.

Dad!Simon, who's more than used to staying up long nights, happily taking up the nightshifts while you get proper rest, not letting you take more than needed.

Dad!Simon, who remembers how to change diapers after helping care for his late nephew, so there's no debate when the time comes to it and you're busy.

Dad!Simon, who talks to the kid like he would another grown person, like they'll understand or retain any of rants he shares "'M only sayin', Price keeps trustin' yer Uncle Johnny to handle the recruits, we're only gonna get a army of Johnny's and I can barely handle one as it is." *Baby makes a low noise or flails a tiny hand* "Y'know that's exactly what he did, toss a hand and gruff at me when I told 'im that, but 'M tellin' you, it's just gonna be a headache at the end of it."

Dad!Simon, who goes about the trouble of finding "excuses" to hang out with his own kid, always cooking or helping clean with them in his arms when he has the chance to, "Look at you, layin' about like yer gonna live rent free forever. Oh no, you and I are gonna do some work round the house together, start you early on how things are run here."

Dad!Simon, who, yes, does explain every recipe and chore to the baby. You're not quite sure if he's legitimate about it or it's for his own amusement, but he looks happy anyways.

Poly!Ghoap You, Johnny, and Simon all travel to Johnnys hometown and spend the holidays with his family. (Johnnys mom LOVES Simon and would trade Johnny for him.)

Poly!Ghoap will split up home chores, Johnny will be outside and doing ‘blue jobs’, Simon likes doing laundry because I think he’s an organized king, and you have to cook because these boys cannot (seriously please don’t let them in the kitchen)

Poly!Ghoap who has fun hobbies, I imagine Simon likes knitting because his mom did. Johnny would love building mini figurines (he was definitely a Lego kid no debate)

Poly!Ghoap unironically loves rom-coms and will be sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn for the new episodes of Love is Blind.

Poly!Ghoap has AWFUL sleeping habits. Johnny cannot stay still, even when he’s sleeping. And don’t even get me started on Simon, because when he’s home, he sleeps like the dead and sounds like I, too. I mean snores like a dad, so get ready to worm yourself out of bed at 1 am and sleep in the guest bedroom (don’t be surprised when you wake up squished back in between your boys)

mark zuckerberg looking ahh

Anit depressent pill taking ahh

Losing johnny ahh

Its 12:58 am and all that is coming to my mind is kangaroo hybrid!simon and please tell me I'm not the only one, he stands at a height way above a normal human range almost 7'0, he's jacked unnaturally so, claws as sharp as a knife, has an aura so intimidating that he wards off the most apex of predators. He has those jagged scars on his chest, one across his forehead till his snoot, he's roughed up, raggedy, scary but he has this hunger for you, a female, easy to catch, hard to mate, dreams of your sweet cunt under that tail, he's simply drooling at the thought of how those soft and gummy walls will feel around his Shaft, as he drills into you in the open wild letting everyone in the damn troops know who you belong to, who he belongs to. He can't wait to see you knocked up with his babe, can't wait to see his offspring in your pouch being nurtured by his sweet mum. This mating season best believe he's going to fight and kill anyone that comes in between his darling and the beast himself.

guard dog simon that guard dog simon this but what about old man simon? yup he's an old dog- retired, miserable, reliable, experienced. knows so many horrors to man kind that if he ever decides to talk about it most people get scared but you're different, you listen to him intently with some occasional coos of 'you're so strong', 'that's is so cool' when he talks about the time when he took down a whole unit 36 men to be exact, alone. he was pleasantly surprised that he even managed to pull a bird like you, but somehow he did. Don't even get me started on what this man dreamed about as soon as you decided to talk with him, oh how you'd look with your lips wrapped around his cock, how you'd look with a swollen belly full of his lad, how you'd look sleeping in his bed beside a big chunky baby, he has to stop, he can't afford to cum from just these thoughts. and its not like you didn't know that he was excited or surprised, not after seeing that damn tent in his jeans.

He thinks that he has successfully trapped a bird like you in his cage but what he doesn't realise that he's the one falling into yours.

got this idea from the old man price series by @dumbbitchgalore, thanks :).

obsessed ex simon riley!

here you were in a shared taxi after days of insomnia rethinking you life decisions the clogged the little brain of yours or as simon suggested and again you were thinking of him , you're beloved boyfr ex.

this heartthrob of a guy had eating up every thought , every moment , every spec of a second that you got. Even though he wasn't in your life anymore you never really got over him.you don't know what's going on in his life, he probably moved on. A pretty guy like him always has some backup.

What you didn't know was how much he loved you, how much he need your pretty cunt wrapped around him. You simply didn't understand how much you meant to him because you never got to see yourself from his eyes. for him, you were the first sunlight after the storm, the blooming lotus in a pool of mud, a beauty like yours is divinity that he didnt even know he was allowed to see. and the stupid question 'How much he cared for you' so much that he's even resort to kill.

How he had been watching you get ready for your date this night secretly hoping you'd come to him instead . But it really doesn't matter to him .No matter what you do you will always be his and he will do anything for you. And how pretty you will look smothered in blood .

So I'm never going to recover.

Salt to the Wound

pairing: simon riley x fem!reader

word count: 8.7k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, sex being used as a coping mechanism, heavy angst, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, complicated grief, mentions of death, displaced aggression, marital issues, panic attacks, religious speak, mention of calories, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mention of dead relative, simon being pretty aggravating, purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers, & did i mention this is all angst?

author’s note: oh my god, this has been such a bitch to complete! i’ve been working on this for months in between my nasty smut fics bc this truthfully made me so sad to write, so i had to take breaks in between. there is only angst; i cannot hold your hand…you must walk alone…i’m sorry. read at your own discretion.

divider by @plum98 & for my taglist click—>here!

Simon can't move on from Johnny's death.

"Johnny's dead."

You remember the line clear as day.

In fact, you remember almost every single detail about that day. 

The weather had been docile, a change from the feverish heat the day before.

The air was slightly damp.

The weatherman chimed that a promising stormcloud was brewing in the distance, which could bring a couple of inches of rain, typical of January.

Your neighbor's son came to your front door, meekly asking to retrieve his ball from your backyard. 

The postman had hand-delivered your new dress, complimenting the new planters Simon built in the front yard.

Your favorite body wash that smelt of fruit ran out. 

You had made pie, apple instead of your usual cherry.

You had accidentally poured too much cinnamon in the apple mixture, shooing Simon away when you finally pulled it out of the oven because it was a "bad pie."

Simon had never heard such ridiculous words.

No pie is a bad pie.

He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth as you went to answer the house phone, quietly laughing as he hissed at the hotness. 

Then it happened. 

"Johnny's dead," the voice on the other end of the line announced, shattering the tranquility of the moment.

They were the only words that flowed through the phone line.

The very words you had selfishly cursed for the past year.

The words that had single-handedly eroded everything you and Simon had built together.

Because that day, on every level except physical, the Simon you knew had died with Johnny.

His mind merged with the very soil Johnny lay in, leaving his physical body on the surface while his soul wandered beyond your grasp. 

So out of touch, so disconnected from reality. 

Simon had become a shell of a human. 

He wasn't living, merely surviving—going through the motions. 

It was devasting to watch the man for whom you gave your heart slowly disengage right before your eyes. 

Bit by bit, piece by piece.

Until there was no more man left to see.

Just mere flesh and bones.

It was such unfamiliar territory since Simon relied on you as he relied on oxygen to breathe.

You were his sustenance, his reservoir. 

An eternal flame that burned with an unyielding passion. 

Now it seems he couldn't get far enough away from you.

However, it wasn't always that way. 

The evolution of his disconnect hadn't been linear; it was ever-changing. 

Some days, he would act just like your sweet Simon before; other days, you felt like he resented you.

Resented you for what? 

You're not entirely sure. 

You didn't kill Johnny.

But with how Simon reacted to your mere presence, it felt as though you might as well have.

You can still recall Simon's noticeable change, apart from his defining silence, which occurred exactly two weeks after Johnny's death.

The bitter taste of anise, accompanied by the sharp taste of mint, coated your tongue; experimenting with new cocktail recipes had become something of a hobby for you.

Kept you occupied while Simon worked in his office.

You had insisted he take some time off, some real time off.

Price wouldn't let him return to work, so he supplemented by hiding in his office all day and doing paperwork and other such tasks.

It wasn't entirely what you had in mind, but it was the best he could give you.

He would have gone truly mad without his work to drown out his thoughts.

So, you bit your tongue every morning as he trudged out of the sanctity of the warm bed you shared, leaving you alone in the silence, and headed straight to the room across from yours that had him so consumed.

It was funny, really. 

You always thought that perhaps a pretty woman would eventually come around and attempt to steal your Simon from your hands, not a spare room with cream walls. 

Digression aside, you selfishly enjoyed the time alone. 

Simon would only speak a couple words to you daily, the silence between you growing thicker with each passing day.

You fault him none, though it was exhausting trying to help someone who despises being helped to any degree, even if they so clearly needed it.

That was why you enjoyed the alone time. 

Though it could be occasionally dull.

So, finding a hobby to fill your time was not just a choice but a necessity for your sense of fulfillment.

Even if it consisted of the occasion day drinking.

You'll repent later.

Now, you just needed the burning taste of rum down your throat.

Your face sourced at the combination before you scribbled, 'absolute shit,' on a small notebook you kept to keep track of all of your combinations and rated them in excruciating detail. 

Hearing his office door creak open, you shoved the notebook into your pocket. 

Not because you cared if he saw, but because his office door opening earlier than ten-forty-five startled you, abruptly shifting your emotions. 

You heard his heavy boots thunk against the vinyl flooring, inching ever so close to the kitchen where you stood. 

Your heart quickened from anticipation, and you tried to steady your breathing, not wanting to give away your guilt.

"You eaten?" His voice is deep and strained as he stands still across the island.

You stay completely still, refusing to budge even a little. Instead, you choose to shake your head from side to side slowly.

"Can pick up pizza?" He suggests.

His presence now stirred a strange mix of emotions within you.

He would never lay a finger on you.

It was the news that had thrown everything off balance, leaving you both in a state of discomfort and awkwardness.

Johnny was dead.

And you could feel his haunt everywhere.

"Pizza's good," you say softly, pretending to adjust a tilted bottle of tequila.

An uneasy silence lingers between you for a moment, and then you finally turn to meet his gaze.

He looks…like shit.

You let out a soft sigh as you take him in fully.

He has dark circles under his eyes, tinged with shades of purple and blue.

His once bright blue eyes have lost their luster, and his lids now hang heavy and fatigued.

His hair is unkempt, and his beard is starting to grow, giving it a scraggly appearance.

"You don't look so good," you find yourself saying without much thought.

"Just tired," he mutters, swiping his car keys off the counter.

You move to stand. "You've been working like crazy," you say, gently pressing your hand into his shoulder.

He tightens at your touch.

Whole body going taut.

You try not to take it personally.

You fail.

"Yeah…I, I'll get the pizza," he murmurs, moving towards the front door.

Then he leaves without a goodbye. 

You thought it was just bullshit.

What the articles said about coping with a loss.

Dealing with grief.

They all seemed like distant concepts.

But, he was so evidently disconnecting from you.

You felt your head swarm at the admission.

Simon was isolated, lost in a vast ocean of grief and despair. 

And you didn't know if you were enough to reel him back in.

Three weeks later, you're cozied on your sofa, a blanket draped over your legs, the soft cushions embracing you in their cozy warmth. 

The clouds, heavy with water, have transformed from soft white to an ominous smoky gray, a stark contrast to your cozy sofa and warm blanket. 

You have your favorite tea in your favorite mug, a book wide open though long forgotten on the cushion next to you.

Your eyes are now captivated by a trashy British reality television show, a guilty pleasure that adds to the coziness of your setting. 

Usually, Simon and you snuggle up and watch the show.

Always on the edge of your seats, eagerly anticipating the outcome.

Will the man stay on the island, sacrificing his share of the prize fund, to be with the woman he's grown close to?

Or will he choose the money over her?

It's always more enthralling with Simon.

Though, you're not sure where he is.

He didn't say where he was going when he left about half an hour ago.

And you didn't bother asking.

Maybe that makes you a lousy wife.

Or perhaps, you're just exhausted.

It feels like you're tearing your own flesh, trying to get him to answer anything. 

You guessed the latter.

The television crackles to life, the sound of synthesizers and strings filling the room, creating a sense of suspense.

"Henry's decision will be…" The host's voice begins.

You find yourself sitting up, the hot cup of tea between your hands, and your eyes glued to the television.

"…revealed right after the break," the host chimes as the camera cuts to a condom commercial.

You sink into the couch with a deep sigh as you hear the front door open.

The thud of heavy boots moves into the kitchen, near earshot.

You turn to see Simon grabbing a glass and slipping it under the tap for some water.

Your teeth dig at the flesh of your cheek, your foot steadily tapping on the vinyl flooring.

He takes a deep sip of the water, sucking it between his teeth and swishing it around his mouth before he spits it back in the sink, running the water to clean out the saliva now lining the metal sink.

You'd rather be shot than deal with the taciturn.

It was egregious.

You felt awkward in your own home.

With your own husband. 

"Simon," you say with nerves on your tongue.

He turns towards you, taking a proper sip of the water.

"Sit. Our favorite show is on," you chime, a warm small growing on your lips.

He shakes his head. "Not feelin' it tonight, sweetheart."

"Come on," you urge, pointing towards the television with your pointer finger. "We're about to find out if Henry is staying or leaving."

"I'm—I'm not in the mood," he mutters, only with slight annoyance.

You decide to push your luck. "Come on. Would be nice to see you." 

"Stop asking," he cuts sharply, setting the full glass in the sink.

You narrow your eyes slightly. "Why are you being so mean?"

"Christ, I already said I wasn't in the God-damned mood." 

Ice and venom coat his words as his hand slams into the countertop.

He didn't yell, but you wish he did.

So, you could get some type of God-damn emotion from him.

Instead, his voice was low, commanding.

A voice a lieutenant would use on his inferiors. 

Not on his wife.

His eyes widen as your lips purse.

"Well then," you murmur, eyes still on his. "Guess that settles it."

He releases a shallow breath, opening his mouth before shutting it promptly.

Your eyes squint as you take a deep gulp.

But instead of being a man and apologizing, he leaves for his office like a fucking coward.

You're left there, eyes still on the spot where he stood, cheek now bleeding onto your tongue as the television announces, "...leaving the villa."

And you can't even find it in yourself to care.

It feels awkward when you finally gather enough courage to slither into the bedroom.

You had been paralyzed to the couch even a couple hours after the whole ordeal.

Not a word was breached between either of you. 

He had shut himself in his office while you had become one with the couch.

What a match made in fucking heaven.

You slip into some soft pajamas, then into the bed, the heavy comforter offering you comfort.

You rest your weary head on the pillow, eyes already heavy with emotional exhaustion. 

Before you fall into sleep, you hear the same thud of his boots streaking along to the bedroom, where you catch a glimpse of him slipping something into his sock drawer. 

The warm brown of the book cover in his hand catches your eye.

There was no mistaking what it read on the front: large, gold Cardo font with a cross hovering above the text.

"Holy Bible."

He shoves some loose papers overtop of the Bible and shuts the drawer, moving the flick of the light switch off.

His boots came off in a thud as he slipped off his shirt and jeans, slipping into the bed far from you.

Not a word was shared.

You should sleep, but instead, your mind is tormented by what you saw.

Had Simon prayed?

Prayed to a God he didn't even believe in.

If he hit his knees, splayed open the Holy doctrine, and prayed within the hopes that, by some miracle, he should get to see his brother again.

"Simon," you murmur lightly, regretting breaking the silence as his name leaves your tongue.

"Yeah?" He asks, back to you.

"Were you...praying?" Your question comes out fatigued.

"Ye—Yeah," he mutters skittishly.

You say nothing more.

Your weary eyes drift closed as you pull your blanket taut against your face, peacefully drifting off.

That night, you're plagued by a disturbing dream. Your teeth fall out one by one, leaving only protruding gums. A looming figure stands behind you, tightening your throat with fear.

You spring awake at 3:37 am.

You are drenched in your own perspiration, eyes lingering over to where Simon should be.

He's gone.

You should feel slightly relieved, but you only feel overwhelming dread.

Your skin crawls with a sense of unease, as if something is lurking just out of sight, watching you.

You blink, and it's March.

Two months since Johnny's passing.

You thought the time would pass achingly slow, but time has unfortunately moved forward at an exceptional pace.

It always felt like time should stop.

People should stop.

Because why do they get to carry on and lead an everyday life as if you aren't getting swallowed, eaten alive by the confines of your own home?

It's not fucking fair.

You are not only having to mourn the loss of a good friend but the loss of your own husband, who's still breathing.

It felt like some cruel joke was being played on you that you found no humor in.

But, regardless of the loss, you had to keep moving.

For yourself.

Or you'd probably drive yourself into madness, and nothing good ever came from a mad woman, or so they say anyway.

It was a Friday night, and you had decided to try a new recipe from your grandmother's cookbook. 

You couldn't remember the last time you had a homecooked meal that wasn't full of M.S.G and far too many calories.

But tonight, you were about to change that.

With a simple button swipe, your groceries appeared at your front door, and you got straight into it.

The large russet potatoes were peeled and cut into chunks. They were then plopped in heavily salted boiling water and smashed along with many tablespoons of butter and cream.

Chicken thighs were seasoned and marinated for half an hour, not a minute less, before being seared on cast iron. 

The asparagus and parsnips were lightly oiled before being pan-seared, and then they were sprinkled with salt, pepper, and parmesan cheese.

And before you knew it, you had transformed a handful of ingredients into a feast that was elegantly presented on some fine china you snagged from the cabinet for you and Simon.

You took a seat, admiring your hard work and savoring the delightful aroma of the chicken as it filled the room.

Hearing the same thud of the boots you had come to ignore coming from down the hall, your head shot up to see Simon with his keys in hand. 

"Where are you going?" You ask, curiosity and a bit of disappointment evident in your tone.

"Out," his voice was snipped as he marched towards the front door, not sparing the dinner a glance.

You sit up with a frown. "I made dinner, Simon."

"Not hungry," he says mechanically, like he was planning on shooing away any plans you offered. "Don't wait up for me," he murmurs, shoving on his coat, moving out of the front door, and pulling it closed.

And suddenly, the optimism you had clung to like a lifeline died, wholly and truly, leaving you in a void of despair.

You sit at that comedically large dining table for what feels like ages, pushing your vegetables around with your fork until they're practically mush on your plate.

There's nowhere else to go.

You feel utterly stuck as if the weight of the disappointment has rooted you to the spot.

Your head flings to the front door, as keys get shoved into the keyhole, before the door is pushed open to reveal a flushed Simon.

"Where have you been?" Your voice is warm yet firm.

He doesn't respond, only throwing his keys the bowl and moving to the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.

"Simon," his name comes off your tongue almost in warning.

"What?" He turns to you, face red from the cold.

"Where the fuck have you been?" You snap, the sound of your chair scraping against the floor as you stand up, adding to the tension in the room.

His eyes widen at your tone.

Your mind was ablaze with conflicting emotions.

Tongue hot with accusations.

"Were you with another woman?" You tack on, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Christ, no," he says immediately with a scoff. "Why would you even ask me that?"

You knew it was ridiculous.

He may be a fool, but he wasn't a cheater.

"I never have a God-damned clue where you go!" You step from around the table, voice rising. "You're my husband!"

"You're my wife!" He tosses the bottle of water into the sink. The plastic crinkles against the metal, as his voice rises with yours. 

"Then act like it!" You yell, throwing your hands in the air. 

You're both practically heaving with anger.

Seathing with so much untouched and unsaid verbiage.

The silence hangs between your two before you hurdling yourself into his arms, slamming your lips onto his with so much devotion and heat.

His hands grip your cheeks tight as his tongue slides over your teeth and any piece of flesh he can.

You pant into his mouth as his hands move to grip the backs of your thighs, quickly pulling you up to lock your legs around his waist.

He moves to place you on the dinner table, standing between your legs, and you reach out behind you, sweeping your plate full of mushy food and wine glass onto the floor to make space.

The glass shattered, and the china burst into a thousand tiny pieces with a loud crash.

Neither of you cares in the slightest.

His fingers fidget with the hem of your loose top as your lips practically turn blue from losing circulation.

It had been months since you and Simon had been intimate.

Well, since...

You didn't think you needed it during this time in mourning.

Hardly ever thought about it.

Because you two rarely exchanged words, the silence between you became a barrier.

How could you be expected to share such an intimate moment when your words seemed to fail you?

Somehow, you found yourself yearning for it, a deep-seated longing that you couldn't explain or ignore.

It felt like an insatiable desire you couldn't shake.

And when his teeth sunk into your lips, you felt the soft, erotic sting of your skin break; all bets were off.

"Simon," you mewl into his mouth. "Please."

He doesn't answer in words.

Just moves to remove his belt, tossing it to the side where the leather slaps over the broken china and mushed vegetables.

Strips himself of his jeans, boxers following suit.

His fingers move back to grip the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, throwing it on the table, lips moving to skim between the dip of your breast as he moves to grip on the fat of your waist.

Your hands move to thread through the back of his air, earning a deep groan from him that rumbles against your skin.

"Shouldn't be touchin' you like this," he mutters into your skin, rough hand skimming down your stomach to slide under your pajama shorts.

"Why?" Your breathing is labored as his fingers push down into your cunt, underwear sticking to the skin due to your dripping arousal.

His finger presses into you further making you release a shallow moan.

He opens his mouth to speak before promptly shutting it, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking.

"Just fuckin' yelled at ya, bug," he grits out the first part, like he's angry at himself for ever raising his voice, no matter if you did the same thing, then says your nickname warmly.

"I yelled first," your voice is sweet like honeydew as your hand moves under his chin, gently forcing his chin up so he can look you in the eyes, and he wants to kill himself even more.

You're an angel.

A fucking divine entity, a wellspring of goodwill.

He doesn't deserve you now.

He's not sure he ever has.

"Needed to hear it," he mumbles, slipping your shorts and panties off in one pull, eyes taking in your arousal-soaked cunt. "Don't deserve ya," he murmurs, with a hint of despair.

"You do," you assure, sitting up more to kiss the corners of his mouth.

He turns his head to the side, almost in guilt; you don't have time to question why before he's lining himself up with your entrance, hand coming to rest on the back of your neck for support as he slips inside you gently.

There's no rush, no urgency to get off.

His movements are slow, unrushed.

This wasn't just a quick fuck.

It felt like he was trying to get a tangible connection to you.

Just bodies melting into each other with ease and familiarity. 

Your moans echo off the walls.

Fingernails digging into Simon's back through his shirt.

The barrier does nothing to meddle with your touch.

Nothing could ever diminish your touch.

He lets out a curse, baring his teeth as his fingers dig into the tender flesh on your hips.

His name comes off your sweet tongue in a plea.

You're about to fucking erupt.

Stomach on fire, skin slick.

He shoves his finger in your mouth, collecting some saliva before using that as a lubricant to stimulate your clit.

You let out a string of incoherent words as the stimulation hits you everywhere, all at once.

His head dips back as he comes inside you, eyes shutting closed.

Your breathing is ragged as you both come down from your highs.

However, when you breathe, you feel tightness in your chest.

A squeezing pain that only elongates.

"You okay?" Simon presses his hand into your shoulder.

You nod weakly. "Must have overexerted myself," you jest.

You suck in a deep breath, desperate for more air or something to suppress the pressure you feel. 

Simon quips a brow, opting to move away from you to grab you some cool water. "Drink," he commands, nudging the glass to you.

The water feels like a relief flowing down your throat and is so refreshing you can feel it move through every vein in your body. 

"Better?" He asks warmly.

"Better," you agree, nodding as water drips down your lip and onto your chin.

But you can't shake the feeling something is off.

It almost feels like an impending doom looming over you.

"Feel like a shower?" He taps your thigh in question.

You nod with a smile, forgetting what you were even concerned with.

You shake off the feeling of doom as you wander behind Simon to the shower.

But doom is inevitable, a fate that cannot be escaped.

The following month, April, brought fickle weather with chilly rain and bright blue skies.

Along with the fruition of tulips and daffodils came your plan.

To finally speak to Simon about Johnny.

Even just thinking his name made you feel like you were indulging in some dark code.

It felt wrong.

Even though it was far from.

You had planned to talk to him a week ago, but you chickened out at the last minute, your fear of confrontation winning over your resolve, instead opting for an awkward conversation about cats.

Safe to say he had no idea you had other objectives at play.

Just thought you were a little kooky.

He had been more receptive to conversations since your sex-capade.

Felt connected to you again.

What a perfect time to ruin it all.

He's sitting at the dining table eating a sandwich.

With no pickles because he despises them.

You smile softly.

You know him so well.

Approaching him slowly, you pull out a chair adjacent to his.

"Nice weather," he says, looking out the window at the blue skies.

"It is," you hum in agreement, shifting in your seat.

"Might go for a run later." He takes a bite of a sandwich, and you chew on your cheek. "You want to come?"

"We should talk," you blurt, deciding you need to cut the cord as soon as possible before you chicken out again.

He quips a brow, sets down the sandwich, and wipes the crumbs off a rag. "About?"

You chew on your lip nervously. "Johnny."

His eyes lock to yours in an instant, and his chewing halts.

And you can feel anxiety claw up your clothes.

"You just—you seem," you try, stumbling over your words.

You knew you should have practiced more.

"We aren't having this conversation." His tone is low and carries a finality.

"It might help if you talked to me." There's desperation in your words.

"Stop," he holds up his hand like he's giving you a fucking command.

"I'm not a fucking dog," you grit. "You can't just give me a command to shut up."

"I know you're not a damn dog," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper.

"Good. Glad you could clear that up," you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. "Since you can't clear up anything else."

You knew you shouldn't have said that the second it slipped off your tongue.

It's defensive.

You were supposed to sympathize, not defend. 

He stands up abruptly. "Not taking this shit."

"What shit, Simon?" You throw your hands up in a shrug. "Your wife asking you to speak to her?" You let out a dry laugh. "That shit?" 

He moves around to swipe his keys from the bowl, not uttering a word.

"Where the hell are you going?" You stand, moving over to him.

His eyes bore into your jaw clenched. "Anywhere but here."

And he was gone again.

Just leaves when times get too trying, apparently. 

You stand there, your eyes brimming with tears.

What was to become of you two?

You let out an anguished yell before going to your room, hands planted firmly into the soft mattress, before letting your emotions overcome you.

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands, as you prop yourself on your elbows.

Knees becoming bare from the shitty carpet while your shirt moistens from your tears.

This—this can't be it.

What was life to be without your husband?

You'd be subject to destitution.

A life of isolation, a terrifying prospect, filled with unbearable loneliness. 

Bile crawls up your throat, threatening to escape as the thoughts flood your mind. 

Your heart pounded violently, threatening to crack your ribs. 

You can't breathe.

Throat too tight to get any air through.

A stabbing pain erupted in your chest like it had before, but this was worse.

You clench your chest, tears spilling faster due to the physical pain.

You don't even process Simon hovering over you, hand clenching your shoulder.

Your head turns, and you see his mouth moving, eyes wide in concern, but you can't process what he's saying.

You can only focus on the crushing sensation in your chest. 

His eyes are scrambling, watching you push your mouth into the mattress to release a deep, tormented groan.

You were in unbearable pain.

He wastes no time grabbing and holding you in his arms, bridal style. 

You don't have it in you to scream at him.

You just sob into his chest.

This was surely going to kill you.

He grabs a stray blanket and tosses it on you quickly before swiping his keys off the counter. He then moves outside and places you in the car.

He drives in a rush, reckless.

His eyes darting over to you, curled up in a ball in the passenger seat, sobbing, hand resting over your chest.

He doesn't know what to do.

He can't crawl in your body and demand your body to be kind to you.

So, instead he brushes his hand over your wrist, attmepting to give you some comfort and he pushes the pedal further to get you to the hospital.

Desperate to heal you.

He pulls into the ER parking lot, not bothering to straighten his wheels, sprints around to your side and gently places you in his arms, all but sprinting to the ER door.

The receptionist greets you before she hears your cries and pleas.

"She, she needs help," Simon frantically says. "Please."

Nurses flood out from the large door that seperates you and Simon from the rooms.

"Sir, you'll need to wait out here," one of them says, helping you into a wheelchair and wheeling you back through the door.

"She's my fucking wife!" He shouts, though to no avail.

The door shuts in his face, shoulders dropping in defeat.

He doesn't sit, he can't.

The thought of him being comfortable while you're in agony disturbs him.

He instead stalks around the room, hands wiping across his face.

Surely, this wasn't...

Could it have worked so soon?

He grabs a trashcan, promptly puking in it at the thought.

It, it has to be a grim coincidence. 

Yeah, yeah.

Has to be.

He waits in the waiting room for what feels like ages before a doctor comes in asking for a Simon Riley.

"Is she okay?" Simon searches the doctor's face.

"She's stable," the doctor says, his voice steady and reassuring. "For now."

"For now?" Simon echos the question.

"We ran some blood tests and did an ECG on her heart," the doctor reads over his papers. 

"And?" Simon says impatiently. 

"Does she have any familial history of heart disease in her family?" the doctor asks, scribbling on the paper.

"No, no," Simon stutters. "Why?"

"The ECG results showed that your wife has coronary heart disease," the doctor says.

Simon's eyes widen, his fear palpable. "Heart disease? What—what does this mean?"

"The arteries in her heart have become too narrow, which reduces blood flow to the heart. There are treatments available to manage the condition and improve her quality of life," the doctor reassures Simon as he sees him start to get frantic.

"Are you talking about fucking surgery?" Simon's hands move through his hair anxiously, his body tense with worry.

"Not necessarily. We can start with medication," the doctor says confidently. "A standard dose of Atorvastatin daily can help manage her cholesterol and fat levels." The doctor messily scribbles the prescription on a paper and tears it off.

"Along with some lifestyle changes to help manage her condition. If needed, we can discuss other options, like angioplasty or surgery. But first, let's see how she does with the medication." He hands over the prescription to Simon.

Simon grabs the paper, nodding his head. "Alright. Can I, can I see her?" His voice is desperate.

"Of course," the doctor nods his head reassuringly. "Follow me."

The doctor leads Simon through the hallway until he reaches your room, carefully opening the door to let Simon step through.

His stomach drops, a wave of concern washing over him, when he sees you.

Eyes swollen and red from your cries.

They hang low from your apparent exhaustion.

"Simon," you greet him with a weak smile, the familiarity in your voice comforting him.

Your voice is weak and raspy.

You look sick.

And he can't handle it.

"Hey, I'm okay," you assure, as you see him examine you, worry written on his face. 

"I know you are, bug," tears brimming his eyes; he moves over to you, gripping your hand tightly. "I know you are."

To you, it felt like a source of comfort amidst the chaos. 

And that's why Simon said it.

But deep down, he knew.

Nothing could undo what he had done.

No amount of praying, begging, or bargaining could change that.

He had selfishly sealed your fate.

And now, all he could do was wait.

It had been two months since your diagnosis, July.

Things had been decent in that regard.

No better, no worse.

The medication proved helpful.

It reduced the pain you get in your chest, so that was nice.

Over the two months, you persistently urged Simon to join you in counseling.

For your sake.

For the sake of your marriage.

At the beginning of July, he finally agreed, a hopeful sign after a turbulent period that had you ready to leave him.

"What are you doing?" Simon roughly asks as he follows you to your bedroom, hands anxiously running through his graying hair. 

"I'm fucking leaving, Simon," your voice quakes, tears spilling down your face as you struggle to pack a duffle bag.

"Don't, don't do that," he stumbled over his words, moving over to you. "Just, just calm down," he placed his hand on your shoulder in comfort.

You shook his hand off before eyeing him. "Calm down?" You repeat his words. "You want me to calm down?"

"Yes. Please," he pleads, hand hovering on the drawer handle.

"You want me to calm down?" You repeat again, your voice dripping with anger. "Fuck you." 

His eyes widen; clearly, he's taken aback. 

You finish packing, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you lean against the nightstand. "Simon, you need help," you say, grabbing your wallet. "You need to see someone. Anyone."

He exhales a sharp breath. "Fine."

Your head shoots up, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What?"

He wipes his face with his hand frantically. "If that's what it takes," he shrugs, nodding. "I'll get the help. Just, just don't leave me, bug."

"Nice to see you again." You snap out of your daze as the therapist greets you.

"Likewise," you murmur, glancing over at Simon sitting beside you.

His leg is tapping a mile a minute.

He's nervous.

You're surprised he actually managed to get in the car and come here.

"Hello, Simon," she sticks her hand out for Simon to take. "I'm Doctor Shaw," she greets with a warm and inviting smile.

Simon takes her hand, giving her a firm shake, and nods in acknowledgment. 

"Please," Dr. Shaw brings her hands up. "Follow me."

You and Simon both stand, a sense of anticipation in the air, as you follow Dr. Shaw to her office.

The office looks the same as it has since the last two times you came by yourself.

Warm and inviting.

Only some outside light spilled into the room, opting instead for a warm orange hue from a small lamp illuminating the space.

It exudes a sense of calm, wrapping you in its soothing embrace.

"Please," Dr. Shaw gestured to the couch as she sat in her chair. "Sit."

You and Simon both take a seat and you grab a pillow to hold. Simon leans timidly, his shoulders hunched and his hands fidgeting.

"So," Dr. Shaw begins, eyes moving to Simon. "Simon." His eyes flick to hers. "Talk to me about some of your hobbies."

Simon sits back on the couch, shifting uncomfortably. "Like to run, I guess," he mutters. 

She nods with a smile. "Good, good. Exercise is good. It can help clear the mind," she scribbles some notes on a notepad. "Now, I would like to know more about you two and your marriage," she hums.

Simon takes a deep gulp, and now you're shifting into the cushions.

"How are we doing in that regard?" Doctor Shaw purses her lips as she fixes her pen to start taking notes.

You shift in your seat, glancing at Simon next to you. "It's been...hard," you breathe out nervously. 

"Interesting," she scribbles in her notebook. "Can you tell me when you think it became difficult?"

You gulp. "Um...a couple, a couple months ago."

"Can you think of any factors that may have caused difficulties?" She tips her head back, offering you a comforting smile.

You tap your foot against the soft blue carpet, finger tapping anxiously against your thigh.

"Simon's friend, um, passed away in January." You choke on your words halfway through before completely finishing the sentence.

Her eyes flick to Simon. "I'm so sorry. That must have been very difficult for you, Simon."

Her voice grinds Simon's gears.

Simon is pessimistic, a cynic.

Has an excruciating time finding sincerity in anything anyone says. 

This is no exception.

"Simon," she begins. "If you're willing, I would like to know more about your friend."

"Thought we were here to talk about my wife and I?" Simon's tone is dry without hesitation.

She nods lightly. "We are. It could be helpful for your wife to hear you talk about some of your feelings," she sits up in her chair.

"Did my wife tell you that?" He sits back in the chair, shoulders taut.

She quips a brow. "Tell me what, Simon?"

"That I don't share? Is that why I'm here?" He glances at you, already sinking further into the cushioning of the couch. 

You don't say anything, opting to stay silent. 

This was a setup.

A ploy to psychoanalyze Simon's psyche.

"You brought me so she could pick my brain," he voices plainly, pointing his finger lazily towards Dr. Shaw.

"No. I wanted you to come so we could fix our marriage," your voice is full of irritation.

"Because it's all my fault it's bad. Right?" His voice raises louder than he intended. 

His eyes soften as you widen in surprise, your waterline brimming with tears. 

"Shit," he exhales. "I'm, I'm sorry," he says to you with care, closing his eyes slightly as he wipes his face. 

"I understand this is difficult for you," Dr. Shaw begins, voice solace. "And I want to acknowledge your discomfort. It takes courage to confront painful emotions," she shifts in her chair, leaning forward.

Simon's eyes narrow. "Spare me the shrink bullshit, doc," his voice is critical. 

"It's important to express your feelings, Simon," The doctor urges, to Simon's dismay.

"Why?" He retorts coldly. "Because you won't get paid if I don't?"

Dr. Shaw sits up straighter as Simon lets out an irritated sigh.

"Look," he turns to you. "I know you think this is helpful, but it's not," he says with as much delicacy as he can muster.

"You aren't even trying," you murmur.

"Sweetheart, this is just...not for me. Never has been," he holds your hand softly. "If this helps you, keep coming. I'll pay whatever she charges, okay?" He moves to stand, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "I just...I can't."

Your head flicks up to meet his as his voice cracks slightly, eyes glossed over, revealing his vulnerability.

"See you at home," he bid you goodbye, not sparing the doctor another look before stepping out of the room.

"There is no right way to grieve, and I can understand your frustration," Dr. Shaw says to you, offering a small smile. "Just be there for him when he needs you. He'll come back around," she affirms, turning to grab your receipt for the session.

"Thanks," you say meekly, hand reaching for the receipt.

"This isn't your fault," she confidently says before you step out the door.

You give only a small smile in response. 

It was strange.

You and Simon had fiery love. 

Two timid souls burning with such passion, desire.

A flame to a flame. 

It was a love that felt like sparks igniting each other, creating a blistering and rapid heat that was impossible to ignore. 

But in the end, the flames of love can burn each other out, consuming everything in their path, including the ones who ignited them.

Despite your prayers, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was your inevitable reality.

The rest of the summer and the beginning of fall blur through to September. 

You were seething with anger.

The kind of anger that has you near in tears. 

Simon had missed your sister's funeral, the one event that you had hoped would bring you both closer in your shared grief.

You had told him multiple times throughout the last week where and when to meet you.

He assured you he would be there for you.

He was a fucking liar. 

You practically spring out of your car, parked next to his idle truck, taking heavy steps up to the house door.

The door pulls open, slamming against the house's side, making Simon awake on the couch.

The sight makes your eye twitch.

He lay dormant, several beer bottles strung across the coffee table.

And to think things were going pretty well between you two, but this was beyond belief, unforgivable.

While you were crying over your sister's casket, he was here.

Sleeping his drunkenness away. 

"Don't tell me you're drunk," you ballistically say, tossing your purse onto the kitchen table with force. 

"I'm not tellin' you a thing," he monotonously says like this is some joke. 

"I needed you, and you were proper drunk?" Your voice rises. "I—I needed you, Simon," your voice shakes. "You gave up on me."

He says nothing, just lies there.

Your jaw ticks.

You rush over to him, forcing him to stand. "It's been—get up! It's been months, Simon!" You shout out, your voice filled with desperation. "Johnny is dead—gone," you snap out, eyes locking onto his. "He's been gone, and so have you. Except Johnny has an excuse. You don't," your chest is heaving. 

Simon's eyes widen, noticeably aggravated. "I—" 

"People die every day—and don't get me wrong, I am so fucking sorry, so fucking sorry, that it was Johnny—" You begin, sincerity in your voice as tears prickle down your cheeks. 

"Don't—" He starts in a warning tone. 

"Truly, I am. And I get it; you didn't need things from each other. But I need you. And I need to know you won't just abandon me when times get tough for you," your hands move through your hair, attempting to soothe yourself before more words flow out. "You need to grow the fuck up and talk to me like a grown-ass man and not a fucking pubescent boy!"

"Fuck, fine! Simon snaps. "It fuckin' killed me when Johnny died. I—he was my best friend, my brother. My only family. Gone." Tears spill down his cheeks as his arms flail around. 

You stand silently before your tongue comes out, wiping away the salty tears coating your lips. 

"Simon, I know you don't believe this, but we are family—me and you," you breathe out, trying to control your breathing.

"It broke me," he whispers solemnly. "Split me in half."

"I get that," you begin nodding your head, emotion clogging your throat. "But I need you to be whole."

"I, I can't," he stares at the floor, his hand closing into a tight fist. 

"Simon. You, you can't let it fester. It's consuming your life. Our marriage." Your desperate eyes drift to him, filled with fear. "Let me help you," you beg. "I can help put you back together again." 

"No. You don't understand," he lifts his head back to look at you, his eyes pleading for comprehension. "I think I'm broken beyond repair."

That was before.

It was December now.

You find yourself in the chilling hospital room, tears streaming down your face as you ponder the disintegration of your marriage with Simon.

You suffered a massive heart attack some days ago. 

A complication from the heart disease. 

It had weakened your heart muscle and lead to some brain damage. 

The doctor said treatment options were no longer available. 

So, instead of that, he switched his focus to comfort care.

Essentially, he's making it easier for you to die. 

It's strange. 

You know you're dying.

And you thought that death brings people together.

But you and Simon might as well be light-years apart.

You glance at Simon sitting in the chair across from you, anxiously tapping his foot. 

He's nervous.

But not about you dying.

About something else entirely.

You can tell.

You can always tell.

Your eyes flick to the hospital room door, opening wide before your doctor beckons Simon to come outside with him. 

Their conversation is muffled, but you catch the tail-end of it. 

"It would be best to take her home. Keep her comfortable."

Now you have the confirmation. 

You're going to die.

Just not sure when it will come.

You just have to sit and wait while slowly withering into oblivion.

"Hospice care can be provided to support and comfort her during this time," the doctor adds, his voice a distant echo.

A hot tear slips down your cheek, pooling onto your hospital gown.

You see Simon nodding his head along, finger resting on his chin in thought.

You want to scream.

And cry.

And punch someone.

And pray.

And move back home.

But you can't.

You feel utterly and hopelessly helpless in your own body. 

Life works in a mysterious, fucked up kind of way.

It's not fair. 

It's not linear.

And it's certainly not always kind.

All that's left to do is do what Simon did when Johnny died, go through the motions, the daily routine that feels like a never-ending cycle, and eventually, your physical body will leave you.

Your mind will wander far beyond anyone's grasp, yearning for a connection bond that cannot be.

MONTH ONE: January

You took up journaling.

Your hospice nurse suggested you take up the hobby.

So you did.

It wasn't as therapeutic as you thought.

It was just recounting what you ate that morning and what you planned to do the next day, the mundane details of life that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Boring, menial thoughts.

You didn't have much to say.

The only thing you thought of these days was what would happen in death.

Simon was kinder now.

Said he wanted to leave with you. 

You feel guilty for having to leave him alone.

Even though you have no choice in the matter.

You hope you don't see him in the afterlife. 

His life belongs here.

On the surface.

You've had some trouble walking.

Even fell in the hallway while trying to reach for a side rail Simon had installed.

You cried and pleaded for him not to help you up.

He managed to gather your heaving body in his arms and held you tight as you sobbed into his shirt about how you didn't want to die.

He didn't sleep that night.

Mind was too riddled with guilt; instead, he prayed.

With a cross to his heart, he hit his knees and closed his eyes, murmuring into the darkness to any entity who would listen. 

You thought it was nice when you turned to your side to hear his hushed whispers. 

He was praying for you to get better, you thought.

You didn't even realize he was praying for forgiveness for his own sins. 

MONTH TWO: February

Your journal hobby has quickly dissipated as quickly as it began. 

It's become harder to move.

You have to rely on Simon to do measly tasks. 

It's humiliating, to say the least.

"You okay, bug?" Simon asks as the warm, sudsy sponge moves across your back, shining you clean.

"Yeah," your voice is hushed as your lips flatline. "I can do it," you assure, reaching for the sponge.

"You sure?" His eyebrow lifts. "I'm happy to—"

"Just give me the fucking sponge," you grit, ripping the sponge away from him to scrub your arm.

You find you're weaker than you thought. 

You can barely hold up the light sponge to clean yourself. 

Your hand sinks down into the warm bath water before you attempt to pull it up higher, over and over, until you toss the sponge over the lip of the tub.

It hits the tile, releasing water and bubbles on the floor.

Your head drops into your hands, tears mixing with the bath water.

"It's, it's really happening," you heave into your hands. "I can't even lift a fucking sponge, Simon," you say, disgust coating your words. 

Simon leans forward, hand grazing your back. "I'm so sorry, bug," his voice trembles.

You turn to look at him, with red, puffy eyes and slick tears slipping down and into his beard. 

"Don't apologize," you affirm with a sniffle. "You didn't do this to me."

He almost throws up but chokes down the bile to speak. 

"Can I, can I finish?" He almost pleads.

You give him a soft nod and a gentle smile. 

He grabs a fresh sponge and repeats the same process, this time being more gentle.

Like he's purposely trying to remember the feeling of your body under his hands. 

It makes you feel loved again.

MONTH THREE: March

You were slowly withering away right before your own eyes. 

You didn't even recognize yourself in the mirror.

Your skin has gone pale and blotchy and started mottling.

It's cold to the touch, void of any warmth.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Simon cooly says, pressing a kiss on your head.

"Where are you going?" You ask curiously. 

"I told you I had to pick up Price's kid from school," he says warmly. "You don't remember?"

"Yeah. I, I remember," you nod your head, plastering a reassuring smile.

You really didn't remember.

Memory is a slippery thing these days, evading your grasp like a wisp of smoke. 

The moment something touches your brain, it usually escapes within an hour. 

It's a constant source of frustration, a relentless storm that rages within you.

Makes you want to throw a chair across the room.

He leaves, not even realizing the question has you spiraling.

Proding and pinching at your skull's skin to regain control of your brain. 

You must look insane.

But to you, this is the only thing that makes you feel sane and in control of your body.

The feeling of inability is one of the most haunting prospects.

The hunger for control gnaws at you, a ruthless creature that refuses to be sated.

But it's slipping through your very fingers like sand.

Fast and all at once. 

MONTH FOUR: April

By mid-April, your body feels hollow.

You can't do much of anything.

Though you did find some peace with your morality. 

Finally, you came to terms with your reality. 

And then, a spark of courage ignited, urging you to step out of the house for the first time in a while. 

There was an unusual, almost compelling, need to visit Johnny's grave.

You had only done so once, but it would be nice to leave some flowers.

Your hospice nurse drives you and waits in the car as you find his grave slightly disheveled like someone had messed with it.

Maybe even crawled out of it.

You're too tired to investigate.

You sit in the soft dirt, legs crossed as the sun beats on your head.

The lull of sleep licks your brain and makes your eyes close and unclose lightly. 

You yawn, stretching your arms out before the feeling of sleep becomes too strong. 

You find yourself lying next to Johnny, separated only by a few feet of dirt. 

You feel calm, peaceful even. 

Though when your eyes shut for the last time, you don't see the bright, ethereal light you imagined.

You see nothing but darkness. 

And smell brimstone.

It couldn't be. 

This wasn't the heaven you were promised, a place of eternal peace and joy. 

It was a cruel joke, a betrayal of the highest order.

You were supposed to be in a place of eternal love.

An incomparable beauty. 

This looked more like—

"Bastard sold you out, m'afraid," a voice croaked in the darkness.

The figure was indistinct, a mere shadow in the darkness, but its presence was suffocating, a palpable sense of doom that felt all too familiar, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from. 

"Who—who are you?" You speak into the darkness, not paying much heed to what he said. 

"I shall not speak my name, my dear," the voice remarks. "You shall find out soon enough," he assures, pure humor coating his tongue.

Your voice trembled with fear, barely audible in the oppressive darkness. "How—how am I here?" You managed to stammer, your terror evident. 

A heinous laugh comes from the dark and shoots into your eardrum. "Your husband called upon me some time ago," he says. "He wanted his friend back, so he offered me your soul in return for him back." His voice is simple and casual as if it were ordinary. 

Your heart thumps in your chest, and your lungs deflate quicker than they inflate. 

"N—no. Simon...he loves me," you try to contradict. "He—he wouldn't do that," you speak into the darkness, voice tight. 

"Loves his friend more," he casually says.

Your eyes widen as tears begin to pour down in a consistent stream down your face; you try to move your arms but find your arms are magically constricted to your side. 

"Don't worry. We'll have fun—you and I," his tone is insidious.

Simon had bartered your life for his own selfish volition and damned you to an eternity in hell.

That—that serpent. 

What kind of diabolical monster would do something so heinous.

He promised you a lifetime of love.

A baby that you would share.

A tangible tell of your love.

He was a false prophet. 

When did he find time to do this deal?

Oh. Oh.

He did act skittish that night. 

That—that night that you asked about him praying.

You just assumed he was praying to God to help him cope by perhaps showing some signs of Johnny.

Help him deal with the trauma in any way he could. 

He was instead striking up a deal.

And it wasn't with God.

mini author’s note: do share your tearful thoughts in the comments!

[Part 2] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's part 1 hee hee hee hee Here's part 3 You believe Simon's changed his ways after your sister's engagement. After his actions, you still want him, but does he want you? Word Count: 3.6k

A half naked woman running out of Simon's flat? A surprise indeed it was.

You really thought he reciprocated the same feelings as you did at one point, for once in your life feeling as if someone truly did want you for you, but that fantasy had dried out, and it was clear Simon had no intentions with you.

Your replacement proved it.

Before you began to weep in front of the Brit again, you hurried to your flat door, rummaging through your sweatshirt pockets for your key, wanting to wallow back into a state of depression in the comfort in your own home.

Simon didn't follow you, instead he just leaned against his door frame, sexily might I add, intensely watching you clumsily rip out past receipts and snotty used tissues from your pockets. He wanted to say something, ask you how your day had been, even thought it just turned 9 A.M.

Then it hit you.

You think back to your previous steps. You woke up at 8:30, you read the texts from your sister, made yourself some coffee, which you definitely think had gone off, and left your home, feigning a state of happiness.

You didn't take your keys with you. They sat on your kitchen counter, almost like they were mocking you for being so careless.

Banging your head against the door, you curse, "Fuck's sake...."

You mentally note that this is probably one of the most humiliating scenes you've found yourself in, nearly as bad enough as your 18th birthday, when your parents congratulated your younger brother instead of you accidently.

Simon exhales a puff of smoke towards your direction, you were so fixed on trying to get inside, you didn't catch him lazily eyeing you whilst lighting a cigarette into his mouth.

"You...wanna come inside?" He asks nonchalantly, looking at the sky, avoiding your gaze as if to seem cooler than you.

"Why would I do that? I don't wanna know where that bitch has been..." You scoff, referring to the girl. You want to look away from him, but his blonde chest hair glistens in the sunlight, enticing you to follow his instructions. He's not even all military mode on you but you already find yourself acting submissive around his presence again.

He grunts, thinking about what to say next, "Well for starters, Francesca's no one...and, where else are ya gonna go?" The sarcasm is sharp in his voice.

So you were replaced by a Francesca.

"And listen love, face it, you need something from me, come in so we can talk. Can't guarantee we'll do a lot of talkin' though..." His words trails off, trying to convince you. Boy, is it working...

His eyebrows are raised, and he purposely flexes his still wet pecs.

Fuck it. You think, barging into his room, purposely bumping shoulders.

You finally enter Simon's room for the first time.

Simon wasn't completely heartless.

Yes, his childhood trauma resulted in his avoidant nature, ignoring his team in order to work alone on the field, disobeying his Captain to do what he'd deemed as best, and even ghosting you ever time you tried reaching out to you. What you didn't know though, was that Simon had given you his previous phone number, one he doesn't use anymore...

Late nights in his hospital bed led him trying to stalk you through Facebook, which no one your age uses by the way (don't tell him that), and every time his searches led him to nothing.

Had he not been so foolish, he would have manned up and straight up demanded you for your number. But he didn't, instead he told you he'd find you if he needed you, which was becoming more and more infrequent.

Yet here he lies, now clad in a loose black top and sweatpants, sitting across from you on his couch in his oddly empty room, hearing you out.

"'Kay so, your sister wants you at her engagement and you need a date, and you have no other friends but me, and you want me to be your fake date." He repeats back to you.

You hum, "For someone that didn't finish secondary school, you're quite smart."

Simon chuckles at the reciprocates banter, "And...what's in it for me?"

You scrunch your nose, "What?"

"What's in it for me." He enunciates his word, as if speaking to a baby, "What do I benefit from this?"

"Are you fuckin' for real, you've basically used me for your own pleasure, and you can't even fake a relationship in front of my family for like a couple of hours?"

You stand up, ready to leave, not willing to be disrespected again.

"Love, listen," Simon pulls on your arms, and you begin to notice the fresh scars decorating his forearms.

"Our relationship...platonic of course, it's like a business. You want something, you gotta work for it."

You're stunned, did he just insinuate that you were merely a business partner to you? Can this man be anymore of an ass, than he already is, reducing your relationship to a step below a 'situation-ship'.

"What possibly could I have that you need?"

"Yeah," he gruffs out, contemplating his decision, "not money 'cos I got more of that than you..."

He sits there in mock confusion, but you had a feeling he knew what he wanted from you the moment you spat out your request at his door earlier.

Before you try cursing him out again, your attention shifts to the ping from your phone, another unfamiliar number, but not from your sister.

10:32 A.M. ####:- Hey kiddo, how's life been treating you. ####:- Finally gotta a job? ####:- Can't wait to see you, your brother's been waiting to introduce you to his new girlfriend, good addition to the family this time I think. ####:- You're getting older now, unmarried and unemployed. Chop Chop.

Great, just a monthly reminder from your father that you've already been replaced by your brother's new fling for the week.

Now you really needed that date.

"I'll fuck you." You state.

Simon stares at your new found dominance, standing up to purposely look down at you and tower over you, disliking the sense of authority shifting between you two.

"Once again, dove."

"Just. Fuck. Me. Simon. Get this shit over with." You command.

Okay, now you actually felt used. Blackmailed into having sex with Simon, just for him to get what he wants really was the all time low for you. And you've hit rock bottom multiple times.

You wake up light-headed, in Simon's empty bed. The bedside table held a small note in messy handwriting and a singular key.

Headed out to the pub, got a spare key for your room. You better be out of there by the time I get back. Jesus, you got the hint.

You wonder why and where Simon got a spare key from, realising that this situation could have been rectified from the beginning, instead he basically coerced you into sex just to fulfill his needs.

Your mother would die if she knew what your life was like.

Walking back into your room, you shoot a text to Simon, your now fake date, informing him of the fool-proof plan you'd come up with.

As you rest on your couch, thinking about the future ahead of you, and your head unconsciously drifts to that dreaded question:

What if you hurt Simon like he's hurt you?

The next few days was filled with your evenings trying to explain the dynamics of your family to Simon and teaching him more about you.

"And what, they went to the theme park and just left you there? Ain't that borderline abuse?" He questions, a small guilty feeling arising in the pit of your stomach learning about how similar both of yours fucked childhood was like.

You shrug, used to being kicked to the curb. You stop yourself before making some remark that he has no right to act upset about your parents behaviour when he's acting no better.

You tell him your middle name, hell, you tell him the correct spelling of your first name, and you stare at him, embarrassed that this hunk has pounded at your core but doesn't even know the vowels in your name.

"And last week was my birthday if they ask, and you better tell them I celebrated it by going to the cinema with my friends." You inform him, hoping some of this information gets retained into his pea sized head.

Simon cringes, unaware of your birthday, recalling the numerous amount times you'd shot him a smile that day, urging at least one person to wish you a happy birthday. He cocks his head, "What friends?" before correctly himself, "I mean, names wise."

"....you gotta make them up."

Note to self: Make new friends.

The big day comes and you and Simon had driven to the venue of your sister's engagement party. Extravagant was an understatement. Anyone that would look at this event would assume your parents were millionaires, but they're not considering only 2 out of 3 children received trust funds.

You wore a sleek black dress with a slit by your right leg, and Simon matched with a clean black suit which, by the way, you paid for.

Though you would usually drink in his appearance, his recent brooding behaviour gnawed in your mind, so no matter how many smiles he sent your direction, they couldn't dispel the unease settling in your gut.

The first hour consisted of the pair of you awkwardly standing around, drinking numerous glasses of the finest champagne, with his broad arm hovering over your shoulder.

"Where's the family?" He asks eyeing every guy that even so glances your direction.

You shrug, glancing at your unread messages to your sister.

1:00 P.M. You:- hey :) made it, wru??? You:- looks very grand btw!! 1:29 A.M. You:- hello? where's ma? 1:37 A.M. You:- champagne's tastyyy You:- hi wru 1:59 A.M. You:- bruh did you rly invite me just to ignore me???

Simon winces at your phone, reminding himself to finally get your number so at least someone would reply to your messages.

"You made it!"

You both turn around at the chirpy voice, instantly locking eyes with your sister.

"Hey, you didn't read my texts, been here for an hour now." You question, as you're being pulled into a hug.

"Oh that was you? Sorry, I haven't saved you on my phone," she laughs. You glance at Simon almost offended by that, even though you hadn't saved her number either.

"Introduce me to the big guy!" She nudges you, and Simon interrupts you before you open your mouth.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley, and uh- also boyfriend." He extends his arm, and you can't tell whether he's faking his grin or not.

She drags his forearms, yanking him away from you and ushering him along eagerly., "You need to meet my family, come come!", as they walk off together, and you find yourself standing there, left to socialise with someone else.

At 3 P.M., you navigate yourself to your family and your 'boyfriend', whom at this point, had really seemed to fit in with the community. Your father hadn't believed that you scored a buff military commander, and if he wasn't unhappily married to your mother, you'd bet 10 quid that he'd be all over Simon.

"Served in Afghanistan huh?" He chuckles boisterously.

"Yes sir." Simon actually looks like he's having fun, displaying the look of admiration for having an almost father-like figure in his life. He begins you question why you dislike your family so much, they're great!

"And you watch football lad?" He pats Simon on his back.

"Avid fan, sir."

Your father shakes Simon's hand, immediately surprised by his firm grip, "Good man. Don't let go of this one, love." He nods towards you, his smile twitching at Simon, who's basically gripping the bones through his wrist.

You force a smile hugging into your boyfriend's side, shouldn't he be saying that to your Simon, rather than you? I mean it's either your biological daughter you've sort of brought up her entire life versus a solider you've known for about an hour.

"Son, take some notes from your sister, no wonder you're single every other day." Your father reprimands your brother, who flinches from the sudden sound of disapproval and grips his girlfriend's forearm tighter. For sure the first time you're actually than him, at finding a better fake partner.

Your mother, on the other hand, was virtually glued to the other side of Simon, gripping his biceps and fawning over his muscles to your brother, who's actually looked like the only one who saw through your facade.

"Wow, you must really enjoy the gym, sweetie." She bags her eyes, disgustingly.

"Yes ma'am."

She addresses you, for what you think was the first time in over a year, and mouths sternly, "I was wrong, I approve."

The entire event was a drag to you, something you weren't used to at all, considering the majority of your childhood was mainly you being left home during such big events, but Simon managed to enjoy the evening whilst successfully lying to your entire family.

"Me and the missus have been together for 10 months now. She's very happy." He raises his glass to you, eliciting a genuine smile from you. It was times like this that you wished that you and Simon just tied the knot and just began dating. However, you couldn't ignore those underlying feelings of a simmering anger, a desire to confront him publicly for using you for so long.

"I am..." It sounds more like a question than a reply, kissing him, in mock affection.

"You need to stay over our place, Simon darling," Your mother gleams, with your father agreeing, "You can stay in the study!"

"You mean my old bedroom?"

It's midnight, and your family have finally fell asleep in the place you once called home.

You lay next to Simon on your old bed, inspecting your previous room. The walls were no longer painted your favourite colour, but now was coated in a dull grey, your desk now replaced by a vintage looking oak table, definitely all to accommodate your father's taste. Any speck of 'you' had been wiped out from the room, and Simon wonders what young you was like.

"That was very fun...I like 'em, your family." He whispers almost inaudibly, fatigue evident in his words. His arm is draped comfortably around your neck, your head resting in the nook of his armpit.

You hum. The unfamiliar attention Simon had brought up on the two of you exhausted you, though a small part of you liked it, that now your mother actually cared about what you got up with him on a daily basis.

"Simon..." You begin, "What- what are we? If anything..."

You're anticipating his rejection.

"Neighbours..." He mouths silently.

You nod at him, hoisting yourself up on your elbows, although his eyes are closed.

"Simon. It's just that. I know it's all a show...but today it didn't feel like pretend...And when you said you wanted to marry me to my mum, it's just, I don't know, didn't feel fake you know. Felt real..Simon...Simon?"

He snores in response.

Great. You're just confessing to the thin air.

If he doesn't take you out, socialising for almost 9 hours straight will. You pass out next to him, no longer under his arm. Simon lays next to you, watching the slow rise of fall of your chest, after faking a snore.

He stares at the ceiling thinking about the day.

Come morning, and you find yourself sitting at the dining table next to Simon, who'd found himself in a hearty conversation with your parents, sister and future brother in law.

Across from you is your brother, whom you're sure didn't fall for your ruse.

His expression reveals concern as he gazes at you, almost as if he's silently urging you to unravel the tangled web of lies you've woven.

With a swift motion, he picks up his phone, arching an eyebrow in your direction, just as your phone chimes with a notification.

9:12 A.M. ####:- ik you two aren't dating. ####:- better fess up before i do

He smirks at you, your expression mirrors one of close defeat.

9:13 A.M. You:- ik you mad that she cheats on you every friday. You:- better check her private 2nd insta account before i do

Your brother looks up, hesitant to curse you out in front of everyone.

You 1, your brother 0.

Breakfast was served at this time you actually got the same amount of food as your siblings did, although Simon beat all 3 of you for it. Even though your sister was celebrating her engagement, the entire conversation was stuck on you and Simon.

Credits to your parents, because you were actually learning things about Simon, and you wonder if he thinks you're self-obsessed given that you've forced every fact about you down his throat and you haven't even given a minute for him.

"...and my Captain John Price, great guy. She loves him actually." He nudges you, breaking you from your trance.

"Huh."

Everyone on the table turn to you as Simon rubs your knee softly.

"OH. Um, yeah. Mr Price, John, um, great guy, handsome and so hot. Love him. The best really."

As you stumbled over your words, trying to cover up the slip, Simon gave you a reassuring squeeze on your knee. His eyes conveyed a silent message, telling you that it was okay and that they didn't catch you in a lie.

Your brother, however, shot you a knowing look, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. It was clear that he had caught onto your the slip up.

"Alright, enough about work," your mother interjected, steering the conversation away from Simon's military life. "Let's talk about something more fun. Like the wedding!"

The topic shifted to your sister's upcoming wedding, and you found yourself for once engaged in a lively discussion with your family about venues, dresses, and guest lists. Simon chimes in, his comments light-hearted and filled with humor.

As the breakfast progressed, you couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt gnawing at you. Your brother's text had reminded you that you were deceiving your family, and although it had started as a harmless ruse, it was beginning to feel like a weight on your shoulders.

After the meal, you and Simon got ready to depart, and as Simon and the rest of your family went to his car, you stood back at the front door, watching how perfect Simon fit in with them.

"It's obvious you don't like him."

You turn to the voice: your brother.

Your groan, "You again? Can't you just leave me alone, God's sake..."

"Aren't you a 'lil worried about how easily he lies though?" he taunts, "how'd you get him here? Money? Or you hold him over a secret? Maybe...sex?"

"What's your problem? Can't you just be happy I'm with someone?" You step back from him.

"Of course I am, if he doesn't like who, who else will, no? I'm just looking out for you bro. It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women."

You squint your eyes at him, confused.

"Grace, Josie, Francesca..." he trails off walking slowly towards the rest of the group. Francesca? That name rings a bell...

"Word of advice, don't leave your phone out in the open, I mean the amount of nudes on there, you'd think his gallery was a porn site! And without a password? Didn't know you were into whores, sis." He cackles.

And here you thought the trip had altered the dynamic.

The ride home was 2 hours too long and too silent. You contemplated your next move. Do you beat around the bush or straight up ask him if he's still seeing other people behind your back? You know he doesn't owe you anything, he is your FAKE boyfriend, right? But, why did it feel so real?

"So..." he starts.

You rest your head on the window, "So..."

His hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently before moving towards your core slowly.

"That was fun." He states.

You hum.

"Real cool family, huh."

You hum once again, unsure what to say.

"We should do that again..."

You look at him confused.

"Are you serious? I think they still think that they have 2 kids, they focused on you the entire time-"

"Well, it's not like you put in much effort to talk, love."

That shuts you up.

He sighs at your silence, "Listen, I've been thinking."

You glance at him, hoping he'd kick you out of his car and let you walk the rest of the way home, too ashamed to be in his vicinity.

"Your parents were hinting us to take the next move you know..."

"Neighbours to friends?" You question.

He laughs, "Your family's great, your sister's and her lad, real cute couple you know, I felt at home...so I was thinking...we should try it you know, going out I guess."

You scrunch your face at him, was he really convinced into asking you out because your parents asked him? And here you were, months of trying to hint to wanting more, and the moment your demanding parents butt in, he's just going to do what they say? And the fact that he couldn't even say the word relationship.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

You cross your arms in annoyance. You were tired of being pushed around like a doormat.

Your brother's words ring through your head, as Simon drives.

It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women.

All the signs point towards rejecting his proposal. He doesn't want you, he just wants the safest route. You being in a relationship with him isn't going to stop him fucking other women.

Why would you waste your time with a guy to whom you meant nothing to?

So you decide to give it to him directly.

"Yes. I'll be your girlfriend."

Thank you all so much for the interactions on part 1! Means a lot :D THERE WILL BE A PART 3 LMAOOO i did not intend for this fic to be long but here we are. lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @owkittie

If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

You want him, but does he want you? Part 2 :> Part 3 :< Word Count: 2.1k

Whatever you did, you always found yourself being a disappoint to your parents.

First, it was getting rejected from the university your parents intended you to go to. Then, it was working at a job that didn't utilise your degree. And now, it's complaint after complaint for being in a 'relationship' with some they didn't approve of.

"Honey, I just don't think he's the right one for you..." Your mother complained on the phone for what felt like the thousandth time this day.

You rolled your eyes exasperatingly, happy that she couldn't see your annoyance through the call.

"Ma...you haven't even met him, I don't see why it's such a big deal, I'm finally out of your hair anyways, isn't that what you wanted?" You argued.

Everyday felt like a battle for your parent's time and affection.

Living under the shadows of your siblings was a pain. Your older sister had pursued a law degree at a top university when you were just in high school, and moved abroad to practice at one of the best law firms in the US. Your younger brother, on the other hand, was in their 2nd year studying Aeronautical Engineering at the same university as the elder. You felt like the odd one out in every field.

And here you are, stuck working in retail even though you complete your Bachelors degree in Computer Science.

Whatever you did, just was not enough for your parents.

So you saved enough money from your job, took out a small loan and made the decision to pack your bags and move to the Midlands, which was just regionally higher up than where you initially resided in your family home. How funny was it that you were the last sibling to move out?

After weeks of working your ass of at your new 8-6 job...still in retail, one silent evening after taking out the trash, you found yourself coming face to face to your neighbor.

And to say to he was attractive was an understatement. He had a tall tower-like frame, height ranging anywhere from 6'2 to 6'4, his scarred face was decorated with dirty blonde, short yet soft, hair and a slight stubble. His face, though rough, looked almost model worthy and held a permanent angry face, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenching as if it hurt to open them.

"You got a staring problem, love?" He scoffed at you, the first time your met. You stumbled over your words, eyes wide as saucepans.

"!- we- um..who..who are you?"

The blonde chuckled at you sarcastically, "Your neighbour, Riley, you won't see as often so close that bloody mouth of yours."

And he was right, out of 7 months of living at your new flat, you'd seen him only a handful of times. You often found yourself questioning his occupation, why exactly he hangs out and about the area for a week, then just suddenly just disappears, like a ghost.

You'd learnt from the other residents that he worked within the military, whether it was the marines, the air force or the army, you never knew, until one faithful morning, you found yourself nestled against his broad warm chest, both of you hungover from the block party that all of the residents had been invited to.

"Hmm...mornin'" He grunts out at you, and the slightly reddening marks running down his neck and the bruising hand prints on your waist told you enough about the previous night.

You stiffen next to him, but his rough skin grazing against your skin urges to continue to curl up beside him.

Fast-forward another 5 months, it's been nearly a year of knowing 'Riley' and nearly a year you'd seen anyone from your family. You've always wanted to know how long they would be able to go on without you...and you'd finally got your answer.

You've learnt a lot of things about 'Riley'. For starters, his full name was Simon, though everyone in the building referred to him by his last name (you'd pestered him too much, and he finally caved in and allowed you to call him by his first name). He was almost 10 years elder to you and his striking face was usually masked with a black balaclava or those disposable ones.

"Ma, I'm happy, why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Sweetheart, why don't you come home for the weekend and we can finally meet this man. I mean since you're exclusive and everything."

"We...we're not that level yet-"

"Your older sister's getting married and she's only 4 years older than you.-"

"Why do you keep bringing her up? What's she got to do with this?"

"Honey, listen, me and your father are happy you're with someone. I mean this is the first time someone actually liked you right?"

Ouch.

"It wouldn't hurt to meet the old fella, no?"

Ah, one important part I forgot to mention.

You weren't dating Simon.

In fact, you guys never really established a relationship between the two of you. When he was home from deployment, your evening usually consisted of lazing about after work, wine in hand, Simon walking in, a few words exchanged here and there about his work-

Oh, and the night ending with a good rough fucking.

The morning would come by and you'd walk into your shift, your hickey-adorned chest and neck covered with a black turtleneck although it was the middle of August (and against the uniform policy).

So one night you decided to break away from his dominating kiss, and sit him down for a heartfelt conversation-

"Why'd you want to complicate things," he sneers, "we're just fuck buddies yeah?"

"Excuse me? So, what those 5 months didn't mean shit to you?" You scoffed, rather offended that he looked down at you, just like your family.

"You're old enough to be my kid, what make you think this was gonna go anywhere?" He stands up, lighting a smoke, knowing you hated the stench of his cigarettes in your room. It was always your room, always your flat. You can't remember the last time you even went to Simon's place, if there ever was a time.

"Who has a kid at 10? And why'd you keep fucking me? And I'm 24 fucking years old, Jesus, why does that not go through anyone's thick ass skull?!"

"Calm down love, thought this arrangement was mutual, I've got pent up frustration from the military, you're pent up 'cos no one else wants you-"

"Those nights didn't mean anything to you?"

"You don't mean anything to me." He asserts furiously. You studied him, the glimpse of that comforting man who stroked your back and kissed your forehead post-sex really wasn't there.

The fuck does this guy think he is?

"Get out."

"Done."

And he gets up and leaves, blowing a puff of smoke as if to scent the room. Just like that. Wow, was there anyone in your life that actually cared about you?

All those Wattpad stories taught you that the guy usually fights for his lover, screaming back saying that he won't leave without a fight, arguing that that the pair deserved each other. And yet, here you are, sobbing in the shower, unable to differentiate whether your body is getting soaked from the water or from the river of salty tears streaming down your dull, lifeless face, all because the guy you wanted never truly wanted you back.

You felt used, mainly your body. Rubbing yourself full of soap just caused your mind to flash back to his thick calloused hands massaging every inch of skin.

When you occasionally saw him at the building get together, which you wonder why he even attends considering he just hates and complains about everyone (everyone but you of course), you'd find yourself glued on the spot, lips quivering, tears threatening to spill again- and the throbbing. Man, the throbbing you felt between your legs. If it wasn't for his dick, you'd really be wondering why you craved him so bad, because it's definitely not his nasty personality.

And every time you open your mouth to say something to him, to call him over, to greet him, hell you should be cursing him out in front of everyone, he just stormed out with his head down with what looks like a combination of embarrassment or grief.

Until one night, you get a phone call from your older sister, the unsaved number appearing unfamiliar to you. Your hesitant to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy," She drags out her words, as if to waste time. You can tell your mother meddled in between, "So, I'm having the engagement party by the end of this month, and um...you free to come? No worries if you can't."

You pause, did she even want you there?

"Sure."

"Cool. Um, Mum says you're seeing someone, you can bring 'em if you want."

"Sure."

"Yeah, dunno if it's serious enough but there's enough space in the venue."

"Sure."

There's a pause on the other line.

"Hey can you say anything other than 'sUrE'?" She mocks you. Your eyebrow twitches in amusement.

"Did you just call to brag about you and your fancy ass engagement party? And the audacity to not send an invite, if you don't want me there, just say it. I'm not a baby anymore." You frustratingly answer.

Your sister remains quiet on the other line and you can tell you struck a nerve.

"I- listen I know we never get along but can you please come? Ma keeps mentioning you, surprisingly, and- and we haven't seen you in months, you don't even reply to the memes on the family group chat..."

You blink. "We have a family group chat?"

The rest of the month was empty, and although you were thankful for no more surprising run-ins with Simon, you missed having a warm body next to you. You learnt from one of the residents that he's been deployed for 3 weeks, this particular one shorter than others.

He confused you, Simon. He hated the idea of being in a relationship with you, yet he did 'relationship things' with you. He disliked when people assumed you two were a couple in public, but he always had his arm around you protectively. Not even education was this stressful.

And as much as you wanted to sit and let the misery marinate into your mind, you knew the date of the engagement party was nearing and you knew you couldn't come empty-handed.

By the end of the 3rd week, you knew Simon had come home, recognising the sound of the heavy footsteps entering his flat next door at 3 in the morning, you being awake from all the stress your high-maintenance sister had thrown suddenly at you. But you couldn't help but notice the sound of a softer treads following his. Maybe he got a pet?

That night, you had trouble sleeping, unsure whether it was the stress of trying to impress your family or the light sound of the headboards of next door creaking. That sound was familiar, reminding you when he was over at your place, rocking gently inside of you, though you question why he's not with you this moment. Usually you'd find him at the other side of the door, tired eyes resembling those of a stray puppy looking for a place to stay.

You close your eyes, your mind racing to the thought of the burly man on the other side of the wall rubbing himself to the thought of you. You sink into the bed, disregarding that unignorable pulsating feeling.

Saturday morning come, and you stretched contently, knowing that you finally had the day off from work. But that short-lived happiness dimmed when you checked the unread notification blasting through your phone.

7:29 A.M. #####:- hey listen i meant it when i said i wanted you there. pls come. #####:- it wouldnt just make ma happy but me too #####:- u gotta be there to make look better haha im joking

You had a feeling that she was not.

7:56 A.M. #####:-and uh, bring your guy as well pls, ma's so excited planning this wedding she wants to get started on the next one too lolol #####:- also she thinks your lying :/

Great, now there's actual pressure to bring someone.

Your morning dose of caffeine didn't hit today, as your body feels heavier than usual as you trudge all the way to your doorstep. When the last time you actually left your apartment if not for work?

Forcing yourself to look decently good, you make your way to your neighbour's doorstep, knocking so softly you almost tried again, until the door abruptly open, revealing a wet toweled Simon.

An eerie silence captures the atmosphere, consists of his eyes drinking in your disheveled appearance after almost a month, and yours undressing him, as if he wasn't already standing almost-nude.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it, "Listen I know you've been deployed for the past 3 weeks, but listen I need a favour, I know you hate me and don't want to be with me but I really need a date to an engagement party, and I hate men and men hate me so I don't know anyone but you, and here me out, but could you please take some time out of your month to please be my date, I know you don't like me like that, which makes no sense to me 'cos you're in that mask almost the same number of times as you're in me- just please give it a thought-"

There's a cough behind Simon.

A half nude woman runs past you, head down in shame, smilingly guiltily as she tiptoes out of his room. She heard it all, you thought.

You look at Simon, suddenly recollected last night's events, the 2nd footsteps, the headboard banging. It all made sense. You really didn't mean anything to him.

Simon shifts on his feet uncomfortably.

"Surprise?"

its's 2 a.m. as i post this...why do my brain cells suddenly begin to work post-midnight I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

Incorrect quotes

Call of duty x reader.

Captain Price approaching (Y/N) cautiously, his eyes softening: I...We don't want to hurt you...

(Y/N) turning to him in rage, pointing at themselves: HURT ME!...HURT ME!

Everyone taking a step back.

(Y/N) wiping their tears: YOU WILL NEVER HURT ME AGAIN!!

The sound of multiple gun shot.

inspired from this

call of duty modern warfare 2

summary: Ghost is toxic and the only person who is affected is his partner, your sibling, so what will you do, (y/n)?

Don't read it if it will trigger you!

Warnings: Dark and toxic Ghost, gn! reader. Mention of mental abuse, toxic relationship, (y/n) is mad. Military reader. The reader had gn!sibling. Everything is pure imagination, and I never served in the military so I really don't know how it works.

I don't own Call of duty's characters or the Gif bellow!

Should I make a part 2????

Dark! Ghost x gn!reader

A few months, before the call of duty modern warfare 2 begun, which you be soon called to help in.

You were sitting waiting for your sibling, in the cafeteria of the base. Your sibling was dating none other than Ghost, Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley himself.

The man was toxic . A walking red flag, that just don't seem to get the meaning of cherishing your partner, he was worse than a yandere. You didn't blame him at first, you knew his story or half of it, you sister do to, maybe that's why she let him do whatever he wanted.

You knew he had trauma because of his heartless father and adding to the mission where he was almost brain washed, you could understand where he was comming from. The man was left with severe trauma, so you never took any of his heartless action toward you to heart, you always tried to get along with him for your sibling's sake.

Now you can't find any excuses to his actions, this man needed therapy as soon as possible.

It was pretty much over two years since the both start dating, you were jealous of you sibling for pulling the man , you a crush on, since your eyes landed on him, but after sometime you got over it. You will never choose a silly little crush over your family.

They deserve to be happy, after all the shit you two had been throught in real life.

Truth , you (your sibling and you ) weren't fictional characters, you both were suck in the game, while you were playing three years ago. You did find a way to go back later on, yet you never use it.

It was a lot to take in, been in a new world where you can die at any moment given, but with your sibling by your side it was easier and more bearable.

Going back to your sibling, you remarked a few thing after five month of them dating. The first one been , how tired they had become, mentally and physicly, always sleeping when she spend some of the weekend with you at your house. It was starting to affect her missions, her Captain who happened to be Price, was obligated to send her away few times.

You knew he remarked the changes but never adressed it, he had a soft spot for Ghost, making him turn a blind eyes at whatever this man do.

The second thing you remarked was the fact that they always put his need above their own, it was starting to get a troll on them.

Sometimes you can see them flich when he touch them, the fear in their eyes was unmistakable, you wanted to confront him but you were weak at that time, and you didn't have a position yet. You were a newbie, and the man could crash you with just his bare hand, so just like Captain Price you turn a blind eye, just this time. Which build a guilt that start eating you from the inside.

One night, as you were about to go on a mission with 141 team for the first time, you had catch Ghost criticizing them, with harsh words. You almost punshed him, but instead you recorded him, which you discovered to be a great idea in the future.

You wanted to push him away from them, and for that you will need evidence, Ghost was a respected man, but you were a powerful person now. You had the system by your side, meaning nothing could stand in your way, not even General Shepherd.

_Hey.

You turn to see your sibling, and you eyes almost popped out of your skull.

They looked too thin to be healthy, the color was drained off their face, as if a vampire just came and suck the blood out of their body. There was dark circles all around their eyes, and you could only guess that it was the result of sleep, or the lack of it in this case.

Her head was held down, an action out of their character. This wasn't you dear baby that used to held their head high no matter how hard the situation was.

They were almost unrecognizable.

What have you done? You found yourself thinking.

You could feel your blood boil, and without a second guess you took your phone called Laswell and asked for three month rest. For you and your sibling , and she given you, without asking why, but you felt as if she already knew.

Your sibling watched you with eyes widen in fear, they tried to talk to you out of it, as they start shacking like a leaf, but you had made you mind.

Caring them, bridal style, which wasn't hard, since they were as light as a feather, making you frown.

when was the last time she ate? You thought, walking to their room, that they practically shared with Ghost.

You helped them pack their clothes, actually... It was more, you throwing the clothes in the bag, as they tried to stop but the poor was too weak to even lift the cup on their own.

Throwing them over your shoulder, you took their bags and walked to the car before leaving for the next three months, and no one dared to ask, you were looking too much scary.

You knew you can't go to your old house, and it would be the first place Ghost will go chack after comming back from the mission andd fiding out you took his darling. So a hotel will be good until you find another house away from all of them. It would have enough sucurity to stop an army, and you were ready to pay the price, no matter how expensive, it would be, which wouldn't be hard, seeing as you had become rich, after your threatned the system about you telling the whole Call of duty's npc about how they were fake.

You money will never run out, as long as the system was here, you ruled the place.

Glacing at you sister in the back, you eyes soften as you saw her fast a sleep, but soon your jaw clenched, your hand gripped hard around the wheel almost breaking it, and your eyes had turn red from rage, after you remarke the purple bruises on her hand, . You almost run into a deer, as your fought your mind to not turn and hit the shit of that man.

Ghost would pay for this and you will make sure of it,you didn't care if he was a programmed npc, this was like a real world, you can called a parallel universe ,meaning everything that was happening was kind of real. So no more excuses, the man either be punished properly or died.

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Reader, John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Reader, Kate Laswell Additional Tags: Task Force 141, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Polyamorous Task Force 141 (Call of Duty), John Price Acting as Task Force 141's Parental Figure (Call of Duty), Task Force 141 as Family (Call of Duty), Eventual Romance, Human/Monster Romance, Monster Hunters

To far to touch -Ghost-

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, his therapist looking straight at him.

"Let's go through this again" Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he starts to focus on his finger tips, then his shoulders and his ears It was like he could feel your presence close by, walking through the hallways, taking a shower, sitting down to eat a meal. "She was my everything" He says outload. He remembers the way that you would hold out your hand as a way to invite him to sit with you. The clothes he would pick out for you when you would ask him to. The big smile that overcame most of your face when he would laugh at your jokes. "Then why did you kill them?" He felt his heart stop and his head light. During these moments when he was in this office he sometimes would remember that he is there and not somewhere with you. "What are you talking about?" his voice sounding a bit squeaky. "You don't remember Simon?" Think of the flowers, think of the hospital bed and the morning dew" He was close to crying at this point, his hands gripping the chair like it was going to be ripped from his grasp. "Y/N asked me to!" His breathing heavy and hard. "Y/n was ill" he said to himself.

You held his hand as he led you to the flowers, the roses that you guys had planted together many months before. The unforgivable favor, the whisper he still hears when the sun starts to show. "Put me to rest Ghost, put me out of this pain" He would wish that his gun might get stuck in the chamber when he set it against your temple. "Remember me always" "Always and forever" He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. "I don't know what your talking about" he would repeat as he does each day. When the cuffs are put back on his wrist and Price is walking him back to his cell, he can almost catch your perfume as if you were there with him.

I am not sure how i feel about this one exactly but maybe I will re write it down the line when I have more thought for it. I hope you enjoyed!

"Just, please... please. I'll beg."

Poly_TF_141 x sex-demon_reader Prt:2

Read part 1 here 》 ....

A_N:... Continuation of the previous! This is part two, and to do with Werewolf Soap going into 'heat' but not the abo kinda heat. Soo, expect more wolf like behavior, and again, the same warnings apply.

CW.|.TW:... Sexual content. Intended male reader. Bottom but Dom reader. Polly-cule TF 141. Religious depictions of demons. Allusion to Reader having an Eating Disorder and the recovery there of. Ghost x Soap x Reader

It had taken some time and effort, but finally, finally, you were OK with the casual emotion that the team shared with one another.

Being a permanent member of the team seemed to help. You even put on weight in the recent months that you've actually fed semi regularly, although it wasn't anywhere near what you should be getting but it was miles better then the months you used to starve through.

Price made sure that any time between missions, there was some form of sexual intention in his team.

Not the hardest thing when all of them have been intemit with each other for years before you joined in with the physical side of things. And Price let you have your fill of him whenever he saw that drop in you again.

But someone else came knocking that night.

A blushing Soap who was leaning heavily on your door frame, looking almost shy for his bulkier body. He hardly says anything as you beckon him in. Eyes still down cast even as he leaves the door ajar and is sitting all but an inch away from you.

"I wan'ed te ask ya if yeh would..." he starts, blush spreading down his neck. "Can ye. I just wanted.."

That's when you felt a pulse of a sweeter emotion, a spiking arousal that was tainted with a primal urge. This absolute need for something so deeply sexual it was practically making your mouth water.

"Your lycanthopic urge?" You question,

"Aye, my heat kinda snuck up on me." He answers with a curt nod. Still not looking at you.

Your fingers find his chin, easily lifting his stubble edged jaw, so he was nose to nose with you.

Soap had dilated pupils, only elipsed by this thin sliver of his irus. Those needs already making his mind want to lean in and chase those lips of yours. Instead, he flicks his eyes back up, that emotion growing thicker, sweeter, with the movement.

"Just please..." he half begs, already so desperate. "Please. I'll beg. I'll go away if ye don't wanna, but I just.."

"Ok, I will lend you help."

You've hardly gotten the sentence out before Soap jumps you. Stealing breathless kiss after breathless kiss.

Guiding your hands to his skin, slipping them under his clothes, and soaking in the warmth with your skin on his. He gets so touch starved, so sensitive to it, when he's like this.

You near fucking his throat with a long split toungue isn't helping him think any more coherently. He tried to ignore the gentle tangle of your hands as you started getting him undressed. Body more demonic with the crackling desires streaming from Johnny's need for intimacy.

"You still got your mind in one peace there lad?"

A deep rumble follows from the door, Ghost standing there with his head tilted. Commenting, "Dumb Mutt just got one thing on his mind."

"You came to watch or pass along something or another."

"Oh, I wanna watch."

Simon crosses the distance from the door to your bed in two quick strides, fingers gliding in the panting Soap's hair. Pulling him back by the grip he has on the werewolf's Mohawk.

"Mainly to see this one don't hurt ya, hun. But to see if yah would need help."

Johnny rolls his hips against your thigh, toungue lulling out past his fangs and bruised lips. Eyes unfocused as he tries to keep his body still while miserably failing.

"Can get a bit one tracked and forget who's helpen 'em. And Price warned me yah got a habit of ignoring yourself."

"Acceptable. Just help me strip him before he cums in his pants."

"Alright hun."

You end up kneeling with Soap, hopelessly humping against your thighs with you stretching out your back so you can reach for Ghost as he leans back. Your hands trace over the fat of his thighs before using your tail to wrap around Johnny's waist, keeping a firm grip to help him actually get what he wants.

His cock already painfully hard, pulsing with each beat his heart had. He was happy to be pulled to where you wanted him, all but panting into your nape as he ruts up against you.

It's always that first breach that knocks the breath from you, but Soap sits still after he's fully sheathed. Just trying to feel as much as he can with skin against skin as that lusty haze fills his mind.

When he does start moving, it's at a brutal pace. Hardly pulling out before shoving back in all the way. Jolting your whole body.

That thickly suffocating emotion had your throat vibrating in the closest thing your kin could produce to a purr. Easily keeping him steady and against you with your tail. You could feel his back tense and ripple with each roll of his hips, with your tail snugly against his waist as he licks along any skin he can.

You heal too fast for him to see the hackies he's working along your shoulders, but the darker marks of his teeth do stick just a bit longer.

It's Simon who traces the rivets of your ram like horns, eyes watching the hitch in your breath. Fingers ever so gentle as he traces all the dents and scrapes along them; careful to rub his palms down the curve against your skull. And you can taste the lust that's just as strong from him.

When Soap had cum with a snarl, as he bared his teeth against your spine, you could feel how the tired feeling was pulsing along the need to keep going. He was hard and needy as he couldn't set a rhythm with the fatigue settling along.

He must have tried to get off before getting the courage to ask for your help.

Feeling a bit sorry for the werewolf, you roll him over; turning to face Simon as you hover over Johnny's body. Watching as Soap mouths over Simon's dick through his boxers, those sex blown eyes watching him.

When you started the roll off your hips, against the shivering Soap who moans egging you on; you saw Ghost lift his gaze. Watching you ride the other with ease.

"Shit." Ghost comments,

He hefts himself up to his knees, nearly covering Johnny's face with his crotch. The wolf didn't seem to mind. Just mouthing and licking at all he could reach. Soaking more of the fabric with his spit.

"Price gave this view no justice when he told me 'bout it."

Redoubled your efforts as more warmth flooded you, but Soap didn't soften. He only meets every roll down with a thrust up.

"Don't know why any of you enjoy it, and not the action."

Johnny is whimpering under Ghost, body trembling in over stimulation. Mind lost in the throws of the absolute pleasure you're helping pump through his very soul.

"More ta do with ya looking like yah enjoying yaself then the act alone."

"You have to be none-"

Those fingers dance over your horns, finally pulling a quiet noise from you. He leaned into you, sharing the quick hiffs of air you're both taking.

"That," Ghost repeats the action. You don't moan this time, but the effect is still evident. "Is what we enjoy of this."

"Prove it."

"Gladly hun." Before his eyes roll back into his skull, "Fuck... watch the teeth soldier."

Soap had pulled his boxers off with just his teeth, getting to his dick. At the comment, Johnny bared his teeth against the intimate skin of Simon's inner thigh. So close to him that the danger runs his blood just that bit hotter.

And for all that Ghost likes the danger, that bit of pain, he doesn't actually want to bite him. And not nearly as hard as he bites at you.

"He will tire out soon, just a warning."

Simon clasps at your horns, pulling you closer by them.

"Not for long hun, he'll be up and wanting more in no time." He presses his lips against yours, mumbling with a smirk, "and I wanna tag team him when he does."

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part I

Warnings: torture, blood, pain, unconscious Ghost and basically kinda useless, really capable YOU persona ;), rushed writing, possible mistakes, reader is pretty neutral so far

P.S. Don’t judge the unexplained inconsistency of how a guy like Ghost gets captured, but spy you get to waltz around unbothered, yeah, you’re that good, so good you got plot armour. Besos!   

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the first time you meet it's messy. He's supposed to extract an agent from behind enemy lines but instead he gets captured

-  you pose as a computer science PhD who is in charge of the enemy base cyber security, when in reality you're there to install a backdoor with remote access.

- you know someone should come to help make your exit, but when no infiltration is reported panic starts to rise in your chest

- you start investigating, searching through the facility trying to find out if something happened.

- you gain access to a part of the facility you don't have clearance for.

- you stumble upon a gruesome scene in one of the holding cell in the underground levels

- you find a man tied to the ceiling, bare feet barely touching the floor, muscles stretching under the tension ready to snap

- a black hood is thrown over his head and he's shirtless, remnants of once black cargo pants hang on his hips.

- he was tortured, for days by looks of it

- you know enough about that to know that he hasn't cracked yet, otherwise he'd be dead not hanging there in the damp cold cell.

- you take your chances and take the hood off

- he groggily turns his head to look down at you, he’s a big that much you can say

- blonde whisps of hair matted to his scalp stained a dark red, pale skin the same blood oozing from small cuts on his cheeks dripping down on his pectorals. From behind black and blue and inflammation two brown eyes scan your face

- 'the wolf walks alone' you quietly utter the code phrase for identity verification

- he watches you like an owl watches a mouse with cautious patience but he gives no indication that he'll answer

- you can't stay there too long; someone might catch you here or someone could report that you never came back from the bathroom break

- you reach for the hood to place it back on the prisoner’s head, knowing that you can't do anything for him and in this state he can't even provide a distraction for you to slip out unnoticed

-as you get closer tiptoeing to reach above his head he grunts, you stop in your tracks making eye contact

- his dried and busted lips start to quiver you wait for a moment giving him a chance to prove you wrong

- 'But the pack's got its back...' he draws out in a deep guttural voice laced with a thick Manchester accent

- phrase matching your own, you get to work hastily finding a way to get him down

- as you unlock the chains wounded around his wrists you try to support his weight which proves impossible

- you barely manage to break his fall turning yourself in a cushion under his massive form

- you huff and try to pull him up ' I can't carry you' you mutter to him. 'You gotta get up, soldier' you try and nudge him, you slip and talk in the familiar British accent

- he stalls, taking in deep breaths trying to surpass the pain and ache, multiple bones broken, muscles tumefied, and skin bearing to many cuts and bruises. Blood covers him like a deathly veil

- he tries and with your help he manages to stand but he can barely walk on his own, he can barely see, he can barely think, having sustained multiple concussions

- with great difficulty you get moving, praying to yourself that the guard might be gone, taking a piss or having a smoke

- your prayers are answered, no one is on the otherwise busy hallways this late at night, many having called it a night going back to their rooms

- as you pass the med bay your quick thinking finds a credible disguise: you steal a lab coat and a doctor's key card, some glasses that make your vision blurry once you put them on, and get the wounded soldier in a wheel chair

-he huffs but you can clearly see the relief overtaking him as he no longer has to stand

-you throw a medical gown over him concealing the dried blood on his bare torso

-once you clean his face a little and bandage his whole head to cover his identity, you grab a few bottles of morphine and a med kit for later and push the wheelchair out the door

- you aim for the underground parking lot, where civilians’ workers such as your cover, keep their personal cars

-you hope that the sentinels stationed at the gates won't look too closely at your backseat as you carefully push the wounded man in the car

- everything goes smooth from there, the guards wishing you a good night, no questions ask as to your departure from the base

- once you get farther away you start speeding eyeing for any police cars that might stop you or any military vehicle that might chase you

- to your dumb surprise no one follows you the mountain road dark and deserted

- you head to your safehouse where you have stashed money, fake id's, a new disguise and another car.

- once you change everything and make sure that the soldier still breathes in the back of the SUV, after you've administered some first help giving him the relief of morphine, you burn everything down

- the wooden house the other car, everything, nothing can be left behind to be tracked to you or to the MI6, you have taken precautions that borderline OCD, but you know that you have to be through, no detail to small

- once you're back on the road you contact your handler, a tired voice but you can hear the sound of relief as he hears your voice

- he's pleased that everything went smooth, no alarm was triggered, no shot was fired, no chase happened and you even managed to save your would-be saviour, sent specifically to get you out of that den of wolves

- you announce your E.T.A. to the agreed pickup location and you are annoyed to hear you'll have to wait a bit, your nerves are starting to fray, and body to tire

- you don't have the manpower nor the firepower to make a stand in the woods until the heli gets there

-but you do as you're told, as always

- you grab the pistol you keep under the passenger seat and place it in your lap; the heaviness in your lap gives very little reassurance

- but not long passes and you can hear the lovely sound of an Apache helicopter

- in a whirlwind of dust and voices shouting out instructions both you and the soldier are placed in the metal beast's bowls

-you inform the medics of the dosage of morphine you gave to the soldier as they start hooking him to machines that monitor his vital signs

-you don't even know his name and he definitely doesn't know yours as per protocol, and you doubt you'll ever see him again

-you won't even be there when he'll wake up, he'll probably never know of your act of kindness; you could have left him behind but instead you risked your safety for his

- any other agent would've done it, but not you, you couldn't leave one of your own behind

- you still hold your breath, eager to cross the border and get back to HQ where meetings and debriefs will be held, and rapports will be written then redacted

-you expect the compliments at a job well done and the proud pats on the back from your superiors, even though for you that's just a show

- you know you will get a free month at best to recover and then you'll be shipped somewhere else to do it all over again

- it's a lonely life, and full of danger but it makes you sleep better at night knowing you helped soil some plans that could be used to hurt innocents

- once the pilot announces that you crossed the borders you slightly relax on the padded bench, closing your eyes in relief but not allowing yourself to fall asleep yet

- when you feel the heli dipping down towards the tarmac you open your eyes eager to get off the noisy thing and looking forward for some commodities you know wait ready inside the base

- you watch as the soldier gets rolled toward the med bay and you get pulled by a Sargent that informs you, he's there to take you to the commander of the base

- you'd hopped to at least get a few hours of sleep before the rounds of interrogations start, but the higher-ups are hungry for the confirmation of a successful mission

- you trudge behind the Sargent mentally preparing for the onslaught of questions and can't help but wonder what of the wounded soldier

-you subconsciously hope he'll pull through

Next part here.

this is so cute 😭😔

"You remembered." You state to Simon with wide eyes. Just a moment ago he came theough the door to your flat with a present bag and a cake.

The longer you looked at him the more tears that filled your eyes. It was your birthday, and everyone in your life had forgotten. But not Simon. He would mever forget something like this.

You never thought Simon of all people would be the one too remember. But little do you know he has had a countdown until your birthday on his for since you last birthday.

"Of course i did," He starts "I would never forget something so special." He finishes adoration in his eyes.

You practically race up to him and throw your arms around his waist, the tears dont stop as you sob into his chest. He moves both of you to a spot he can set the bags down and wraps both of his arms around you squeezing tight.

"I'm here, I'll always be here."

you know what.

I am so fucking tired of rape fics. I am a sexual assault survivor and you sexulise rape. why. why do I work so hard to get better and it all get ruined by some horny asshole just like last time. THESE CHARATERS DONT WANT TO RAPE YOU. rape is horrible, its NOT sexy. its traumatizing. why do you keep talking about it and writing about it. STOP MINIMIZING MY PAIN WITH YOUR DERANGED FANTASIES.

Simon Riley isnt a rapist

Leon Kennedy isnt a rapist

and belive it or not Jonathan Crane ISNT A FUCKING RAPIST

dont tell me not to kink shame

do not tell me to skip it

you cannot tell me that my trauma doesn't matter

STOP WRITING RAPE FICS

punk!simon and goth!reader bumping into each other at a goth/punk/alt convention and immediately falling head over heels for each other because ‘they’re so mesmerizing/he’s so gorgeous’

punk!simon asking goth!reader out to a date, the latter accepting so quickly he got a whiplash and feels the blood rushing to the tips of his ears and cheeks ‘thank god, i’m wearing my mask’ he thinks

punk!simon asking goth!reader to marry him relatively late in their relationship because he was searching for the perfect ring (dark metal with little diamonds and a huge, shiny black jewel being the center piece) with goth!reader happily accepting

punk!simon and goth!reader having a small wedding with only a few selected family and friends, dress code for the guests being white and only punk!simon and goth!reader wearing black

punk!simon wearing a suit, various pins and chains decorating it so he still feels comfortable, punk!simon not wearing his mask because he wants you to be able to see his face when he makes you his forever

punk!simon feeling his jaw go slack when you enter the ceremony with your parental figure by your side, wearing a black glittery princess style dress with skull accents and tulle, completing your marvelous look with a dark eye and lip makeup / wearing a dark colored suit with skull and dark metal accents

punk!simon and goth!reader reading their vows, exchanging rings and a (quite tame) kiss while (happy) teary eyes look upon the newlywed couple