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yawnderu · 2 months

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ANGEL — John Price x Reader x Simon Riley

WC: 6,048 | Part I

Deep down, you knew Simon's way of telling you it's over between you was the moment he gave you his captain's number. Every single message you left Simon was left unanswered, not even opened most of the time, leaving you hoping that perhaps he was simply busy with his missions.

His deployments are oftentimes stressful from what you saw every time he came back home to you, yet you stopped convincing yourself everything was alright after 7 weeks of no contact. Simon Riley is not a coward— not unless it comes to feelings. You're too good for someone like him, someone who could drop dead at any moment, whose only achievements come from killing, forever tainting his hands with blood he can't seem to wash off no matter how many long showers he takes.

He rationalized for months, thought about it— thought about leaving you, too. Yet that lost puppy look of pure trust you gave him every single time he fucked into you, pretty moans leaving your parted lips and soft hands exploring his clothed body, desperately wanting to feel his bare skin against yours, something he never had the heart to give you. Too tainted, too scarred, too ugly. So like a broken man wanting to keep you safe, he did the best with what he had, leaving his captain's number on your night table the moment he was done cumming.

Over 2 months later, Simon still remembers the feeling of your warm skin beneath his lips, the look of pure vulnerability and love plastered on your face, so angelic and pretty, a sheer contrast to the nervousness on his, despite how natural it was to treat you with a tenderness he's never had with anyone in his entire life.

“He fell from a helicopter?” Crinkled eyes meet yours from across the table, taking a sip of his drink before letting out a dry chuckle, nodding his head.

“Aye, hangin' from a bloody rope. Had me scared, thinkin' I lost my Sergeant.” John said with a grin, his gaze softening at the way you were listening so intently, your full attention on him no matter how boring he thought his stories were.

“Is he scared of getting into helicopters again?” You lean a bit closer to him, your chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. From this angle, you're able to admire John's features from up-close. Every single grey hair adorning his beard, his crow's feet, the tiny beauty mark on his nose, the tiny spots on his face, likely gotten from spending a long time under the sun as a soldier from a young age.

“Of course. Took him a while to trust our pilots again, now he always double checks his gear's on right.” Price always pays attention to detail, the way your pupils dilate the longer you stare at him don't go unnoticed in the slightest. He asks a passing waitress for a check, not even giving you a second to offer to pay for your half before his card is already in her hands, going away to charge him for the dinner and drinks.

“And how's… what was his name again? Soap?” He smirks at the mild confusion when using Johnny's callsign, likely assuming it's simply a sex innuendo.

“Soap, yeah. He's a good kid, kind o' like the son I never had.” That gets your attention, looking away for a second to hold back a small smirk before looking back up at him, eyebrows raised.

“You don't have children?” That earns a small chuckle out of him, shaking his head at the question. He gave the waitress a small smile as she came back with his card, pocketing it and getting up from his chair, offering his arm up to you. There's no hesitation as you hook your arm with his, walking to his car.

“Never had girlfriends after joining the SAS. Became a captain at a young age, too.” He looks down at you as you walk, admiring your pretty features, secretly wondering how Simon could have fucked up that badly— how he let such a lovely and sweet girl go. He opens the car door for you, even going as far as to help you put on your seatbelt, letting you have a whiff at his woody cologne, the smell of smoke from cigars mixing in.

“What about you? Any children?” He asks teasingly, shooting you a playful grin before starting the car, blue eyes fully focused on the road. Unlike Simon, Price knows how to drive well, making you feel safe while on the road.

“Hell no. I've been… thinking about it, but men my age were never interested in that.” Even if he was much older, Simon was never even an option. Too emotionally unavailable, too fucked up to even consider having children.

“Part of the reason I like older men.” Your voice is smooth and even, a sheer contrast to the slight knot of nervousness tightening in your stomach, only coming undone when you hear his amused laugh.

Price's calloused palm rests on the gear shift before daring to move it over to your thigh, running up and done slowly, trying to heat up your cold skin rather than doing it to be a pervert, yet your body still reacts to his touch, warmth pooling on your lower stomach.

“Really, sweetheart?” Price isn't stupid in the slightest, yet unlike Simon, his actions aren't malicious. He simply wants to see you squirm, finding pure amusement in the laugh you both share and the playful slap you give to his arm.

“Stop using your charm on me.” You scold jokingly, unable to hide the big grin taking over your pretty face.

“I'm charming now, eh?” His grip tightens on your inner thigh, applying just enough pressure to tease you.

“According to Simon, you always have.” That makes one of his thick eyebrows raise questioningly, his lips pulling into an amused smile.

“I've known him for a long time, y'know? Back when we I was an LT.” He can't help but allow his mind to go back into the past as he drives, images of the eager Simon Riley, a broken man who simply wanted to change the world, who always helped without even asking for much in return.

“Has be always been… like that?” You ask after a few seconds of silence, allowing yourself to be the cat curiosity killed.

“No.” The Simon Riley he met was not similar to Ghost in the slightest.

“He was 'round 19 when I met him. Better than any recruits I've seen.” Yet still teased by his mates for being an apprentice butcher in the past, for being so rigid and basing his entire life on discipline, unlike the many other young soldiers who have since passed.

“I bet. He has that certain look on him, you know? The eyes. I wouldn't want to mess with him.” Price lets out a dry chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. Part of him is glad that he's been working with Simon because it seems that to know more about you, he needs to know about Simon as well.

“We're here, doll.” He parks the car, getting out of his seat and opening the door for you, his calloused hand resting on your lower back, guiding you to your house. You can feel the warmth from his hand spreading all over your body, soothing rubs up and down your back as you walk.

“Would you like a cuppa?” Mirth dances in his eyes at the audacity, already knowing your intentions, and yet.

“Of course.” Price follows after you, part of him growing excited by whatever you have in mind. Your slightly shaky hands fiddle with the keys before you're able to open the door, secretly thankful that you cleaned up your mess earlier in the day.

“What tea would you like?” You ask, turning around just in time to see Price finishing the once-over he was giving you.

“This isn't about tea, is it, darlin'?” He asks with a knowing smile, his jacket slipping out of his shoulders now that you're both inside the house. Blown pupils stare back at him, taking your time to admire the strong body hugged by his tight black shirt. You can see his bulging muscles, broad shoulders fully relaxed as he steps forward, towering over you. A monument of sorts when you're small.

“If I'm lucky, I hope not.” Your breathy voice was all Price needed as reassurance. His lips crash against yours, warm hands gripping your waist tight enough for you to feel the warmth spreading all over your lower body. The smell and taste of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses, too enthralled by the feeling of his tongue wrapping around yours, a small moan leaving your lips the moment his hand trails down to your ass, groping you with care, as if you're made of glass.

“How far do you wanna go?” His forehead leans against yours as his blown pupils stare back at you, his chest rising up and down with each breath.

“As far as you want to.” A small yelp leaves your lips when he lifts you in his arms, your legs instantly wrapping around his strong, muscular waist.

“Bedroom's there.” You don't even need to point— Price can see the open door, so enticing and tempting, allowing your small giggle to consume his whole soul like a siren's song. With carefulness that contrasts the brutality he uses as a soldier, Price sets you down in bed, strong arms on each side of your head, caging you in.

Your breaths mingle together as he leans down to kiss you again, warm tongues wrapping around the other, using his knee to spread your legs enough for his burly body to fit, subtly grinding against your clothed cunt.

“Been wantin' to do this for a long while.” Ever since Simon showed him your profile picture on WhatsApp, introducing you as a friend in need. He wouldn't dare confess it to anyone, not with the way his calloused hand rubbed his cock until it almost hurt, using your pretty face as a relief from the stress of war.

“Pretty fuckin' girl.” He praised, dragging a giggle out of you the moment his beard started tickling your neck, gentle kisses planted all over your warm, sensitive skin, his tongue darting past his lips to give your neck a tantalizing lick.

He can feel your hands exploring his strong body, his muscles bulging and tensing up beneath your soft palms. He only breaks apart the moment your hands go to the hem of his shirt, helping you pull it off of his body, the piece of clothing discarded on the floor.

“God…” Your whisper holds nothing but pure admiration, catching hints of his strong, muscular body, dark hair covering most of it. Your hand drifts up to his torso, caressing his surprisingly soft skin, not minding the scars you can feel beneath your hand. Price has been shot, stabbed, tortured, left for dead— his body acting as a keepsake of every mission gone wrong.

His gaze is soft as he stares down at you, holding a tenderness unlike a man like him, so naturally gentle and willing to show it without the walls guarding his heart— unlike Simon. His calloused hand rubs your thigh before drifting up to the hem of your blouse, carefully pushing it up and removing it with your help.

“Pretty girl.” His back bends slightly as his gentle lips now go to your bare stomach, planting a rapid-fire of kisses all over the soft skin, descending with each passing second, lifting your skin up to reveal your clothed cunt.

“I'll take care of you.” And he means every single word. Captain Price is a bad man, a bad man with a high kill-count and multiple war crimes to his name, yet John Price is a different story— caring and loving, so willing to fix something he didn't even break.

His eyes close the moment his lips connect to your mound, tongue darting out to get a taste at all he's been craving the moment he saw you. He lets out a small groan as the taste of your slickness overwhelms his senses, his hands roaming up and down your waist, daring to sneak past your bra, finally getting a good feel at your tits.

John is a starved man. A starved man whose only salvation is you, looking so pretty and sweet, panties wet with a mix of his saliva and your own slick. He's careful and gentle, pulling down your panties with both hands and dropping them on the floor, his breath catching in his throat when his gaze drifts down to your pussy, glistening under the light of your bedroom.

He doesn't waste any time, lowering himself again between your legs, licking a trail from your tight hole, to your swollen clit. Your legs try to close out of instinct, a whiny moan making its way out of your lips at the sensation of his beard against your cunt.

“Open your legs, love.” He whispered, running his thumb over your hard bud.

“Let daddy taste you.” He kisses your inner thigh before diving back in, licking and sucking on your clit, trying his best to make you feel good. Your moans are too pretty, your cunt too sweet, and Price can feel himself starting to lose control. His cock throbbed, his own desire growing stronger by the second, focusing solely on your pleasure.

“That's my good girl.” He whispered against your skin, sliding two thick fingers inside you. You're soaking wet yet still so tight, only making his desire grow, desperately needing to be inside you. Your whiny moans fuel him, his warm tongue flickering against your hardened clit faster and faster, mixing in with his sucking, his thick fingers curling inside your needy cunt.

Your hands run through his short hair, pulling at it softly to release some of the pleasure building in, the familiar knot in your stomach tightening up with each lick. Your chest rises up and down with each long, labored breath, muscles tensing up as the knot in your stomach finally comes undone, pushing his face closer to your cunt as his fingers move in and out, dragging out your orgasm.

He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, his blue eyes connecting with yours as he licks his fingers clean from your cum, your heart thudding loudly inside your chest.

“Fuck me.” That breathy whisper was all he needed, getting up only to slip out of his pants and boxers, his dick standing proudly. Despite being uncircumcised, you can see his dark pink tip, leaking precum like a broken faucet. Now that he's standing, he takes his time to admire your bare body, his blue eyes going to your tits when you take off your bra.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?” The option is always there, and he wants you to know. His knees sink into the mattress as he supports his body on top of yours with one hand, lining his hard cock with your entrance, pausing for a moment.

“Let me love you.” He whispered hoarsely, slipping into you gently despite his primal instincts telling him otherwise. He lets out a loud groan the moment your tight walls grip his throbbing cock, his face finding shelter on the crook of your neck. A small hiss makes its way out of your lips as your legs wrap on his hips, pushing him closer and deeper, allowing him to finally bottom out.

“Bloody hell— you're so tight.” He moans out, his thrusts growing faster as you get used to his thickness. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with desire and adoration, longing dancing within. John's lips part as he feels your long nails dragging down his back, driving him crazy with pure need.

“I'm close.” He whispers out, his hips ramming against you with increasing urgency, reaching out to caress one of your soft tits. He plants open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest, his breath warm against your sweaty skin.

“Cum inside.” John's eyes widen at your words, his dominant nature taking over as his hands go down to grip your hips firmly in place, the overwhelming desire and pleasure clouding his judgement, drowning out any concerns. His thrusts are deep and powerful, making you his with an unyielding force.

As he loses himself in the heat of the moment, John's muscles tense up, the familiar feeling of pure heat pooling up within him, slamming himself as deep inside you as he can before his cock starts throbbing, shooting ropes of cum with each pulse. His breath is heavy as he slowly pulls out of you, his gaze fixated on the mess of mixed fluids that coats your pretty cunt.

“My pretty girl.” He whispers out, burly arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer to his hairy chest, allowing you to hear his fast-beating heart. His lips are gentle against your forehead, wanting nothing more than to relax with you after the intense love-making. His actions are nothing short of genuinely caring and loving, wanting to give you good aftercare, all thoughts of Simon finally out of your head.

“Want me to run you a bath?” Price asks in a whisper, planting one last kiss on your forehead before looking down, just to see your chest moving up and down slowly, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, pulling you closer to his warm, naked body so you can sleep better, deciding to get some well-deserved rest as well.

The smell of eggs and tea is what you woke up to in the morning, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. The feeling of large fabric keeping your body warm makes you look down, just realizing that John put his large shirt on your body when you were sleeping, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you get up from bed, making your way to the kitchen.

“Good mornin'.” John turns around for a second, blue eyes lighting up when he's greeted by a big smile and his shirt dwarfing your body, giving you a small wink before he's back to finishing your breakfast. You take your time to admire him, so naturally handsome and masculine, his hairy, strong body only having his boxers on.

“Thanks, daddy.” You quip teasingly as he hands you the plate, a small squeal leaving your lips when he starts to chase you around the house, shared laughs ringing around.

Dating John is a sheer contrast to any expectations you had when you first got into the relationship. Despite the fact that he's often away during missions, he has scheduled delivers for flowers and your favorite foods, calling with you the moment he's available.

“What are you doin'?” Price asks with a small smirk, his gaze softening the moment his eyes meet yours, your cheek resting on his strong thigh while he was trying to complete a report. His hand goes to your head out of pure muscle memory, giving your scalp a soft massage.

“I like you from this angle.” He lets out a small chuckle, moving his leg to make your position more comfortable as you nuzzle his leg, your chin now resting on it as you adjust your knees on the floor.

“You like me in every angle.” A grin spreads on his face, his calloused hand running down the length of your hair before resting on your back, massaging the muscles tenderly.

“True, but specially from this one.” The cheeky smile you throw his way does nothing other than to distract him further from his report of the latest mission, cupping your cheek to examine your pretty features better under the light of the room, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

“You're clingier than my shadow.” He teases, leaning forward until his lips meet yours in an affectionate kiss, not bothered by your clinginess in the slightest. He breaks away just to give your forehead a tender kiss, staring down at you lovingly. The look of pure trust and love your eyes hold drags him back to one of the many late night conversations with Simon back at base.

“Y'like her?” Simon finally dares to ask, ignoring the growing pain on his lower stomach at the idea of you dating John, even if it was Simon's idea.

“Do you?” Price quips, already knowing the reply. There's been more than one occasion where he saw Simon stare at your WhatsApp profile picture, even if your number was deleted— he still keeps your messages, using it as an odd way of finding comfort despite the growing self-loathing from hurting you.

“You know I don't do that.” There's hints of regret spilling along Simon's deep voice, his bare fingers drumming on the cup of tea on his hand.

“Do what?” He already knows the answer, and yet.

“Love. 'M gonna get the poor girl killed.” Memories of Christmas haunt him even years later, his mind momentarily taken back to coming home just to find his entire family dead. All that blood, yet all his shattered mind was able to do was laugh even as he held a gun to his mouth.

“She'll be fine, Simon. The girl knows how to handle herself. Hell, I'm getting her a better security system soon, too.” Despite being in a committed relationship with you, John knows Simon well enough to know he still likes you, in his own way. He's seen Simon break down, seen the worst and the best of him, and eventually got to see the way he built himself back up, coming back to the SAS as Ghost.

“Wha'? You want me to date her, too?” Even if he asked it as a joke, Price's silence and the subtle shrug of his shoulders speaks louder than words.

“I know what you've been through, son. Think about it, you mean a lot to the bird.” John empties the rest of his tea down the sink, giving Simon one last pat on the shoulder before walking out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

“I'll go get it.” John is brought back to reality with the soft knocks on the entrance door, tilting his head up as you plant a kiss on his cheek. You make your way up to the door, your heart beating inside your chest when you look through the peephole, a familiar pair of dead brown eyes staring back. There's slight hesitation as your hand goes to the doorknob, resting there for a few seconds before you decide to open the door.

“Simon?” Despite the dark hoodie over his head, you can tell he hasn't been doing well, his skin looking more pale than usual, dark eyebags making him resemble more a raccoon than a man.

“'M sorry.” He mutters, hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket, lowering his gaze with nothing but pure shame.

“That's it?” Your guarded tone makes a part of him feel proud that you're not a doormat anymore.

“No. I'm sorry for… ignoring you, and for being a cunt.” His gaze finally meets yours. You can see the shame, the regret, and the pain.

“I was scared.” I wish I could tell you I survive out there because I don't want to leave you yet. Your lips part, though you decide to be quiet for now.

“I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you why this shite happened.” Despite the way his hands are fidgeting inside his pockets, he's trying his best to be as honest as possible while avoiding dumping his trauma on you.

“That's bollocks, mate.” Price's voice almost scares the soul out of you, turning around to shoot him an exasperated look. For a man his size, he moves with surprising quietness. You can feel his burly arms wrap around your lower body, bringing you closer to him.

“Give 'er a proper apology.” Despite the hesitation Simon feels, the space Price left open for him is all he needs. You can feel another pair of arms wrapping around your body, the familiar scent of cheap fags and gun powder hitting your nose, bringing you back to all those nights you shared.

It's an awkward hug, a mess of limbs and warmth that you finally decide to take in, your arms wrapping around Simon's narrow waist, bringing his body closer to you despite the way his muscles tense up at the sudden contact. You can feel him relax with your touch, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“'M sorry.” He repeats in a whisper, his cold face finding shelter on the warm crook of your neck, the urge to kiss you again growing stronger by the second, though he remains respectful. You can feel John's cock starting to harden against your ass, making you look up and give him a confused look. His hand goes up to grip your jaw softly, his lips crashing against yours as he starts to subtly grind against you, only making the confusion grow.

Simon's hold on your body tightens, the familiar sensation of his lips against your neck drags a small moan out of you, muffled in John's mouth. His tongue wraps around yours, your breathing growing more labored by the second, soft hands curling on Simon's muscular back, barely able to hear the door closing until you decide to break away from the kisses.

“What's going on?” The nervous laugh that leaves your lips is only met by a reassuring look coming from Price, his calloused hand running up and down your side.

“Part o' the apology you deserve, love.” You don't even have time to answer— not when Simon's rough lips meet yours, the kiss nothing but a pure display of love and affection. Even a ghost can be a lovely thing when you want it to be.

You can feel John's calloused hands drift down to the pajama shorts you're wearing, sneaking a few squeezes on your ass before his hand sneaks past your panties, using two of his fingers to feel your wet cunt, spreading your slick all over. His lips are now busy on your pretty neck, licking and sucking freely, not caring about any love bites he leaves— he knows you don't mind either.

You can hear his hard breathing against your tender skin, your tongue dancing with Simon's, hands desperately sneaking under his shirt, groping his hard, defined muscles. You can feel the bulging scar on his ribs, caressing it with extra care just to show him every single part of his heavily scarred body is loved.

“I missed you.” Simon breaks away from the kiss only to whisper that in your ear, his rough hand already going up to your tit, squeezing the soft fat while all you can do is moan, the combined sensations of the strong men touching you does nothing but drive you closer to the edge, your wet walls tightening around John's fingers, forcing you to squeeze Simon's bicep to release some of the tension.

“Fuck, daddy—” Simon's breath hitches at your words despite knowing you're talking to John, his own cock throbbing at the slight whine in your tone. His hands go to your waist, holding you up as your eyes finally shut, your forehead resting on Simon's chest as John's fingers move faster and deeper inside you, lazily rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your knees start to buck, more whiny and louder moans leaving your lips as you cum all over his fingers, nails digging into Simon's arm.

“That's a good girl.” Price praises in a breathy whisper, delicately pulling his fingers out of your pulsating cunt, taking a second to admire the way his fingers glisten with your slick.

“Taste her.” Simon is a man with no shame. No shame at all, making eye contact with you as he starts to suck his captain's fingers, putting them in his mouth just to taste more of your sweet slick. The hungry wolf is reduced to a starving dog, a small groan leaving his lips the moment your taste is all over his tongue.

He pulls John's fingers out of his mouth once he finishes licking them clean, your mouth opening ajar when Simon's lips crash against his, your heart beating loudly inside your chest as you watch them kiss. You can see their tongues dancing together, sharing your sweet taste in a passionate kiss, Simon's grip tightening around your waist.

They break away after a few seconds, looking up just to be met by Simon's cheeky smirk. He pushes you further into the house, fingers intertwining with yours as he walks into the bedroom like he owns the place, yet in reality, it's simply something he's done way more times than he can count.

“Pretty fuckin' girl.” His hold is all but gentle as he lays down in bed, pulling you on his lap, allowing you to feel the way his hard cock bulges on his jeans, calloused hands going to your ass to make you grind against him, whiny moans leaving your lips at the friction against your sensitive cunt.

You can hear a zipper going down behind you, only making the excitement grow at the idea of seeing your boyfriend's bare body again— no matter how many times you've seen it already. Price's knees sink on the mattress, burly arms wrapping around your waist, grabbing one of your hands just to guide it to his hard cock. Your hands wrap around it, starting to rub him up and down slowly until his fingers join yours, speeding up the movement.

“Tell me you wanna fuck him.” His voice is a whispered command, a dominance you've never heard before— and one Simon has heard too many times during missions.

“I wanna fuck Simon.” You confess, your back pressing against John's strong, hairy chest as you jack him off, your soft palm rubbing against his sensitive tip, dragging a small grunt out of him as you smear his precum all over his throbbing cock. His free hand goes to your back, pushing you down against Simon as you let go of his cock with a small whine of protest.

Simon is desperate and needy— that much you can tell by the way he removes his clothes with an eagerness you've never seen before. You take your time to admire his strong body, pale skin tattered by scars, yet looking so alluring. You adjust your position as he tries to remove his pants, exchanging a small laugh at the awkward position you're in.

He looks more relaxed and honest than you've ever seen, his eyes crinkling as you're getting your shorts and panties pulled down by Price, finally resting your naked body on top of his. It's a new change of pace for both of you— Simon doesn't like to give up control, doesn't enjoy being dominated, it's too personal and vulnerable, yet for you? He's willing to try anything.

“Show him how you much you missed him.” John's soft command makes you nod your head, looking over your shoulder just to feel his lips against your back, his hand coming up to your jaw to turn your face back to Simon. Simon's calloused hand goes down to his throbbing, veiny cock, waiting until you lift your hips up to line himself up to your cunt, a low groan leaving his lips as your tight walls wrap around him, your back arching once he bottoms out.

“Fuck, Simon…” Your face rests against the crook of his neck, planting kisses all over his warm skin as he starts to fuck into you, the wet sounds of your sopping cunt and needy moans filling the room.

Simon's eyes are closed, fully taking in the sensation of finally having your naked body on his after so many months apart. His hands explore your body with familiarity, bringing one of your hands up to his face to make you cup his cheek, gentle kisses planted over and over on your thumb.

You're too far gone to notice John coming up from behind you, keeping you against Simon's body while his free hand rubs the lube all over his veiny cock, a small smirk pulling on the corners of his lips at how much you're both enjoying each other. You're dragged back to reality when you feel his tip pressing against your tight cunt, already full with Simon's cock.

“It's not going to—” Price pacifies you with another kiss on your bare, sweaty back, slowly pushing in.

“I'll make it fit.” He reassures, a deep moan leaving his lips once he manages to slip his thick tip inside you, giving you time to adjust to the sensation before slowly pushing the rest of his cock inside you, pausing once he bottoms out to give you a well-deserved break.

“Fuckin' hell.” Simon groans out, his face scrunching up at how much tighter your cunt feels now that you have two cocks inside you. His short nails lightly dig into your skin, already feeling so close to the edge despite the fact you're just getting started.

You let out a short exhale once they both start moving, cocks rubbing together inside your tight walls, the sensation of being stretched this much starting to feel better by the second, every single nerve inside your cunt being stimulated. You pull Simon for another kiss, feeling his hand coming up to the back of your head just to pull you closer, wanting to feel more of your tiny tongue licking his.

You're a mess of limbs— sweaty bodies colliding, feeling their muscles tightening up around your soft, smaller body. Simon's moans are muffled by your lips, not letting you pull away from the kiss in slight embarrassment at letting you hear the neediness seeping out of his tone.

Their hips move in a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, forcing your back to arch, only giving them a better angle to fuck into you. Price's hands go up to your soft tits, squeezing and groping as he moves faster and deeper inside you, his breath hot against your ear.

“I'm… I'm gonna cum.” You manage to whisper between moans, muffled once again by Simon's rough lips. The overwhelming sensations build within you, the familiar sensation of your muscles tensing up and fingers tingling starts to grow stronger by the second, the intensity of your connection with both men driving you over the edge.

The sensation of one of their cocks hitting your cervix over and over makes you whine softly, muscles tensing up as they sandwich your bodies between them, finally letting go, your orgasm washing over you as your walls wrap tighter around their cocks, your fingers digging into Simon's skin. It doesn't take long for them to follow after you, fucking into you as deep as they can as they release a thick load into you, cocks pulsating with each rope they shoot.

They remain buried inside you for a moment, chests heaving as they try to catch their breaths. Price is the first one to pull out, watching as their combined cum seeps out of your spent pussy before he lays down next to Simon, your warm body being pulled to the side as Simon lays on his side, his cock still buried inside you even while he's softening.

“I love you.” He finally confesses, tired eyes meeting yours for a second before shutting again as Price embraces you from behind. Your leg is resting over Simon's body, making the position a lot more comfortable as you bring his face closer to your chest.

“I love you too. Both of you.” You whisper, tiredness slowly taking over your body, not even realizing that Simon is already asleep, his face buried on your soft tits. Price lets out a small chuckle, planting gentle kisses all over your warm back, his hands lightly gripping your stomach as a way to let you know he loves you, too.

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 7 months

Text

where you both find what was lost

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Chef F!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only.

LENGTH: 3.8k

You briefly forget you lived a whole life without him.

< Prev Part

_____

Every day you try not to think about what it would have done to him to wake up alone to a cold bed, and every day, you fail.

It wasn’t that long ago when you used to think he was unreachable and impenetrable, a castle so thoroughly fortified that there was no hope of you getting through. Bits of the facade had slipped away over the years exposing the interiors to you—sometimes substantial chunks of it in a landslide, but more often than not through the kind of work that left you with bloodied, cracked fingernails as you desperately dug for some give.

It makes you want to resent him for it.

You want to resent that being with him had turned you into someone you never thought you could be—someone who’d been ground down to a point where you couldn’t recognise the person staring back at you in the mirror.

And yet…when you think about him, it’s not resentfulness you feel. No, when you think about him, you find yourself ready to fight the laws of nature.

You find that you’re prepared to hold him together with your bare hands when he threatens to come apart, willing to rage against the natural order of death and decay to pull him out of the rotting ground. You know that you’d pluck the stars from the skies for him with a smile if he asked, uncaring for your burning palms. You’d do anything for him.

But some days are harder than others.

Thinking about when you’d last seen him makes your body physically cringe from the memory.

He’d fallen asleep next to you. A moment as rare as it was precious, and you’d cherished it, traced his features with your eyes for hours. You’d burrowed into him, put your head on his chest so you could hear his heart. You’d brushed his hair back from his face when his brows had furrowed and his fingers had twitched, he’d even said your name in his sleep. You’d soothed him best you could, and then you’d left.

Looking back, leaving wasn’t the hardest thing you’d done. No, it was the false hope you’d given him by showing up at his door at all—you regretted that, more than anything. He wouldn’t say it—you didn’t think he was capable of saying it—but you knew he’d hoped that you’d stayed.

After all, you know that in his own way—in the tattered, visceral way a man like him was capable of—he loved you. Looking back now, you knew he loved you unconditionally—beyond reason and without fault. That had never been the problem.

But it took leaving Simon Riley to realise that you had been clawing at a fortress that turned out to be made of glass after all, and a thousand shallow cuts could still bleed you to death.

But the more you think about it, the more you realise how less it all matters. He did what he did to protect himself and you, in the best way he knew how, and it still changed your life, the very fabric of your being altered by a love that continually stayed just out of reach. You weren’t sure what he was to you anymore, if anything at all, but somehow, his absence made you want to be a better person.

As time passed, you found yourself reflecting on your time together fondly—he’d liked your cooking, and so you tried to make more of an effort to feed yourself on your days off from work. He’d worried about your safety, and while you didn’t share in his paranoia, you took yourself to a self-defence class. Just once, for fun. You stocked your preferred brand of wine at home, but now there were bottles of IPA in the fridge too—a new one every other week, just to try. All because of that one time you’d offered one to him, and the face he’d pulled had made you belly-laugh. His eyes had softened, and he’d kissed you, brushing his thumb across the apple of your cheek. And then he’d reached for his regular, predictable bottle of beer.

But life went on, as it tended to. You tried your best not to think of him actively and on purpose, but you found that he invaded every thought anyway. You hoped he was okay. You hoped that he’d found the feeling of peace and safety that he’d so needed. And through it all, your life continued its unrelenting march forward, giving you no choice in the matter, paying no attention to how much you wished to turn back time.

A year passes before you hear from him, and an infinite amount of moments whizz past you at the speed of light while you stand, frozen, looking at your phone in a daze at the words that follow his name. When you look up, it feels like the universe has gotten a couple of degrees warmer. You understand intimately the hold he has on you—absolute and without any give—but the short message from him after all this time has you clutching at your chest.

So when he asks you for your time, you acquiesce. You’ve always known that your inability to say no to him would be the death of you, but what more have you got to lose, you figure.

What’s an hour or two at a coffee shop with a man who won’t stop haunting you?

____

He’s waiting for you when you arrive—just as big and broad and beautiful as you remember. He sits at a table by the window, his gaze fixed at the door when you walk in.

The first thing that catches your attention is the blonde mop of hair that looks dishevelled and unruly and sticks out in all directions. You know first hand how his hair feels, and you want to reach out and touch it, run your fingers through what you know are soft strands of gold.

But most importantly—no mask.

And then you notice something else. There’s no one else in the cafe, just the two of you. You follow his quick glance outside, and see the glimpse of a familiar mohawk in a Jeep outside, and you instantly roll your eyes at his melodrama.

When you take a seat in front of him, he slides a drink in front of you, and when you reach out to take it, he touches your hand instead. Your eyes shoot up immediately and…it makes you feel a certain way about the situation you’ve found yourself in. You look at him, really look at him, in his standard dark hoodie and jeans, the slight tilt to his head while he considers your reaction, and despite everything, a smile breaks across your face.

You love this man. You will always love this man. Regardless of what he wants to say to you, that will never change.

It comforts you greatly when his own eyes crinkle in response.

“Hi, love,” he whispers, and the exhale of your answering sigh feels like you’re finally beginning to release the hurt you’ve held onto all this time—the uncertainty of not knowing, the hollowness that his absence brought, all of it.

“I’ve missed you,” are the first words you say to him, and his brows furrow slightly. It’s only a split second later and you’re regretting your words, knowing that he maybe doesn’t want to hear them, and why on Earth would you open with this anyway—

“Me too, pet. S’why I…thank you for comin’.”

“I—yeah, of course.”

Knowing he needs a moment to collect his thoughts, you look down at his fingers, curled around his cup in a death grip and he flexes them slightly, then releases the cup. You watch as he brings his fingers close to yours again , and in almost comical levels of slow motion, the tips of his fingers touch yours. When you don’t pull away, he exhales, audibly, and you have to wonder what he’s thinking about.

When a few moments pass in silence, you lean forward, and squeeze his fingers.

“Simon…why am I here?”

“I…I’m seein’ someone. Price made me go after…well. He made me go. Get it free through work anyways, thought it couldn’t hurt. Help me sort some shit up here,” he clarifies, pointing at his temple. “Wanted to let you know,” he adds.

The words don’t compute for a single second, but when they do your surprise makes you jerk back in your seat. “Like…therapy? You’re seeing a therapist.”

“Mm.”

“Fuck, Simon, I—that’s fantastic! How has it been?”

Conflicted green eyes meet yours quickly, then dart away again, outside the window. “Hard. Feels pointless some days, but doc says m’doin’ good.”

“Oh, Simon,” you breathe, and this time you feel a warmth in your chest you hadn’t expected to. You recognise it for what it is—the joy of seeing someone you love get the help they deserve after having denied themselves of it for so long. It brings a kind of warmth that feels both privileged and special, but also a bit like coming into a warm home after a hard day. You feel lucky to have it, but you know how fragile it is anyway.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say sincerely, and he nods, but his eyes stay fixed on a point outside the window.

You use the hand currently not entwined with his to take a sip of your drink and decide to wait him out. What now, you wonder. And while he watches the early autumn sky, you take the opportunity to watch him.

When he finally opens his mouth to speak, his words are gruff, but soft, in a tone that is so endearingly Simon. But what you’re not prepared for, what you could never have been prepared for is what he says. “I hurt you…” he starts. “I know that. Hurt the one thing in my life tha’ matters.”

When you don’t respond, too shocked, too overwhelmed, too wrecked to say anything at all, he continues. “I’d like the chance to fix things, love…if you’ll ‘ave me.”

And that’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? He’ll try his best to fix everything between the two of you as far as he can, you do believe him. He’s a fortress, after all, with a back broad and strong enough to carry the both of you. He’s reliable and steadfast in his conviction, and you know, you know that he’ll take care of you.

If you’ll have him.

But…you had had him. In the limited way he’d allowed, you’d had him for two years. And where had that gotten you? Just thinking about it again leaves you feeling like there’s a twisted, gnarled pit in your stomach.

“Simon,” you start. “I don’t—look, I’m happy for you. Really really pleased, but. I don’t think we’re good for each other.” You take a deep breath and steel yourself against what you’re about to say next, knowing what it will do to him. “I don’t think us being together is good for me.”

At your words, he closes his eyes and winces, turning his face away like he’s been slapped. But still he doesn’t let go of your hand, his fingers lovingly curled around yours. “I know I deserve that,” he says, hoarsely. “Know I fucked up. But I can’t–can’t accept this for us, pet. I won’t.” When he looks back at you, you can see a mirror’s reflection of your own exhaustion staring back at you on his face. He brings your intertwined fingers up to his mouth and kisses them. “Know I can make you happy, love.”

“You hurt me, Simon. Your actions, your words, how you were with me.” Your voice takes on an embarrassing wobble, and your eyes are so teary that you can’t even see him anymore. “I don’t know if I have it in me to do that shit again.”

He’s on his feet at once, rounding the table and kneeling by your feet. Your hand grips him like a vice, fingernails biting into his palms, but he doesn’t even flinch. When he looks up at you—dark, mossy-green eyes filled with the tangible evidence of how difficult the last year has been for him —it pushes you over the edge, and you sob softly. This was not what you wanted. None of this was what you’d wanted.

“Why didn’t you…where were you?” you hiccup. “Why did you wait so long to come back to me, Simon, it’s been a fucking year! I thought you’d moved on and—”

“No! Never, love, I can’t move on—don’t want to—without ya. But I had to take the time. I know I made you feel like you were dispensable to me, or replaceable. Know I refused to give you what you deserve. But when you fuck things up like I have, you don’t half arse shit. You don’t—don’t repeat y’mistakes. You go to your girl, and you beg.”

He reaches up to touch your cheek softly and you lean into it, sighing deeply. “I don’t know what the right thing is to do, Simon. You broke my heart and I love you, I love you so much, I never stopped, but I don’t trust you anymore and I don’t know if I can.”

“Love you, sweetheart,” he whispers back. “Never stopped.”

The sincerity in his words only inspires fresh tears.

____

When you return from the ladies’ room, he’s not in his seat. But before you can panic, you see him standing just outside the entrance to the cafe, his back to you and his arms crossed over his chest. When you join him, he wordlessly offers you a cigarette—his own—and lights a fresh one for himself. It’s completely silent for a few moments, just your collective breathing, and the crackling of the cigarettes.

After all this time, Simon seems different to you. It’s still him, of course, but something’s changed. You can’t seem to put your finger on it, how he’s still the same man, but not hiding like he used to. How he carries the same darkness, but it's tinged with greys now. How he seems to wear his heart on his sleeve, but not quite.

“How’s work?” he asks, suddenly, and you scoff.

“For real?”

“Yeah, why not, love?”

“Work—work’s good. Busy, but good. What, uh, what about you? Saved the world, yet?”

“More times than you know.”

It draws a smile from you, and while he doesn’t quite smile, his eyes soften.

Your own falters before it falls. “I don’t know where to go from here, Simon.” You reach out to him and grab his hand, and he gives it to you easily, almost without a thought. Eager to establish contact with his warm skin, you intertwine your fingers again. “Tell me about therapy.”

Simon sighs heavily. “S’hard. There’s so much. Want to be better though. Better for you, better for…work. S’just a lot.” He sneaks a glance at your hands clasped together. “I wanted to come see you before. Some time ago. Doc told me not to and he was right. I wasn’ ready.”

“And you are now? Ready, that is?”

“I don’t mean to bring up bad memories. But I will give you new ones, pet. Happy ones. Will you trust me?”

He’s hurt you. He’s made you feel small and perhaps used you to insulate his own heart. But…you also love him. And he loves you. The whole time you were together, this is what you’d wanted. This is what you want now.

You hesitate, wavering on your feet. “I…don’t know.” You say the words tentatively, but when you look up into his eyes, you see that he wants this very much. It’s perhaps the only thing that encourages you in that moment. “I want to.”

Your response seems to hurt him somehow—his face crumples—but he doesn’t push you any further. “I know I’m goin’ to have to come to terms with this.” At your enquiring look, he turns to face you entirely and cups your face in his hands. “I want to believe that I can have you and keep y’safe at the same time. M’workin’ on it.”

“You have to let it go, Simon. Or you’re never going to find peace. You’ll never be truly happy.”

He quiets then, his quota of words exhausted for the moment, and you continue to look up at him. You don’t know what to say to him at that moment which feels like it goes on forever. A thousand infinities spent staring at the man you want a future with, a man who’s broken your heart an innumerable number of times, a man you will always love, a man who says he wants to fix things with you.

You think you can see it clearly now. The millions of billions of threads that bind the two of you together, ensnared into a ball of yarn so tightly knit, it has no hope of being unknotted. Bright and beautiful, colours ranging from the shades of greys he lives in to the infinite hues and tints and tones he inspires in you, but hopelessly snarled in and around itself.

Every time before this you’d tried to disentangle yourself from him—the memory of his voice, the feeling of his skin against yours, the future you’d made up in your mind—it had left you with more knots than when you started. There was no winning.

“I don’t want to presume that everything’s okay now, love. Know I’ve got some grovellin’ to do. But—”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If I told you that I wouldn’t do this with you, wouldn’t be able to give you a chance, what would you say?”

He swallows, and takes a step towards you, boxing you in. He gently lifts your face up to look at him. “I’d tell ya that I couldn’t ‘ave that. I’d tell ya that I’d find a way to change your mind. Do anything.”

“And if I still didn’t?” Your words are a whisper.

“Then I’d beg. I’d move into your flat block. Be your shitty neighbour. I’d do your food shoppin’ for you, and wash y’car and feed yer cats—”

“I don’t have a car or cats!” You’re full on ugly-crying now, but his words pull a wet laugh out of you anyway.

“Doesn’t matter, dove. I’d do whatever it took. Anything,” he insists. “Not repeatin’ my mistakes. Not ever again.”

You sigh, and set your hands on top of his. “Do you…will you come home with me?”

____

You make the short journey back to your flat on foot, hand in hand with him, feeling lighter than before. He wears a simple black surgical mask, and you find yourself thinking that some things remain the same almost as much as others change.

Once inside, you busy yourself fixing you both a cup of tea, and he busies himself inspecting the newest addition to your tiny flat—a gigantic bookcase. When you lead him to the couch, he hesitates.

“Dunno if this is a good idea, love.”

“Sitting down?”

He smirks. “Sittin’ down wi’ ya here in your flat. Bein’ here. All of it. Shouldn’t we take things slow, dove?”

And at that you have to laugh. “If we took things any slower, we’d be dead before the next time you fuck me. Sit. I just want to talk. I’ve missed you.”

He’s not entirely convinced, but he doesn’t help his own case when he settles in and pulls your feet into his lap. Giving his fidgeting fingers something to focus on, you reckon, but you’re not complaining in the slightest.

“It’s not like I’m completely without fault,” you start without preamble, finally giving words to something you’d been too scared to even think about. “I pushed you at all the wrong times. I gave you ultimatums and threatened to make my support conditional when I should have given you—”

But Simon’s already shaking his head. “No…y’did the right thing.”

“Simon—”

“No, pet. Say what you need to say, but not this. Y’did the right thing,” he insists, squeezing your feet softly. “You did what y’needed to to take care of yourself when I didn’t. Y’set your boundaries.”

“Set my boundaries,” you repeat with a laugh, though it’s all far from funny. “I set my boundaries, and I lost you. For a year, I lost you…and I was so scared I lost me too.”

“Y’could never—”

“I know I didn’t. It took me a while, but I realised I could never lose myself.” You smile and lean forward, cupping his cheek. “I never even really lost you.”

“I can’t promise that y’never will. I…work a difficult job. Necessary one. Could get hurt, could die. Won’t be easy.” He pauses and looks into your eyes then, holding your attention absolutely. “But I promise, love, I’ll never stop tryin’ to come back to ya. Never.”

You consider his words. “Therapy made you soft.”

He groans and leans back on the couch. “Nah. Think it was somethin’ else.” But then he shoots you a quick look, and his fingers squeeze your feet again. His mood shifts dramatically, and you struggle to keep up with him at the best of times so this is just insane emotional whiplash. But you’re prepared for what he’s going to say next, you can feel it.

He’s tense and stressed, and you want so badly to put his mind at ease. So you do the only thing you can. You get up from your position on the couch and sit back down, but this time, you straddle him. You hold his face in between your palms, hold your whole world in your hands, and whisper to him. “Ask me, Simon.”

“Will you have me?” His voice is a whisper too, as if he’s afraid of breaking the silence. As if it would change anything if he did.

As if there was any choice in the matter for your heart at all.

And, somehow, you think he gets it. He understands what you want to say in your silence. And you know he understands because his eyes soften and he closes them in relief. When he opens them, they shine, unshed tears clinging to pearly white lashes.

You used to think he was incapable of crying, once.

But that’s okay. You’ve shed enough tears for the two of you anyway.

So when you kiss him without answering him, you know he doesn’t mind. What you are can’t be summed up in words, even if it can be summed up in a kiss. He clings to you, hard, and you just hold him, no words required between the two of you in that moment.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” you whisper back, your smile happy and your heart full. Your thumbs are gentle against his skin as you wipe the wetness away, and then you kiss him.

____

A/N: Big oof.

Ao3 says I've written about 55k works in 10 months, and I can promise you that these were the hardest. What started out as just smutty prompts turned out to be this emotional roller-coaster of a story, and I cannot be more grateful to you, reader, for sticking with it. Every kind word I've received about these two hot messes means more to me than I can articulate, so I won't even embarrass myself by trying.

Thank you to every single one of you that have read and liked and reblogged and commented or even just lurked here. Thank you thank you thank you.

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#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 #ghost #situationship simon #lumi writes

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