#simon riley one shot

[ghostandsoap]

Call Signs

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. John “Soap” MacTavish)

Tags: Angst. Gunshot wound. Blood loss. Shock. Hypothermia. Major injury. Mentions of death. 

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: So I’m not totally sure how accurate some of this is. Also, I’m not sure if parts of this are canon? Read with caution LOL. 

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

Military call signs. Clever, crafty, and specific to the person they’re associated with. 

There was one main, golden rule when it came to call signs: don’t complain about your own call sign, or else they’ll give you something worse.

Yours wasn’t exactly one that you were thrilled with in the beginning. It wasn’t as badass as you would’ve liked. If you had been given the opportunity to choose, you would’ve chosen something a little more…tough. But once the name stuck, you were stuck with it. You didn’t dare let even a single word of distaste fall from your mouth. If anybody caught wind of you complaining about it, they’d give you something to really complain about.

Over the years, you had heard some good ones — some more creative than others. Depending on the person, sometimes it was easy to tell the reason behind their given name — other times, not so much. You had some friends that you still didn’t know the reason why they were given their call sign.

For example, Soap was just Soap.  

In the time that you had known him, you had begged Soap to tell you where his call sign came from. You had even rattled and poked at Captain Price a bit to get him to give it up. But both of them always gave you the same answer.  

It’s classified. 

With that answer, you refused to tell anyone the reason behind your own call sign. If they weren’t going to tell you about theirs, then you weren’t telling them about yours. It was only fair, you weren’t telling anybody. Nobody knew. 

Well…nobody except–

“Gecko. This is Ghost. How copy?” The syrupy-thick voice seeped through your ear that was still ringing from gunfire. 

You were cold – miserably cold. You were chilled all the way to the bone to the point where your skin was numb to the touch. The sound of rain registered with you. The sky was pouring buckets, which explained why you were so freezing. There was no telling how long you had been passed out and exposed to the elements. Not a single part of you was dry, despite all your layers underneath and over. 

There was pain somewhere. Your groggy state made it difficult to figure out exactly where you were hurt. To be honest, it hurt just about everywhere. A searing sensation settled in your side, but it was migrating all over. Based on the large red spot leaking through that area, you had a really good idea then of what it was.

“Gecko, do you copy?” Another voice spoke that you knew to belong to Soap.

His voice sounded a million miles away, even though it was literally right in your ear. When your eyes opened, you were eye-level with the ground. You were met with a harsh pavement underneath you, muscles trembling with exhaustion and low temperatures. It took a few seconds for your vision to clear, and it took even more effort for you to raise yourself up even to make it onto your elbows. 

When you were able to take a glance around, it wasn’t any less unsettling. The slick streets of Las Almas weren’t very pleasant in the dead of night. Even worse, you didn’t know where Soap and Ghost were. 

It all came flooding back to you. Graves turned on the team. He tried to kill all of you. You, Ghost, and Soap managed to split up and narrowly escape. It was chaos, the kind that shaved about 15 years off of your life.

“C’mon. Where are you, Gecko?” Ghost asked in an aggravated, yet worried way. 

His question was more out loud and to himself more than anything, but it occurred to you that it probably would be nice for him to hear you.

“I’m here,” You groaned, throat dry and scratchy. “Just barely.”

“Oh shit. You’re alive!” Soap replied, and you swear you could feel Ghost relax from wherever he was. 

“What’s your status?” Ghost demanded.

You were not telling Ghost that you were hurt if you could help it. It was certainly against protocol, but you didn’t need Ghost getting all worked up when the three of you needed to find one another and get the hell out of there. You knew how he could get whenever you were hurt.

“Where are you both?” You rolled onto your knees, ungracefully managing to get on your feet.

You felt any and all blood rush from your face, an overwhelming feeling of nausea taking over your stomach. The bleeding in your side was definitely a problem. You stripped your outer jacket off, wrapping it around your waist and tying it as tight as you could possibly stand it. It wasn’t like the jacket was useful any other way, considering it was soaked.

“No fuckin’ idea. I’m in and out of these shops,” Soap grumbled. “I’m soakin’ wet.”

“Me too,” You managed to laugh, but it came out as more of a struggled exhale. “Ghost, what’s your location?” 

“The church. Soap’s finding his way here,” Ghost said. “What’s your status, Gecko?”

You knew he’d ask again. He always knew when you had dodged a question.

“Just a little rattled,” You lied. “Where’s the church?”

“It’s in the square. Navigate through the shops, they’ll lead you there,” Soap said. “Stay sharp. Shadows are everywhere.”

Survival mode has kicked in for you. You had one objective.

Find Ghost. Don’t get killed. 

“Will do. Ghost, I’m coming to you.” You announced, beginning to take the first few steps to get yourself moving. 

There was a brief moment of silence before he answered – and he gave an answer that you knew had Soap raising a brow.

“Please be safe.” 

A shudder vibrated down your back, and it wasn’t from the bitter cold rain. 

Being involved with Ghost was…complicated. It was a forbidden love in a lot of ways. There was a certain disapproval when it came to 2 members dating within the force. It caused drama sometimes, tension other times. Not to mention, it would be painfully awkward for everybody else if the two of you were to break up. 

But the connection was undeniable. It astounded you just how in touch you felt with him. He did everything he could to protect you, to make you feel safe in an otherwise dangerous world. He spent every spare moment with you. He spilled all of his most pressing thoughts to you, knowing his words of vulnerability were safe with you. Talking to him was easy, spending time with him was easier.

Loving him was easiest of all.

Despite your likeness toward each other, it was a mutual understanding that no one was to know. Ghost didn’t fancy all the teasing, and you wanted at least one part of your life to be private. In front of others, you were Gecko and Ghost. When alone, you were Simon and [Y/N]. 

In a lot of ways, the secretive aspect of it was fun. You liked sneaking around with Ghost in the late hours of the night, tip-toeing around sleeping comrades in an attempt at a moment to yourselves. The nonchalant glances…the discreet, yet lingering touches…the whispers of words of affection. It was all something you couldn’t help but get a kick out of. Anybody in their right mind would find it even a little bit entertaining.

But in all honesty, suspicions from the rest were becoming more and more. 

Price had known immediately. Not even three days after you and Simon decided to give it a try, he could sense that something was different. He couldn’t really explain it. He could just see it in Ghost’s behavior that he was preoccupied with something…someone else. Something that had been sprouting for a long time was now beginning to blossom in front of the captain’s very eyes. Price was a respectful man. He wasn’t one to get in the way of something that wasn’t his business. He kept an eye on the situation here and there, more for a status update than anything. 

It took Gaz about four months. He suspected nothing in the beginning. He managed to miss all the signs at first. Who could blame him? He didn’t know he was supposed to even be looking for them. He didn’t catch any real changes in behavior or attitude. In all honesty, if he hadn’t witnessed it with his very eyes – he might’ve never known. It had been a quick gesture. So quick that Gaz might’ve been able to convince himself that he was mistaken if it hadn’t been so blatantly clear.

Gaz had passed by a bit quicker than he normally would, catching a quick glimpse inside the room he hadn’t planned on entering. What he saw was a kiss being planted on the cheek of Ghost’s mask, and a light laugh from the man as you did so. Gaz had stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he had seen. He was tempted to turn around and question you, but he knew better. Gaz figured if he hadn’t been told outright, then it probably wasn’t for him to know. He kept it in the back of his mind, however, and after that, he began noticing everything.

And as for Soap, the poor lad had yet to connect the dots. He had heard some chatter here and there about Gecko and Ghost “getting it on.” Soap didn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen it or heard it for himself, so in his mind, the rumors were null. That didn’t mean that Soap didn’t like the idea of his lieutenant and one of his closest friends seeing each other. He entertained the thought here and there. He supposed that Gecko and Ghost had a nice ring to it, and it was something that he liked to snicker about. Overall, Soap didn’t think about it too much. There was no way that “LT” and the infamous Gecko were together. Almost a year into it, and John MacTavish was oblivious.

It hadn’t taken you long to develop feelings for Ghost. Suddenly, you were worried about where he was and him getting hurt more often than not. This was one hell of a career to be in when you were an anxious worrier. This job had changed for you. Before, there was no fear of living or dying. It was just you. It was all you. But when there was someone else in the cards?

That changed things. That really changed things.

That seemed to be the only fight that you and Ghost ever had. It was always the same one. One of you fell ill or became injured, it was due to defying an order, the other was scared to death that something worse could’ve happened, and most of all – you both wished that the other would be more careful. 

“Careful” was a funny word in this business. No matter how careful you were, that didn’t automatically make you safe. 

Roaming the streets of Las Almas while lethargic, unarmed, and bleeding was a definite reminder of that. You followed Soap’s advice, weaving in and out of the stores and getting whatever supplies you could get your hands on. A homemade weapon was better than no weapon, in your mind. Avoiding any and all Shadows was your main goal. There was no chance of you getting out of that alive, if this bullet lodged in your side didn’t kill you first. You hoped that Soap had made it to the church by now. It made you feel better to know that they were together.

The rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. You figured it was fine. It wasn’t like you could get any more wet than you already were. It at least made enough noise to conceal your footsteps, which you didn’t have much control over due to the splitting pain in your core. 

You just had to get to the church. Get to the church, get out of here, and get patched up. You’d be fine. You’d survived worse. You weren’t going to-

There was a flash of white over your vision. While brief, it was enough to startle you to a complete halt. You staggered out of the coffee shop, leaning against the back door for support. This was bad. This was really bad. 

“Ghost…” You squeaked.

Breathing suddenly became overly difficult. Every gulp of air was a struggle to get the next one. There was a significant wobble in your knees as you stumbled into the nearest alley for cover, knowing your legs were close to giving out. It was notably colder in the space between the two buildings, but the feeling of your soul being slowly sucked back into the universe made that seem minor. 

“Talk to me. Where are you?” Ghost asked.

That was when you collapsed, landing on the wet ground with a thud. A whimper escaped from your throat at the impact. Clutching your wounded side was all you knew to do. Your jacket used as a makeshift way of putting pressure on it was proving ineffective. 

“The alleyway,” You strained.  “Left of the coffee shop.”

Ghost and Soap both heard the trouble in your voice. Ghost had only heard that tone once before — and it was when something was really, really wrong. 

“What’s your status now?” Soap questioned.

Lying was no good to you now. They were going to know one way or the other.

“I’m down,” You swallowed. “Must’ve been hit at some point when we got away.” 

There was no way you were making it to the church. You were as good as gone as long as there was still a bullet in your torso. Bleeding out in the streets of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t how you had envisioned going out. That was a conversation you had held with Soap more than once. Everybody had their preferred way of dying. You had always hoped that you’d meet your demise in a more memorable way. Maybe in a missile explosion or getting ejected from a helicopter in a hot pursuit.

Dying alone was the part and the possibility that always scared you the most.

This wasn’t what you had in mind. Bleeding to death by yourself in an alleyway in the middle of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t what you had wished for. You knew the day would come…and the day had finally come.

But not if Ghost could help it.

“I’m coming to get you, Gecko. Don’t move,” Ghost remarked sternly, and you could hear that he was on the move. “Soap, we’ll meet you at the church.”

“Copy.” Soap confirmed.

“N-no,” You coughed. “Ghost, don’t leave your location if you’re secure.” 

“None of us are secure. I’m not leaving you,” Ghost said sternly. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.” 

Arguing with Ghost was usually a lost cause. When Ghost was set on something, he was surely going to stick with it. It was a waiting game now, and it was one of the most helpless feelings to know that you were relying on somebody else to save your ass. You knew that Ghost would be there in half the time that it probably should’ve taken him, but when you’re dying, the minutes feel like eternity. 

This wasn’t the first time that you had been in situations like this. Everybody had their fair shares of “I almost died” stories. But this was different for you. This was the closest you had ever been to not living to tell this story. 

Panicking was most definitely not the way to handle this situation. Very rarely was panicking ever helpful in a dire, critical scenario like this. It was the most eerie feeling – literally feeling yourself dying. The blood loss was becoming less, but only because you were running out of blood to lose. Your heart was beating slower and slower by the second. Breathing was now a voluntary action. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the situation set in, your anxiety crept over you and infiltrated any room for collectedness that you had left. 

“G-Ghost.” You sighed, a layer of tears pricking at the base of your lashes.

Ghost heard the near sob in your words, putting an even faster pep in his step. 

“Almost there, Gecko. What’s wrong?” 

“I’m…I’m scared.” You admitted, hot tears mixing with the fresh rain water on your cheeks.

Ghost’s heart shattered into a million pieces, catapulting into every vessel near it like the strongest of shrapnel. He couldn’t stand the thought of you alone and scared. 

“I know. Just keep talking to me and Soap,” He breathed, trying to stay calm for you. “I’m coming, G.”

‘G’ was a nickname inside of a nickname. Ghost only used it sparingly, and it was usually when he was trying to be supportive or sympathetic without giving your secret romantic endeavor away.  

It felt silly to say. Generally speaking, you didn’t really have the right to be afraid. It was the pure passion for your job and your own willingness that put you in dangerous situations. It was your own free will, your own decision that you made the same choice on every single time. It was one thing to be scared when you ended up here accidentally. It was another when it was a consequence of your choices and actions. Courage and strength were supposed to be your strong suits. They were the characteristics that you were supposed to fall back on every time.

Yet here you were. Scared to death of dying – something that you had thought about and been preparing for since you started this gig.

“Simon, I-I…I don’t want to d-”

“It’s ‘cause I clean house quickly.” Soap’s voice echoed in one ear and out the other, suddenly and abruptly.

What? 

Even in a near unconscious-like state, you were still well aware of how that needed some clarification.

“S-say again?” You stuttered, the corners of your vision beginning to go foggy. 

“Soap. ‘Cause I clean house and buildings with speed ‘n accuracy,” Soap repeated. “That’s why they call me Soap.”

Soap!

It made so much sense. You were almost embarrassed that you didn’t think of that yourself. You knew it was Soap’s way of distracting you – keeping your mind off of dying. 

“That’s a good one,” You nearly wheezed. “Thought it was because you were a bath man.” 

“Thanks for that image. Won’t be able to unsee that one,” Ghost piped up. “Almost there, Gecko. Hang on for me, yeah?” 

Ghost’s voice was strained as if he were running. Using every ounce of speed and stamina that he had to get you as fast as possible. He couldn’t lose you like this.

He refused to lose you like this. 

“It’s because I’m quick on my feet, and because I can scale a building faster than anybody.” You croaked.

“Ah. That’s why they call you Gecko?” Soap chuckled, and you could hear the amusement in his words.

“Came up with that one myself.” Ghost smirked.

“Some people might even say geckos are kind of cute.” You joked, but didn’t quite have the energy to laugh.

“I’d agree with that,” Ghost countered, and you could sense Soap’s internal confusion from forever away. “I have a visual on Gecko. Almost at the church, Soap?” 

“Affirmative, Lt. Meet you there.” 

Sure enough, Ghost appeared from seemingly nowhere, like a sent guardian angel. Your vision had tunneled, so you couldn’t see much out of your peripherals. He had never seen you so weak and close to going out on him. His eyes behind the mask were wide and dark, focused on getting you out alive.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant.” You shivered.

“Glad you’re not a goner,” He returned, removing the glove from his right hand and pressing his fingers against your cheek. “Shit. You’re freezing.”

“How bad do I look?” You slurred, and you fought to keep your eyeballs from rolling back into your head. 

“Probably not as bad as you feel. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Ghost said, working quickly to get himself arranged to carry you.

“Did you see any Shadows on the way?” You gulped, eyelids beginning to flutter. 

“They’re everywhere. We need to get going,” Ghost scooped you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing and weren’t dripping wet through multiple layers. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

The journey from the ground to up into Ghost’s arms felt like an airplane takeoff. You were close to slipping out of consciousness.

“We’ll get to Soap and get a vehicle out of here,” Ghost explained, readjusting his arm underneath your knees. “You’re going to be fine, Gecko.”

“G-Guess I wasn’t quick enough this time, huh?” You gave the faintest grin, and Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at your stupid joke.

“Shut up.” 

There was relief in knowing that you were with Ghost. Your chances of dying hadn’t changed, but if you were going to die, this was a better way of going out. 

The fog in your vision became thicker and thicker until you couldn’t see or hear a thing. The darkness surrounded you, sucking you deeper and deeper into nothingness.

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡                                     

The next time your eyes opened, you weren’t met with the dim streets of Las Almas. There was no smell of rain or taste of blood and sweat. The smell this time was sterile air and cheap (but clean) bedsheets. You couldn’t taste anything due to the worst case of cottonmouth that you had ever experienced. The beeping music of an EKG reader and distant chatter was the real giveaway. 

The muscles in your legs were stiff, mainly because you hadn’t moved them in so long. A grunt was all you could manage as you shifted, a new type of discomfort erupting where you had been shot. It was all wrapped up now (professionally and medically wrapped), clean and taken care of. There was an IV in each arm, one administering fluids and the other what you could only imagine to be some kind of pain medication. The white walls and tan floors were weirdly comforting…a sign to let you know that you were safe for now. 

The best sights of all were the ones seated to the left of your bed.

Ghost’s arms were crossed, ankles crossed over each other, and his head lowered and his breathing steady. His outer skull mask was nowhere to be seen, but his balaclava was clinging to his face as always. 

Soap was also snoozing, but less peacefully and quietly. His head was tilted back as far as it possibly could go, his arms draped at his sides, legs stretched all the way out, and snoring so loud that you were surprised you hadn’t already heard it.

You were gentle as you called to Ghost, considering he didn’t always react calmly when being woken up.

“Hey…” You rasped with a dry throat. “Ghost.”

His eyes snapped open, flickering up to you instantly. A monumental wave of relief visibly crashed over him, filling his veins and relaxing his heart.

“You’re awake,” He leaned closer, taking your hand into his. “You’re okay.”

“What…how long has it been?” You asked, bits of your memory coming back to you.

“A few days…four I think, ” He answered with a nod. “How do you feel?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure. Physically you felt terrible, but better than when you were dying of shock, cold, and blood loss. Mentally you felt fuzzy and groggy from being out so long. Emotionally…well, only time would tell.

“Like shit.” You admitted.

“Not surprised.” He grinned under his face covering. 

There were a few beats of silence. You took a few glances around, getting familiar with your new setting. Ghost, though, never took his eyes off of you. They were a light shade of red, and even his balaclava couldn’t hide the dark circles under them.

“Have you slept at all?” You asked, knowing good and well he hadn’t left your side.

“A little bit here and there,” He said, motioning his free hand towards Soap. “This is the most sleep Soap’s gotten this whole time. He’s been out for about 30 minutes.”

Soap was indeed out like a light. You couldn’t imagine how tired the two of them were. There was another stretch of silence. This one lasted longer and was much more tense. This wasn’t an easy encounter. How were you supposed to act when you had barely scraped by with your life?

“Simon?” 

“Yeah, love?”

“How close was it?”

Simon stared for a moment. No formation of an answer to your question occurred for a second or two. He didn’t like that question. He had avoided thinking about it until now. Ghost knew that he’d have to do his own mentality check in with himself in a few days. He had almost lost the most important person in his life…he’d need to deal with that. 

“Too close.” 

Another silence. Another silent thank you that you were here to see another day.

“You were…hypothermic, in shock. You lost a lot of blood before and during surgery,” He said. “Doc said if it had been any later getting you help-”

“Hey,” A groggy voice piped in, unaware that he was interrupting. “Gecko’s up.”

Soap’s eyes were just as bloodshot as Ghost’s, but Soap’s personality was wide awake.

“Happy to see you again, Sergeant. My apologies for being absent from our reunion at the church.” You grinned.

“Yeah, yeah. Left us to do double the work,” Soap chuckled. “Feels weird callin’ you Gecko now that I know where it comes from.”

“Soap doesn’t have the same ring to it, I have to say.” You fired back. 

“Agh, I’m crushed. Right in my pride!” He shrieked. 

The three of you shared a soft laugh. Nothing like Soap’s comedic relief to break the tension. You felt okay. This was just one of those things. One of the things that you signed up for with this job. It didn’t make it any less unnerving, but now you felt like you could really move on from this. 

And you were thankful that you had lived to tell the story. 

There was a sudden itch in your throat. An annoying tickle that reminded you that you hadn’t had a physical sip of water in four days. 

“Do you think that I could get some water?” You wondered aloud, nearly choking on your own words from the parched feeling.

Ghost hadn’t left your side when you were knocked out, and he surely wasn’t leaving now that you were awake.

“Johnny, could you-”

“Yep! On it.” He scurried out and down the hall without another word. 

That left you and Ghost. The man that saved your life by risking his own to come back for you. You didn’t even want to think about what you would’ve done if Ghost had gotten killed at your expense. At least you would’ve died together, but that hardly sounded right or fair. Ghost deserved so much more. 

“You scared me.” Ghost confessed, not even hiding the worry in his voice. 

“I know…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, doll. Just…” He sighed. “Just really thought that I had lost you this time.” 

There wasn’t anything you could say to make him feel better. You knew that because you had been in his shoes. His head wasn’t in the best place. You knew that even better. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that you loved him more than anybody else ever could.

“Thanks for coming back for me.” You whispered, a sudden set of tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ghost raised his balaclava. The material stopped just under his nose, his bare lips coming to press a kiss to the back of your hand. He made a solemn swear to himself in that moment that he’d never take you for granted again. He’d never get too comfortable with having you around and at his disposal.

Because fate was far too cruel for that.

“Always.” 

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[mehidktbh]

I've Got My Eye On You

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: After one incident of fainting while training. Your Lieutenant takes the role of keeping you fed and hydrated.

Warning: Swearing, war/military stuff, ED-related symptoms (??), fainting and passing out, guns, Ghost flirts with you... which includes pet names 👀 and training (punching/fighting)

A/N: Finally got my mac book working and fixed after waiting a whole 5 months, istg it's always Apple...

Taglist: @fatedeniedhope

You stand there watching the brutal nasty fight happen in front of your eyes, watching as two men go up against each other. The grunting can be heard amongst the cheering of other soldiers. Studying their tactics and every move as they attempt to knock the other person down, hands flying with forceful punches and hard kicks as one man finally gets pinned. Someone shouting next to you as he tries to motivate the fallen soldier to get up, his voice falls deaf to his ears as he taps out.

"Alright!" The two men head back to the line of soldiers who stand up proud and tall, listening to the yelling drill Sargent. "I want Y/N and Jet up front!" You snap out of your thoughts when someone pats your back, indicating for you to step up. Your vision is unsettled and you can feel the whole world spinning, you take your stand, knuckles clenched and legs tensed.

Staring directly at the man in front as he holds the same starting position. Through the split second, you hear the whistle blow as he begins to circle you slowly, his mind set on only beating you as he starts to wonder why you stand so weak. You continue to stumble around, trying to copy his feet as they overlap each other moving around you.

Your ears block out the yelling and the screams which your team urges you on. It all becomes too much when your drill Sargent spits his voice at you, forcing you to get in there more. But it falls deaf to your ears, the underwhelming pressure and heat are all too much, you watch in confusion as the guy across you looks at you with concern. But there's nothing to say as you stumble over, tripping over your godman leg before you plough straight into the ground. There's not much to see or hear as the sun is blocked from your eyes, you're met with the blurry vision of Price as he mouths something off to the drill Sargent.

But that was months ago and now you feel stupid for letting yourself get that low. There's that worry that hangs over the rest of your task force as they still ask you questions about that day. But never your Lieutenant as he instead worries in his own (special) way...

♡ ♡ ♡

There's a little knock on your door, harsh but not too hard you jump out of your skin, soft enough to know it's your Lieutenant. "Come in," You say not looking up from your desk as you continue to work, the endless paperwork won't do itself. "How are you doing...?" He seems a bit awkward when asking that question like he normally doesn't ask people how they're doing.

"I'm alright, need something?" You question turning around in your seat to find him sitting next to you on your cot, surprised at how he moved so fast. "I know you haven't eaten so I brought something." He roughly said, your eyes glistening with the urge to instantly rip open the grey plastic bag. You can nearly see a box of some sort sitting perfectly there, a neat knot tied together on top to keep the surprise inside.

You drop the pen and your mind from doing the paperwork, turning away from the pile of mess and instead facing Ghost as he begins to open the plastic bag. "You didn't have to." You say shyly, seeming appreciative as he shakes his head in return, "No. You need to eat, Y/N." You don't say anything and instead, just nod your head in appreciation and also agreeing with him in some way. Stalking his movements as he carefully takes the food out of the bag. His eyes catch your hungry craved eyes, a smirk hidden behind his mask.

♡ ♡ ♡

Looking down at the cards you sigh again, "Got nothing." "Ha! Ace and ten," Soap said cheerfully after beating you for the tenth time tonight. But you would never say that you were never in the game from the start, despite Soap explaining the game you had no fucking idea how to play.

"Give it'ere." Price said, catching the cards as Soap threw the pack to him, his hands instantly got to shuffling the deck. Gaz sat next to you on the floor as Price sat in front of him, Soap sitting in front of you. A perfect circular Arrangement with everyone's attention on Price as he shuffled the cards in the same movement and technique as he's been doing for years.

Through your eyes averted to Ghost in the corner of the room, his body leaning on the wall as he guards the window, his eyes scanning the premier. So you decide to walk over, let your Lieutenant take a break and play some cards. After such a rough day with Gaz nearly getting shot in his shpulder the team decided to camp out fpor the night.

Letting all the adrenaline you guys felt before melting into the floor and walls of this small dingy 'safe house'. "I got it, sir." Ghost looks over at you, your smile is reassuring but after a day like today, he seemed like the only one who still wasn't relaxed. He nods after a second of staring at you, picking his gun up from leaning on the wall but he stops right before his elbow touches yours.

"Had any water today?" You hum quietly, not looking back before you take over his leaning position on the wall but he still stood there. After a bunch of shuffling in which you thought was Price with his cards a cold water bottle touched your arm. Ghost stood there arm reached out as he nudged you on, signalling for you to take the bottle.

"I'm alright-" "Take it." Your eyes flicked between the bottle and his piercing eyes, fuck you could feel how much he was persuading you. "That's an order, Y/N." You sigh, rolling your eyes slightly as you take the bottle from his hand, he continues to watch you gulp the cold refreshing liquid down. His hand pushing up in a motion as he signalled for you to continue drinking when your lips were about to leave.

But after a while, he was satisfied, nodding his head when you could finally pull away. You were about to hum back thanks before he spoke slowly, the last word came out deathly quietly as you couldn't understand what he had just said.

"Good, girl..."

#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost simon riley #simon riley #ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley #ghost call of duty #simon riley x y/n #simon riley one shot #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic

[vhsgoghs]

lost you (Simon Riley one shot)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x female reader

Summary: Simon was injured during a mission and confesses to his girlfriend what he has been thinking. word count: 990 note: English isn't my first language but i have done my best, sorry for any mistakes.

★ masterlist here ★ spanish ver on wattpad (vhsgoghs)

She knew it would happen one day, but there was a part of her that thought it was really just her paranoia.

When someone interrupted her at the shooting range, it didn't seem unusual to her. She knew something was wrong when the other girl's face reflected total concern, but mostly nerves, she lowered her weapon when she felt tension in her muscles and looked at the girl in confusion.

The words that came out of her mouth managed to break her completely: Simon had been hurt.

She felt her ears close to any other words and barely heard clearly the last thing the girl had said to her.

She ran through the hallways without caring that her vision was blurry, she swore she had bumped into someone, but she didn't pay attention. Her mind had been blocked, no words coming out of her mouth when she reached the infirmary, but since it was a small base, everyone knew each other and the nurse knew perfectly well the reason for her presence.

"He's fine." The nurse spoke in a soft voice in an attempt to calm her down, but (Y/N)'s hands were still shaking.

"Where?"

"Come on, I'll take you to him."

She nodded and let the nurse guide her to one of the rooms in the infirmary. She tried mentally prepare herself to see Simon hurt, regardless of whether it was a small wound or something more, however, that attempt was useless.

When the nurse opened the door for her, she felt her world collapse for the second time.

Simon was there, on the stretcher with his shoulder and part of his chest bandaged. He seemed sleepy or maybe he was already asleep, but her mind was not concentrating enough at that time, the nurse didn't say anything, she knew that she was a nuisance there, so she withdrew slowly to leave them alone.

When (Y/N) approached him, she knew he wasn't asleep because of the slight way he moved, she sighed with a mixture of relief, but still felt the heaviness in her chest.

"Someone told me that you put yourself in the middle of a bullet" she murmured as Simon half-opened his eyes. He wanted to smile, but he still didn't feel strength in his body. "You're an Idiot." And although he didn't have enough strength, he let out a giggle that made her heart feel warm.

For a second, she thought she would never hear those little laughs he used to let out every time they talked.

"I'm sorry." he murmured. He closed his eyes again; he felt that he had put in too much effort in the last few minutes and the medications really weren't that strong.

(Y/N) sighed and took a seat next to him. Her hands slid gently down his torso until they reached one of his hands, she squeezed it tightly in hers and tried her best not to cry.

He was fine, he was there. The man she loved the most and had been her boyfriend for years was fine. She always knew that he could get hurt at any moment, it could happen to her too and it was something they both had to deal with every day.

"You look terrible," she joked, causing a muffled laugh to leave Simon's lips once again.

"It's what you want to hear from your girlfriend after getting shot."

She smiled slightly and knew she had done a good job of trying to cheer him up a little, even in her worst moments, it was something they always did.

She sighed and brought his hand to her lips, brushing his warm skin. Simon was warm even in that state, (Y/N) hated silence, yet her mind was blank, what could they talk about? She didn't want to make him feel bad by talking about how much she worried about his condition, she knew that would make him feel worse.

Then, something came to her mind… Happy memories. Simon had always told her that if something like this happened, he wanted to hear her talk about happy memories, she ran her fingers gently through his hair and sighed.

"Do you remember our first date?" she murmured and it only took a few seconds for Simon to nod. "When I said yes, you turned to leave and fell on the floor."

They both laughed. Simon's laugh had been so slow and muffled that she couldn't feel bad, she hated seeing him that way, the thought that her boyfriend could end up hurt had always been there, she never thought it could come true.

"I was happy." He smiled. (Y/N) nodded, it had been an exceptional moment and every time she had the chance, she mentions it.

She remained silent, she couldn't stop thinking about the pain he must be feeling at that moment, she wanted to continue talking about their dates, about what they had experienced, but she felt a knot in her throat. Her boyfriend's body had relaxed and she assumed the medications had finally taken effect.

"I'm so sorry."

Simon opened his eyes again, he was dazed, but her presence made him feel comforted, her hands around his were enough to know he would be okay.

Why did she keep apologizing if she hadn't done anything?

"Hey, come here." He shifted gently, trying to ignore the pain of his wound, making enough room for both of them.

She shook her head and let go of his hand. She knew him too well to know that he was just trying not to think about the pain, she didn't want to hurt him even more.

"I'm going to hurt you and…" Simon cut her off.

"I'll be fine, this arm it's okay."

(Y/N) thought about it for several seconds. She knew that at any moment the nurse would return and she would have to go back to the barracks because, no matter how much she was willing to beg, they wouldn't allow her to be there and they wouldn't allow Simon to return to his room either.

After letting out a sigh, she gently slid to his side, her movements were slow, so much so that Simon couldn't help but giggle due to the delicacy of her movements with the intention of not hurting him.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed, he wrapped his arm around her, trying to hug her against his bare torso as much as possible.

"I'm okay." He tried to reassure her, but he knew that no matter how many times he repeated those words, she would still be worried.

"Have I ever told you how important you are to me?"

Simon nodded and smiled. (Y/N) was someone who always made an effort to talk about her emotions, and it wasn't at all unusual for her to mention to her boyfriend what a big role he played in her life.

"I know." He murmured and leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead. "You are to me too."

They were both silent, but even with the medications, Simon's mind couldn't stop working. There was something that had been going through his head for the last few weeks, he had everything planned, but he still had that insecurity inside him.

The insecurity of her saying no.

"Have you ever thought about… marriage?" he asked quietly. If she said no, he could blame the medications later.

That shot had been enough to make him think about that kind of thing, it was stupid, teenage Simon would never have thought about marriage in his life.

"Maybe" she murmured nervously. Her hands had trembled slightly and her body tensed, something that did not go unnoticed by Simon. "And you?"

"Maybe…" He answered in the same way. Simon always did that after asked a question: he would answer exactly the same thing as her.

She giggled and closed her eyes for a few seconds. She was nervous, she didn't know how to answer that question because yes, she had once thought about marriage and felt it was a stupid thing to think about when there were so many more problems she needed to focus on first.

But she had talked about it with those close to her more than once and when everyone mentioned that marriage was eventually a step she should take, she had started to think about it.

On the other hand, there was Simon's mentality. Too many things had happened in his life, most of them not very positive, he had felt lost for more than half his life and for the first time he felt like he had something good, something he didn't want to let go of and was willing to go through all the stages of it.

Of course, the beautiful ones.

However, it seemed disrespectful to ask those kinds of questions if he didn't even know her point of view, he wasn't going to come with a ring and put pressure on her just to forced her to say yes.

"Honestly, yes," she murmured after a while. She almost felt her stomach in her throat, she had always been honest with her feelings, but this was something different, this was a really serious conversation. "It's stupid, but yeah… Marriage sounds good with you."

Simon closed his eyes for a few seconds, he did his best not to smile. He had wanted to hear those words for several months.

"Do you know what I'll do when I get out of here?"

"Go to training?" she joking, causing him to smile.

"No, I will find a way to make you my wife." He whispered, sending shivers down her body.

(Y/N) closed her eyes for a few seconds. She loved the feeling of having him close, especially after feeling like her world had completely collapsed when she received that news.

She couldn't stop her mind from wandering, starting to think about the thousands of scenarios in which she could receive that question, thinking about the day she was going to wake up and everything around her changing. She couldn't wait.

Her bubble burst when the nurse entered the room. (Y/N) sighed and tried her hardest not to roll her eyes, she knew it was time to leave, but she didn't want to leave him there, she couldn't.

"Lieutenant, you have to go."

She lifted her face only to meet Simon's. He quickly noticed the disappointment on her face and couldn't help but feel guilty.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she murmured and Simon could only nod.

She leaned down to press her lips against his for short seconds. Finally, she separated from him and walked away slowly, she could feel the nurse's intense gaze even as she passed by her, but even that wasn't enough to stop a smile from forming on her face.

Now she was an engaged woman… Well, almost.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon riley fluff #simon riley one shot #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley cod #Simon riley x reader imagine #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #ghost one shot #ghost x you #ghost x reader imagine #ghost x you imagine

[serendipityrogers]

Undressed

pairing: simon riley x afab!reader

word count: 1.2k

content warning: creeper!ghost, she/her pronouns, reader gets undressed while simon is in the room and she doesn't know he's there, mention of male masturbation, body descriptions, no actual smut but MDNI.

an: more cod stuff, whose surprised? i saw a tik tok, and i came up with this. so i hope you enjoy. let me know if i should write some more stuff, even send me some ideas! not proofread!

Weirdly enough, Ghost enjoyed safehouses. 

Maybe it was the quietness that fell over the house when everyone was way too tired to be loud.

Or the secludedness of the house, away from all the political bullshit. 

Even if most of them were in shitty condition. 

Or the size of a one bedroom flat. 

Which both of those statements could be said about the one the five of you were currently in now. It was dark and dingy, none of the overhead lighting worked, so everyone was guided only by the few table lamps scattered across the house. Most of them being used by Gaz and Price who were using them to light their maps, trying to figure out the best way to get to their next location. But Simon had stolen one to read, cooped up in the only bedroom in the entire house. 

It was an old novel, one he found on the dusty bookshelves out in the living room. Even for its age, it was quite interesting. Almost interesting enough for him to miss the commotion coming from the small kitchenette that was located right outside the closed door. It sounded like a loud frustrated groan, and the shattering of glass. 

That’s when the bedroom door flung open, and you walked inside. Ghost only briefly looked up from the book resting in his large hands. You were mumbling something under your breath, and that’s when he noticed a large red stain on the white-beater you were wearing, and even on your jeans. “God, fucking damn it.” You muttered, picking up your rucksack from its place on the ground, and throwing it on the bed which was accompanied by a large creaking noise under its weight.

You began rummaging around in your pack, pulling out what looked like another tank top and a pair of issued-thermals. He was almost positive you hadn’t noticed him sitting in the corner, because you began unbuckling your belt, more mumbled curse words flying out of your mouth, and something to do with Soap, who he assumed was the cause of your frustrations. Once your belt was undone, you began fiddling with the empty thigh holster you still wore. 

Your small fingers fumbled with the small multiple small buckles, shaking with anger. Ghost looked back down at his book, figuring you were about to change into a new set of clothes that weren’t so saturated with whatever that red substance was. His eyes started on the first sentence on the new page he had flipped to right before you barged into the room. But his brain couldn’t concentrate on the tiny-printed words, reading the same sentence three times. 

When he glanced back up at you over the top of the book, you had finished fumbling with the holster buckles, and it was discarded on the floor. Now ripping your belt from the belt loops of your pants, discarding it in the same place. You had the same issue with the button and zipper of your pants, unsteady hands trying to fiddle with something so small. He glanced back down to try reading again, trying to give you the privacy you deserved. He could just stand up and walk out, but he could have startled you, or made you even more mad for not announcing his presence in the first place. 

So, he sat as still as possible, trying to just keep his eyes off you. But that didn’t last for very long, after trying to comprehend the same sentence for the fourth time, his eyes glided back to you, almost unintentionally. You were now shimmying out of your jeans, struggling as they clung to you in their wet state. “Fuck you, Soap.” More muttering under your breath. Ghost’s eyes trailed over the newly exposed skin of your legs, noticing your calves, defined from the years of training. Your thighs, also toned, but more malleable, a slight jiggle when you move. He imagined himself leaving bruises on the insides of them, bite marks even.

He admired the white cotton panties that covered the apex between your thighs, and hugged the fullness of your ass. He couldn’t help but notice the small bow that decorated the front of them. Definitely not in regulation, but he couldn’t care less at this moment. His mind was running wild with thoughts of you. He would be lying if he hadn’t thought about you in this exact situation. Except usually, it was him undressing you instead. 

Ghost had been attracted to you since the moment he laid eyes on you, almost three years ago. But he was not the type to act on it, or even hint at it, unlike Soap and Gaz. It was no secret that most of the team, excluding Price, who had taken on almost a fatherly role to you. The remaining three had some sort of interest in you. It seemed only natural when you were the only female in an all male group, but everyone was respectful about the situation. Gaz and Soap would joke about certain topics with you, but at the end of the day they would take a bullet for you without any question. Ghost would too, obviously. 

Ghost shook his head almost cartoonishly, trying to free his mind of the thoughts plaguing him. He shouldn’t think about you this way, you were his comrade, and these thoughts were too distracting to have while on a mission. At least, he thought that until you pulled the soaked tank-top over your head, exposing your bra-clad chest. The bra was nude, perfectly matching your skin tone. It was also stained red, so in one quick motion, reaching behind your back, you let the bra fall to the floor along with your other clothing. 

Ghost only had a side-view of you, but your breasts were perfectly sculpted for your chest, everything he had dreamed of while cumming into his fist after a long day of pretending you had no effect on him. Ghost had completely forgotten the book in his hands, the cover falling closed. He was completely gawking at you, no shame, well, maybe a little. But that was the last thing he was thinking about at that moment. He was disappointed, as he watched you latch another bra around your chest, covering your breast once again. 

Next was a white tank top, similar to the one you had on earlier. His eyes wandered down to your ass, taking it in for the last couple moments. Who knew when, or if, he would ever see it again. You struggled with the thermals, swaying your hips back and forth, trying to get the tight-fitting garment up your legs. They fit you snug, not leaving much to the imagination, the other men would surely get a kick out of them, but Ghost was the lucky bastard who got to see you without any of it on. With one last huff and shimmy, you turned and walked back towards the door, ripping it open again. 

“Soap, I’m still gonna kill your stupid ass!” You exclaimed, slamming the door shut in one smooth motion before disappearing back into the kitchenette. Leaving Simon there, the book still shut and completely breathless. And not to mention a raging hard on.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley one shot #simon riley smut #simon riley imageine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley one shot #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost one shot #ghost imagine #ghost smut #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #modern warfare 3 #modern warfare iii

[userlando]

✧･ﾟ 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐬

simon ‘ghost’ riley x female!reader [3.3k] summary ⤍ your boyfriend slept horribly on a good day, and hardly closed his eyes on a bad day. warnings ⤍ 18+ (mdni) explicit language & smut (handjob), mentions of ptsd/war/military, mentions of nightmares and death. a/n ⤍ it’s my birthday so here’s my gift to u. simon riley u have my heart <3

You don’t know what pulls you out of your sleep - whether it’s a forgotten dream or your subconscious - but you jerk out of it all the same. Sleep clouds your vision, blurring it and it takes you a moment to blink and take in your surroundings in the darkness. The covers tucked tightly over your naked shoulders fall when you shift into a sitting position, supporting your weight on a wobbly arm against the rigid mattress.

There’s a slight ache in your back that you choose to ignore. Your boyfriend slept badly on a good day, and he hardly closed his eyes on the bad days. If a rigid mattress helped him get even an ounce of sleep, then you’d endure whatever you had to.

At the thought of him, you turned your head to find his spot on the bed empty. Your fingers touched the sheets, finding it cold and barely slept on. You’d gone to bed together, but he must’ve gotten up the second you dozed to sleep. He was good at that, slipping off unseen without alerting anyone. It was his job after all.

You shed the covers off your body, shivering slightly at the frosty bite of the air and you hurried to close the window that you’d left ajar. It had gone cold overnight and you wasted no time to find a pair of sweatpants to pull up your legs.

It was silent in the house, almost eerily so, and you fought the sudden need to turn back and crawl into bed as soon as you reached the dark hallways. It was ironic that you were scared of the dark you were, considering how you were living with someone whose call sign name went by Ghost of all things. Who thrived in darkness and used it to his advantage. A ghost.

Simon was almost hard to miss, tucked away in a corner of the appointed gym room and lifting dumbbells like they were the lightest things he’d ever touched. Your eyes tracked the movements of his lifts, taking in the swell of his arms as they strained and the straight line of his back. It almost startled you when he turned his head and looked straight at you from the corner of his eyes. It shouldn’t have surprised you how aware he was of his surroundings and you took a moment to calm your sudden racing heart before you stepped further into the room.

“Hi.” You greeted him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

You knew not to ask too many questions, because you already knew the answers to them. Are you okay? No, he wasn’t. Why aren’t you sleeping? Because he couldn’t and working out was one of his many ways to shed those nightmares plaguing his brilliant mind.

Your boyfriend grunted as he lifted the dumbbells for one more rep, setting them down next to his feet. His eyes looked weary, tired from lack of sleep and troubled from whatever was weighing on his mind. It wasn’t an unusual expression he donned, but it made you sad all the same.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, voice rough.

You took another step toward him, shaking your head in the negative and watching his eyes flit to the tips of your toes - almost like was watching where you were heading. His legs separated just a tiny inch, but it was an invitation if you’d ever seen one. You wasted no time to close the distance between you two, stepping into the space between his thighs. He welcomed you without any words being said, arms circling your hips and closing the remaining distance between the two of you.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” You asked, though you knew the answer. Your hands found his hair, sliding your fingers through and touching the damp strands gently. “We could put a film on and have a little cuddle.”

You couldn’t help but notice how the man in your arms leaned his head against your stomach, just like he always did when you were sitting on your sofa watching the telly, or when he’d had a particularly bad night and you stayed up with him. You knew that it was a tactic to hide himself, shield his face from your observing eyes so you wouldn’t read it or see the emotion he never hid well in his eyes. It didn’t mean that you didn’t appreciate it though, considering how he’d shut himself off completely at the beginning of your relationship. It was a tough road, but you’d gotten there eventually.

“‘m not done.” He murmured against the fabric of your sweater. “You can go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”

A minute meant until the sun rose on the horizon and the light found its way through your curtains. You couldn’t have that.

“Hey,” you tugged at his hair, gently enough for him to look up at you; Blinking his blue eyes, looking innocent as ever. “I can sit here and watch you.”

He didn’t react when you pulled yourself out of his embrace, taking big, theatrical step back and raising your arms out by your sides with a smile. It was your poor attempt at making his lips twitch into one of his rare smiles, and all you got in return was a slight arch of his eyebrow that shouldn’t have looked as attractive as it did.

“What? I’m not even tired.”

Your insistence was proved wrong when a yawn crept up out of nowhere, and you hurriedly tried to hide it behind your hand even though it was too late.

“Okay, maybe a little.” You lamented when your boyfriend narrowed his eyes at your obvious lie.

“Alright pet, let’s get back to bed.” He pushed himself up onto his legs, his hulking six foot something form looking particularly menacing in the dim room.

You reached your hand out, not wanting to grab him without his consent and he immediately took you up on your offer by sliding his hand into yours. It almost made you grin like a fool and you bit the inside of your cheek, opting to guide him out of the room and back to your bedroom instead.

The room wasn’t as chilly as you’d left it, and you felt your body yearn for the bed at the sight of it. Just when you were about to close the distance, Simon pulled his hand out of yours and it made you look back at him questioningly.

“Just need to clean myself up.” He explained and you nodded.

He left the room to seek out the bathroom. You watched silently before turning back to your bed and slipping in. Instead of taking your spot on the right side of the mattress, you plopped yourself in the middle and shoved your feet under the covers to keep them from going cold.

And then the waiting game began.

It took a moment for Simon to come back from his shower, but you waited patiently. Your eyes were just starting to droop when the screech of the shower knob echoed from down the hall. The pour of the shower stopped, and you didn’t have to wait long until your boyfriend came walking back in.

He stopped at the sight of you and you could see the gears in his head turn. How he noticed you sleeping smack dab in the middle of the bed, your feet shoved under the covers and your hands hidden in the sleeves of your sweater. You would’ve missed it if you blinked. Simon’s lips twitched into one of his smiles, the ones he’d reserved for you, and you only.

“Cold?” He asked, yanking a drawer open to rummage through it for clothes.

You hummed, watching him dress himself with more ease than a lot of people. “It’s freezing. Need someone to warm me up.”

It almost felt like an award when his lips transformed into a smile, dimple deepening the side of his cheek adorably. It wasn’t a full blown smile, but your stomach twisted at the sight of it anyway. He finished getting dressed, draping the wet towel over the back of a rocking chair in the corner before he plucked a pair of fuzzy socks from a different drawer.

Your heart beat its way into your throat when you realized what he was doing; Tracking his movements when he sat down on the bed by your feet and gently fished them out from the cocoon of the covers. His eyes were soft, mouth set into a straight line like they always did when he got particularly focused on a task. The task right now? Pulling the fuzzy socks over your bare, cold feet.

“Thank you.” Your voice sounded choked up even to your own ears, but his soft side never failed to bring tears to your eyes and butterflies to your stomach.

He glanced up at the sound of your voice, wrapping a hand around your calf and giving it a squeeze. His way of saying you’re welcome. You raised your arms and waited for him to scoot up the bed and into your embrace. He grunted as he situated himself right up against your side, one leg thrown over yours and his arms tightly wrapped around your torso. You knew that he probably heard the sound of your heart beating unnaturally fast, but he didn’t say anything about it as he laid his head against your chest.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked quietly.

He shifted against your side.

“Nothing you haven’t heard already.” He replied.

It was true, probably. From a traumatic childhood to the horrors he saw when he was deployed, there wasn’t much Simon Riley hadn’t experienced in his lifetime. Hearing about the things he’d been through as a wee child had almost brought on a panic attack on your side, because no one deserved to grow up in the environment he had and your boyfriend deserved the world and everything beyond it.

You squeezed him closer to you at the thought of a dirty blond haired boy, scared out of his wits and lonely in a house that never felt like a home to him. The scent of his shampoo grounded you for a moment and you buried your nose into his wet hair.

“I’m alright, love.” He spoke after a moment, most likely picking up on your breathing and stuttering heart. No one was as attuned to you as him.

“I know, I just love you a lot.”

There was no mistaking the intake of breath at your words. It was clear to you that he had a hard time hearing those words directed at him, and it had taken some time for him to believe them when you spoke them. He’d been a hard man to crack, and he still is. There were so many things you still didn’t know about him, and you were too afraid to ask. Afraid of what his answers might be.

“I love you, too.” His voice sounded ragged, tight.

Any moment now, and he’d be pulling himself away from your embrace. You respected it, how he sometimes did that when he felt overstimulated or got way too into his head to pull him out. But it had been a long week and you were craving his closeness more than you wanted to let on.

So, he didn’t protest when your fingers found his sharp jaw, pushing slightly to tilt his head up to look at you. His eyebrows were knit, pupils blown out and he looked like a man on the verge of getting sucked right back into the black hole. In a moment of slight panic, you leaned down and closed the small distance between you two, pushing your lips onto his. He barely responded at first and for a moment you feared that you’d misread his emotions and was just about to pull away when he shifted his body to face yours. His lips responding to yours made you sigh on relief through your nose, opening your mouth to his insistent one and kissing him deeper.

The low rumble in his throat made you grip him harder, letting him straddle you without putting any real weight on your body. But you craved it, craved his warmth and weight and everything he had and wanted to offer.

No words were spoken as you kissed and kissed, and kissed. Your lips turned raw, swollen and you wanted more. He didn’t resist when you somehow managed to flip him over, albeit a little clumsily. He let you straddle his thighs, hands finding your face and neck to hold as he tasted your tongue.

His hands had been through enough, shed more blood than you liked to think about and killed people in combat. But you had never felt as safe as you did when he touched you like this.

The urge to show him how much you loved him became too big, too great to keep inside anymore.

There was a question in his eyes when you pulled back a little, eyebrows drawing together when your hands made quick work of pulling at his sweatpants and locating the hem of his underwear. You could see his hands reaching out to presumably grab you from the corners of your eyes, but he stopped himself in the last second and folded his hands into fists instead. You flickered your gaze up to his eyes, finding him staring at you.

“Is this okay?” You asked, halting your movements entirely. He nodded after a second of contemplation and you bent down to kiss him. “Words, Simon.”

“Yeah.” He rasped out, breath hitting your smiling lips. “‘s good.”

You didn’t waste more time to pull his pants and underwear down enough to fish his cock out, finding it half-hard and heavy in your hand. The weight of it made you squirm in his lap, turning your head to nip at the stubbled skin of his jaw.

Simon was a big guy, chunk and muscles all around. He filled out his clothes well and all those sleepless nights allowed him to work on his body and stamina. He didn’t go out very often, but there was no mistaking people’s stares and gaped mouths when he walked by them and you couldn’t blame them. Although you often glared at those who rudely stared until they had the decency to look embarrassed and turn their heads.

Your boyfriend being a big man also meant he was packing heavily in his nether region, thick and long enough to reach spots inside of you that you didn’t know were possible. You had half a mind to tug your own sweats off and sink onto him but you held off, knowing that what Simon needed first and foremost was relief. He just needed to be taken care of, and all you craved from him right now was him.

You made sure to have a good grip on him, not too tight and not too loose, before you started jerking him off to get him in the mood. Judging by by the way he was panting against your ear, it wouldn’t take long to get him there. His hands scrambled to find something to grip, settling on cupping your face and bringing you to his lips.

It was much filthier than your other kisses you’d shared tonight, teeth nipping and his nose pressing to your cheek as he found comfort in your lips. It didn’t take long for his cock to fill out, making it harder to have a better grip on him so you brought a hand up between you to lick a thick stripe on the palm before grabbing him again.

He hissed, eyes closing in a tight squeeze when you reached the tip of him. He was wet, precum beading on his head and you swiped your thumb over it; Using it as lube to make touching him way smoother and pleasurable for him.

One of Simon’s hands raked through your hair, finding a good grip on it and tugging until you let out a moan against his lips. He pulled you off further to look at your face, almost like he needed to know what you were thinking and if you were feeling the same type of pleasure that he was.

“You feel so good in my hand,” you nodded at his searching gaze, hand squeezing just a tad bit tighter around him. “Warm and heavy.”

He grunted in response, letting go of your hair so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. You placed small, sucking kisses to the sensitive skin there and scraped your teeth teasingly right beneath his earlobe because you knew how much he loved it. He’d go absolutely feral for the tiniest prick of pain.

It had the desired effect on him, hips humping up and sliding his cock further into your fist, making him hiss and hands grab at your back. He was close, it was evident in how he started chanting your name lowly in your ear. The reverent way his hands were scrambling to grab a hold of you and pull you closer.

“I’m -“ he shuddered when you picked up speed, jerking him off and bringing your free hand down to touch at his balls. “Fuck.”

The shudder in his voice had you soaking but you put all your focus on making him feel good, needing him to come and growl in your ear the way he always did.

“Come on, baby,” you whispered against his neck, nuzzling your nose up to his cheek and giving it a chaste kiss. “I got you.”

It was like that’s what he was waiting to hear, hips bucking up and body stiffening like he’d been electrocuted before his cock started spitting against your palm. It got on his clothes and yours, but you couldn’t care less when he finally let his mouth drop open and he moaned from deep in his gut. You slowed your pace gradually as he shuddered through the last of his orgasm, pressing little kisses to his cheeks and jaw until he made a noise at the back of his throat.

You let go of him, knowing that any more and he’d become overstimulated and that wasn’t your intention for tonight. All you needed was for his body to relax enough to get some type of sleep before the sun rose outside and night became morning. One look at his lax body and you knew you’d succeeded, kissing his slack mouth before sitting up gingerly.

It was warm, and you huffed in discomfort before shrugging your sweatshirt off and flinging it to the side somewhere. You’d need to do some laundry tomorrow, making a mental note in your head.

“D’ya need - ?” He started to ask, hands gesturing tiredly to your body but you cut him off with a firm head shake.

“Not tonight.”

He nodded once, lips twitching into a small smile and you leaned down to kiss it. Nothing suited him better than a smile, and you’d made it your mission to tell him that once every day.

There were very few words exchanged as you took off his soiled shirt and got him a chilled water bottle from the refrigerator. You left the door wide open like Simon needed and double checked so the latch was shut on the windows before crawling underneath the covers where your boyfriend was waiting.

You turned on your side, as did he, and shared a small secret smile.

“Thank you, pet.” He whispered and you stretched a finger out to touch his stubble, right where his dimple remained hidden.

“Always.” You said.

And you meant it.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley fic #simon riley one shot #task force 141 fic #call of duty modern warfare 2

[bingoboingobongo]

the reason (ii)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Fluff, smut (minors dni)

Summary: You’re the reason why Ghost wakes up in the morning, and you’re why he lets himself dream at night. (a part 2 to the right thing to do)

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: use of female body descriptions, explicit language, masturbation, needles/stitches, forced proximity, pining

A/N: hiii, so yes, this is a part two to ‘the right thing to do’ (yayyy). i’m not gonna lie, this chapter was going to be longer, but i decided to cut it so that 1. you guys can get more ghost content faster and 2. you don’t have to read 20k words. as always, likes/reblogs and comments are always appreciated, hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 3

In Ghost’s life, moments of domesticity were rare. Between his turbulent childhood, his initial years during and after the military, and the crippling paranoia being in special forces came with, Ghost could count all the times he had felt that comforting sense of peacefulness; of safety; of not worrying about who was waiting to kill him or who was going to hurt the people he loved; that feeling; that soft, warm, light feeling; he could count all the times he felt it on one hand.

The first time had been when he was a kid — maybe six, maybe seven. Or maybe he was younger, he didn’t know. Everything from back then was blurry. He remembered feeling safe because his brother and his father were gone, and it was just him and his mom. He didn’t know why they were gone, just that they wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. He remembered sitting in front of the fireplace with his mom, eating takeout and listening carefully as she read him a story: Treasure Island. When the book was finished, he remembered dragging his mom to the backyard and begging her to play Long John Silver while he, Jim Hawkins of course, challenged her to a pirate duel.

The second time had been at his nephew’s first birthday. It had been a small party, his brother and his wife, his mother, and him. He had been on leave for a while at that point, tending to family issues but by then, everything was fine. His sister-in-law had tucked his nephew into bed, and the rest of them were sitting outside around a fire drinking cheap beer and reminiscing over the past. He could still remember that warm feeling in his chest, a combination of alcohol and happiness.

And the last time he could remember, the third and final time, was now. It was here, with you by his side and the snow falling around him. It was the warmth of your body against his; the way you fit against him perfectly, like he was made only for you; it was the way you smelled, the way the fragrance of his cheap soap, the one you had made fun of just hours before, mingled and danced with that familiar, smokey smell of guns and bullets; the way you made him feel, light and airy and safe, as if you and him were alone together in a tiny pocket of space where nobody could reach you. 

You made him feel safe. You made him feel sleepy. It was odd, because Ghost had never been a stranger to staying awake before. As a child, he spent his fair share of nights hiding under blankets with a book and a flashlight, staying up the entire night reading so he wouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares that plagued his sleep. And if anything, the military had only worsened his sleeping habits. He had gone days — one time a week — without sleep while on the battlefield. He knew how to shake off the tight grip of exhaustion, how to spit in its face and tell it to fuck off so he could keep doing his job. He had done it time and time again in the past, but for some reason in this moment, his ability to do so was escaping him.

It was something about you — it was everything about you — that made it hard for him to stay up. The way he unconsciously synced up his breaths with your steady, even ones; the way the warmth of your body pressed against him rolled off of you in waves, encouraging him to just give in; the way you somehow made him feel so relaxed and peaceful and content, as if you were a long-term mission he had finally accomplished; everything about you made his eyelids droop and his mind hazy. 

And it killed him to have to wake you up, to have to be the one to disturb your rest when you looked so happy and satisfied sleeping. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t risk falling asleep when he was supposed to be protecting you. He would be letting you down, and he knew that disappointing you — or worse, getting you killed — would hurt far more than waking you up. So with a heavy heart and a stiff shoulder, he carefully nudged you until you woke up.

You opened your eyes slowly, peeling yourself off of him as you looked around, trying to remember where you were. He watched you bring a hand to your mouth as you let out a yawn, your eyes squinting shut as tears welled up under them. “My turn?” you asked, your voice slightly scratchy. 

Ghost swallowed, your voice was definitely doing something to him. “I don’t know,” he said, “you think you’re awake enough to do it?”

You huffed, “Do I even have a choice?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said, letting out a sigh as you cracked your neck. “Give me a second though.” He nodded, watching as you rubbed your hands in front of you, before slapping yourself on the cheeks lightly. “You gonna sleep in here or outside?” you asked, sniffling a little.

He wanted to stay outside with you, but the cold was starting to get to him and he could already feel his back starting to get stiff. “Inside. But I’m showering first,” he said, picking up his bag as he moved to stand up, “and I’m getting your gun. You think I’m gonna let you keep watch unarmed?”

“Don’t bother,” you told him, shaking out your legs as you stood up, “I’ll get it myself.” You followed him into the house, and he could hear you rustling around behind him as he walked into the bathroom. He had forgotten how small the bathroom was, or maybe he was just large. He barely fit between the sink and the door, causing him to have to shuffle awkwardly just to put his bag down.

He let out a sigh as he stared at himself in the mirror, running his hand down his face. Looking in the mirror was always weird for him. In one way, he could look at himself and register that that was Ghost, that was who Ghost was, who he looked like. But Ghost wasn’t the same as Simon, and the face staring back at him? That wasn’t Simon either. He knew Price considered the man under the mask to be Simon, that the mask was what ‘made’ Ghost. But if he was being truthful, he wasn’t really sure if he knew who Simon actually was, if Simon was even still a part of him after all these years, bright-eyed but scared and hidden under the surface.

He looked away, peeling the mask off of his face. He stared at it for a moment before folding it neatly and placing it on the sink. He started taking off the rest of his gear too, his vest, his boots, his belts, the various pockets and holsters he kept clipped to his thighs and the accompanying firearms. He turned on the shower, the pressure was dismal and the water ice cold, before unzipping his jacket, peeling off his undershirt, and stepping out of his pants and boxers. 

The water had barely warmed up by the time he got in, sending a shiver down his spine. To make matters worse, the showerhead was much shorter than him, reaching only up to the base of his chin. He winced as a sharp sting of pain shot through him when he tried to crane his neck downwards. He tried reaching for the back of his neck, but the shower was small and maneuvering around was difficult. 

His thoughts trailed over to you again. For some reason, it was weird to think that you had been in this same shower just a few hours before. What had you been thinking about then? Had you been thinking about him? Or had you been thinking about the others? If you were thinking about him, what were the specifics? Did you like him or hate him? Want him or not want him? And if you did want him, how did you want him? Did you just want him as a friend or as a trophy? Did you actually want to know him, to be there for him, or was he just an accomplishment for you to boast about, a way to prove you were able to conquer the elusive Ghost?

And what if you wanted him as more than a friend? What if you wanted him the same way he wanted you? With him towering over you, his fingers working miracles inside your wet cunt or with you pressed against him as he thrust into you over and over and over again. Maybe you wanted him to push you down flat against a table and whisper dirty things into your ear as he pulled you back on his cock, or maybe you wanted to push him down on a bed and ride him until your legs gave out and he had to take over for you.

Shit, he thought as his cock began to twitch, but he couldn’t stop himself. His mind kept coming up with new images, new scenarios that only stoked the fire growing in his core. You on your knees, your lips swollen and red and wrapped oh so tightly around him; you sitting on his face, your thighs clenching around his head and your hands gripping on for dear life as you came into his mouth; you tied up to a bed while he held a vibrator to your clit as you whined and wiggled and begged as orgasm after orgasm racked your body. 

Fuck. This wasn’t right for him to be thinking of you like this. He was your boss for fuck’s sake, your coworker, your teammate. It wasn’t fair to you for him to be thinking of you this way, not when you were just a few yards away. But god damn it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been this hard, so hard it was on the verge of hurting and it would be so easy to just get rid of his stupid erection, all he needed was a few minutes. That was all it would take, and besides, what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right? He stifled a groan, using one hand to ease himself onto a wall as the other finally wrapped around his cock.

He shuddered at the touch, staying still for a moment before he started moving his hand. It had been a considerable time since he had touched himself; so long, in fact, that he really couldn’t remember the last time he had. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, trying to imagine it was your hand wrapped around him instead of his. He knew how it would feel too. Somehow, despite all your time in the military, your hands were still butter smooth and pillow soft.

He let his mind continue to fill with dirty thoughts of you as his hand stroked his shaft, letting his head fall back against the wall. He swallowed down a groan as he brushed his thumb over his tip, spreading his precum along his erection. He tried to pretend it was your smooth hand rubbing along his dick instead of his own rough one, letting his mouth hang open as his hand slid along his cock at a steady pace.

He threw his head back against the wall, letting the pleasure wash over him in waves as the fire in the pit of his stomach grew. He could feel his breaths shallow as his hand moved faster along his cock. He snaked another hand down to cup his balls, shuddering at the touch, while his other hand moved to focus on the head of his penis. It wasn’t long until he could feel his balls start to tighten and his cock start to throb. He closed his eyes as he let the pleasure dictate his movements. He focused his attention to his tip, stifling a moan as he finally came onto the tiled wall. He tried to ride out the high for as long as he could, shutting his eyes as he felt his cock start to soften.

He opened his eyes, watching as his cum began to drip down the tile. Shit. Had he really just done that? He could feel the shame bubbling up on his stomach already. God, he was your boss, you trusted him, and he took that trust and spat in its face. He rubbed one of his hands down his face, leaning the other against the shower wall as he considered the weight of what he had just done. He had violated you, and for what? A few seconds of relief? Cupping his hands, he gathered up the cold shower water and splashed it against his face, his eyes falling to stare at the cum-stained wall, a glaring reminder of his wrongdoings.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself as he washed it off, desperate to get rid of the sight of it. He took one last look at the area, forever tainted by the knowledge of what he did, before reaching for the soap. He felt dirty, dirtier than before, and suddenly he was desperate to clean himself.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, he turned his attention to the rest of his body, grabbing the soap you had left behind and lathering it up in his hands. Washing his body was awkward in the small space, but not completely impossible. He tried bending down again, and this time he was relatively successful. It was painful, considering he probably had a nasty cut on his back and he was essentially hunched over at a forty-five degree angle, but he was able to get his hair wet enough to wash it which was all that mattered.

He finished up his shower, wrapping the towel around his waist as he shook his hair dry. The cabin was much colder without his clothes to keep him warm, but that was the least of his problems. Gracelessly, he turned to examine his back in the mirror, pursing his lips as he saw the nasty scratch just below the base of his neck. He wasn’t surprised at its presence, after all he had felt a bullet graze past him while they were being shot at, but he didn’t realize the extent of the damage. He had assumed it was just a small injury, a minor scratch he could sleep off, but the wound in the mirror was longer than he thought.

He sighed as he reached for his first aid pack, pulling the suture kit out. He turned to the mirror again, trying to get a better look at the scratch. He turned his attention back to the kit, squinting hard as he tried to get a good grip on the needle. Once he was finally able to, he stood up to look in the mirror again, trying to twist around to get a good angle, but it was no use. Ghost threw the needle down onto the sink, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He knew he should have asked you for help, but he knew the stitches would take a while and he just wanted to sleep.

He put his cargo pants and undershirt back on, ignoring the sting from his back as he grabbed his equipment before tugging on his balaclava once more and exiting the bathroom. The cabin seemed emptier without your presence filling it up with thick tension. He tried to take a deep breath but was interrupted by the stinging pain from his back. He exhaled, clenching his jaw as he bent over to grab his bedroll from his pack.

The sound of creaking behind him caused his head to shoot up, his hand curling around the handle of a small pocket knife he kept in his bag. He swiveled around to see you, your hands in the air with one of them clenched around your blanket. “Woah there, Ghost,” you said jokingly, “I come in peace. You alright?”

He relaxed a little, before remembering what he had done in the shower and stiffening again. “‘M fine. What are you doing here?” he asked, wondering if you had somehow heard him.

You lifted your blanket, “Figured I’d give this to you, that way you can sleep on the bed instead of the floor.”

He eyed you warily, before reaching it out and grabbing it from your hands. “You sure you don’t need it?”

You nodded, your eyes wide and encouraging as you watched him ball it up in his hands. He gave you one last look before turning around to the bedroom, content to call it a day when he heard you gasp. He looked around to see you, one hand over your mouth and the other pointing at him.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his stomach dropping with worry. Did he somehow leave something behind that exposed what he had done in the shower? Fuck. He never would have forgiven himself if this ruined your relationship. He would have to leave the task force, that was for sure, he wouldn’t be able to see you without knowing what he had done, what he had messed up, what could have been.

You stared at him like he was crazy. “Ghost,” you said, your voice laced with disbelief and something else, concern? “Your shirt… There’s blood on it.”

He groaned, partially in annoyance and partially out of relief. Of course his cut started bleeding now. “Oh, that?” he said, feigning ignorance, “it’s nothing, just got clipped back in the forest. It’ll be fine.”

You stared at him, your mouth gaping open. “That is not fine,” you said, “do you see how much blood there is? That needs stitches. Get over here, I’ll sew you up.”

“It’s—”

“No excuses,” you said sternly, silencing the words in his throat. “Sit,” you insisted, pulling a chair from the table. 

He sighed, rolling his eyes, but he sat down in the chair nonetheless. “Off,” you said, moving behind him and tugging at his now bloody shirt.

He stilled, his heart skipping a beat. He knew you were just saying it to get access to his wound, but still, it wasn’t like he had ever actually undressed in front of you. “You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless, you could’ve just asked. No need for all this ‘stitches’ business,” he said, trying to hide how nervous he was. 

“Ha ha,” you said sarcastically, and he could practically hear you rolling your eyes from behind him. Was that a good sign? Was that a bad sign? He couldn’t tell.

“Just saying,” he said, before lifting the shirt off his body, being careful to not lift his mask in the process. He could hear you suck in a breath as your eyes scanned over his back. He suddenly felt incredibly self conscious as you stared at him; he knew his body was far from perfect. His back alone was littered with scars from wartime, knife scratches and stabs, scrapes and bruises, bullet scars. He knew it was perfectly normal for the military, an occupational hazard, but he couldn’t help but worry you would be disgusted by the sight.

You didn’t say anything though, just groaned quietly as you crouched down — to rifle through your bag, he assumed. “I’ve already got an opened suture kit in my bag,” he said, listening to you stop your searching.

“Oh, so you knew it needed stitches earlier and you still let it sit?” you asked, the disapproval clear in your voice.

He sighed, “Now who’s sounding like Price?”

“Yeah, well, Price is right,” you said, echoing Ghost’s words. “See what happens when you don’t apply stitches? Now I gotta clean up all this blood.”

“All this blood?” he asked, his head tilting towards you slightly, “is there that much?”

You clicked your tongue, and he could feel you eyeing him, “I guess not,” you said after a while, “but your shirt smeared it around a lot. Your back could probably give Carrie a run for her money.”

“Carrie?”

You hummed, the sound of you moving towards the kitchen sink filling the quiet room. “Have you never heard of Carrie?” you asked, turning on the tap.

“Is that the one with the uh, with the girl?”

“The one with the girl?” you called back over your shoulder, “real descriptive there Ghost.”

He scoffed, “Just hurry up and get these stitches done before I fall asleep.”

“Just hurry up and get these stitches done before I fall asleep,” you repeated in a shrill falsetto, mocking him. He turned to watch you as you returned from the sink, a damp cloth in hand and a small smile on your face. “No squirming, the water’s cold.”

He took in a breath when he felt you sliding the cold cloth against the plane of his back, suppressing a shudder when you swiped the fabric over the cut. He stayed still as you continued wiping down his back, listening to your quiet breaths instead. 

He tried to ignore the awkwardness that settled in between the two of you. Or maybe there was no awkwardness and it was just a figment of his imagination, because you seemed completely unbothered by the silence. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing, that you were so calm even though your fingers were ghosting over his back. He wondered if you could tell how nervous you were making him, how you were making his cheeks heat up under the mask every time your breath tickled his neck, how his muscles tensed up every time your fingers brushed against his skin, how his heart pounded in his chest with every little sigh or concerned click of your tongue. In a weird way, he was thankful for the blood smeared on his back, considering it allowed him a valid excuse if you asked why his skin was turning red.

He felt you lift the cloth off of his back and walk back over to the sink. Your soft hands wringing out reddened water from the fabric as you ran it under the tap. You returned to your spot behind him again, continuing the task of wiping off his bloodied back. You started to hum quietly as you worked, setting off another swarm of butterflies in Ghost’s stomach. He couldn’t tell what you were humming, it could’ve been a song or it could’ve been a random melody you made up. Either way, he enjoyed it just the same, listening closely to every note.

After a while, he felt you take a step back and stare at him for a second, before returning to the sink and discarding the cloth inside it. “Get the kit out,” you said, your back turned to him as you washed your hands. He complied, stifling a groan as he bent over to pull the kit out from his pack. He fiddled with it as he watched you walk back to him, noticing the way your eyes lingered on his chest for a split second before extending it out to you.

“Alrighty, I don’t think I need to tell you this is gonna sting,” you said as you set up your materials. It was silent for a moment, before he felt you put one of your hands against his back for leverage. He tensed up at the touch of your cold hand against his skin, and you pulled your hand away. “Sorry,” you said, sucking in a breath.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, “just didn’t expect it.”

You hummed, “So this is okay?” you asked, putting your hand on his back again.

He nodded, stifling a wince as he felt the needle pierce his skin. Once again, you were humming as you worked. For some reason, the entire scene felt oddly domestic: you humming as you patched him up, with a storm raging outside. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the two of you were in his flat in Manchester.

He had never really given much thought as to what domestic life with you would look like. He had never allowed himself to, after all, what was the point of entertaining a dream that would never become a reality? But now he needed something to take his mind off the painful pricks of the needle, and you had already proved yourself to be a worthy distraction.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to actually live with you, to have someone to do laundry with, to do dishes with, to wake up with, someone to come home to. He had a feeling you would never approve of the way he lived currently. It had been a while since he had been in his flat, but he could still remember how he left it. Light gray walls as bare as when he got them, his closet filled only with empty hangers, his kitchen cabinets empty save for a few pots and pans, and one lonely set of dishware. His bed wasn’t any better, he didn’t even have a bed frame. Just a mattress pushed against one wall, one white pillow at the head and a neatly folded white blanket at the foot.

But if you moved in, everything would change. He could line the walls with photos of the two of you, fill his closet with your clothes. His dishware wouldn’t be lonely because he’d have to get another set for you, and he wouldn’t mind spending the entire day shopping for a bed frame as long as it was with you. He wanted to wake up with you, to be able to roll over and bury his face in your chest; he wanted to come home and wrap you in his arms after a long day, or to feel you sidle up behind him as he prepared breakfast. 

The more he thought of a life with you, the more awkward he felt with you behind him. You were so ignorant of everything he thought, you didn’t know how badly he wanted you, how he would kill anyone for a chance with you. In your mind, he was nothing more than a coworker, someone you only talked to at work, but in his mind, you were his entire world. When he let his mind run wild, you took up every thought, every whim, every idea. You were tattooed on his mind in technicolor; everything was laced with your presence, your being. 

“Alright,” you chirped, clapping your hands together. “Stitches are all done. I can’t believe how well you took that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that even Price at least winces whenever he gets stitched up. No offense, Ghost, but sometimes I seriously question your humanity.”

“What, you think I’m a robot?”

You snorted, “It wouldn’t surprise me, especially with that mask. It really sells the impression that you’re a cold, heartless, killer.”

“Yeah well, can’t let the enemy know I’ve got a heart, can I? That’s a sure recipe for disaster.”

“Oh so you do have a heart?” you asked, turning to face him.

“Last I checked.”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

“What, you want proof?”

You shrugged, “Can’t hurt.”

Ghost stared at you for a moment, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute. He didn’t know what possessed him when his hand reached out for yours; it was as if he no longer had control of his body and he was just a spectator being forced to watch as his body moved on its own. His hand grabbed yours, and he watched as you stilled, but didn’t pull away. He pulled your hand to his chest, letting it settle above his heart.

Ghost tried his best to keep his breaths steady and his heart from hammering in his chest, but between the warmth of your hand against his cold skin and your wide eyes which were trained on his, he had a feeling his heart might have skipped a few beats. It was silent for a moment before you spoke. 

“I guess I was wrong,” you whispered, your eyes flickering down to sneak another glance at his chest.

“I guess so,” he said in response, his eyes dipping down to stare at your lips. They were reddish-pink and slightly chapped from the cold weather; Ghost wanted to kiss them. Slowly, he looked back up at you, meeting your gaze. You seemed awfully nervous all of a sudden; a stark contrast to your usually confident and relaxed nature. He wondered if he was making you nervous, and if it was a good nervous or a bad nervous.

He didn’t want you to be nervous that he would hurt you; he would never hurt you. Doing so would be like stabbing himself in the heart, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t look at your tear-filled eyes and know that he was responsible. He wanted you to be nervous that he had caught you staring, that he knew you liked him. Of course, Ghost didn’t know anything at the moment. Once he realized how distracting you were to him, he made himself stop trying to read you, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about even more things.

“Oh shit,” you said, breaking the silence, ��you said you were tired right? You should probably go to sleep, I don’t want to keep you up.”

Ghost was slightly disappointed as you pulled your hand away, but the way it lingered for just a second too long — as if you wanted to go back for another touch — didn’t slip by him. “Of course,” he said, rising from his seat, “we’ve got a long day tomorrow. We need to find the others and secure exfil. I don’t think we’re gonna be taking on Zhelyazkov any time soon after this.”

You nodded, your lips pressed into a line as you watched him grab his hoodie from his bag and slip it on. “Wake me up when you get tired,” he said, turning towards the bedroom.

“Yes, sir,” you said.

The soft cushion of the bed was a warm welcome compared to the hard wood of the chair, although this time he didn’t have the warmth of your hands to keep him company. He set his stuff down next to his bed, letting out a groan as he lay down. It felt like ages had passed since they first arrived at Zhelyazkov’s base and he started shooting at them. Ghost let his eyes fall shut as exhaustion began to kick in, his mind too tired to think. Sleep came to him quickly once his head hit the pillow. His eyelids became too heavy to open and he could feel his body sinking into the mattress. 

Ghost wasn’t typically a dreamer, and yet that night, he dreamt of you. There wasn’t much meaning or direction to his dreams, just images and flashes of you, brief pockets of peacefulness or lust. He dreamt of waking you up in the morning with breakfast in bed, savoring the way you smiled up at him, your sleep-filled eyes crinkling at the corners. He dreamt of holding you against the wall, one leg wrapped over his shoulder as he ate you out, drinking in the way you cried out his name. He dreamt of walking along the street with you, one hand wrapped tightly around your waist as he admired the way you looked up at him with loving eyes. He dreamt of thrusting into you on a fur rug in front of a fireplace, delighting in the way your nails scratched down his back.

For too long, you had been nothing more than a distraction to Ghost. It was all he allowed himself to categorize you as, a mere inconvenience in his job. It was all he allowed himself to categorize you as, because the truth? The truth was that you were so much more.

You weren’t just the reason Ghost forgot to triple check his intel; you were the reason he looked forward to early morning meetings with the team. You weren’t just the reason Ghost had gotten sloppy at covering his tracks; you were the reason his heart fluttered whenever you were nearby. You were the reason his chest skipped a beat whenever you brushed up against him, you made his cheeks heat up whenever you pretended to flirt. You were the reason he flared up with jealousy whenever you talked to Soap instead of him. You were the reason for his bad mood when he didn’t see you at breakfast. You were the reason he felt safe; you were the reason he lowered his guard. You were the reason he made himself get up in the morning. You were the reason he let himself dream at night.

#bingoboingobongo.com #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost modern warfare 2 #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #ghost angst #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon riley mw2 #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst #simon riley one shot #ghost one shot #a wish upon a shooting star

[isabella-kr]

Underneath the Moonlight

Synopsis: Getting stuck in a far-away safehouse in the middle of a snow storm wasn't ideal. But it is during those moments that the most closed off people may reveal more of themselves, and she never expected that, of all people, her intimidating lieutenant would have such a soft side he kept hidden away.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female!Reader

Requested: No

Genre: Smut / Fluff ! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD

Warnings: Smut, mature content, inappropriate relationship with a superior, description of male and female genitalia, descriptions of male and female body, fingering, penetrative sex, p in v, creampie, soft sex, Simon is touch starved, fear of attachments, scars, body worship, Ghost is a huge softy because I said so, it also gets sad at one point but briefly

Do not repost

Word Count: 6k

General Masterlist COD:MWII Masterlist

GIF not mine

The wind was howling and screeching as the old, rusty car struggled to drive through the mountain of snow. The freezing wind squeezed through the gaps between the door and infiltrated the space within the small truck. She shivered, her teeth chittering as she attempted to warm up by hugging herself and breathing into her hands.  

The number of layers she currently had on her didn’t seem to matter, as the cold seemed to penetrate through every gap in her clothing and stick to her skin like cleavers. She could see a faint cloud form in front of her every time she breathed, reminding her of the many times she was stranded in the freezing cold during a mission. This was starting to become a common occurrence and she was not too happy about that revelation.  

She glanced to the side, watching as her Lieutenant kept a strong hold on the steering wheel. The old thing was close to falling apart, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised when the engine revved for the first time. She was expecting his attempts to fail miserably, already preparing herself for the ten mile walk to the safe house. Luckily, her pessimism was proven otherwise. She guessed she would rather be freezing cold inside the car than have to face the storm brewing outside.  

Ghost didn’t seem to be as cold as she was. Though she assumed he could have just been hiding his discomfort like he usually did. He was one giant mystery of a man, and although he had opened up to her before, she still felt as though she knew nothing about him. Which, to an extent, was true. She knew the basics, just enough for them to consider each other friends. But she knew nothing of his past, and a part of her believed she never would.  

“We’re almost there,” his gruff voice suddenly rang out, pulling her out of her own thoughts.  

She nodded, though she didn’t say anything in return. She was only hoping the safe house would have some sort of heating system within it, otherwise she was sure she was going to freeze to death. She almost jumped with excitement when, through the thick fog of snow, she could see the outline of a small, wooden house. A sigh of relief left her lips, and her eyes closed for just a moment.  

The car soon came to a creaky stop, and she silently thanked whatever forces were out there for not letting it explode on the way there. The moment she opened the car door, she wished she didn’t. The freezing air instantly made her skin prickle, her face feeling numb as her feet dived into the sea of snow. It enveloped her calves, making it difficult to push through, but the promise of a warm safehouse gave her the motivation she needed.  

In what felt like seconds, she was already inside. The place looked awful. She was sure it hasn’t been used in years, if not decades. All hope of a heating system immediately went out the window the moment she realised how truly old the place was. She felt as though she was transported back to the 90s, nay maybe even the 70s.  

And even if it didn’t look as old as it did – click – the electricity wasn’t working. She didn’t know whether it was because of the storm outside or if it hadn’t worked for years, but she doubted it would come back on anytime soon.  

The sound of footsteps coming up behind her made her release a sharp exhale, “This is a shithole.”  

“It’ll do,” was Ghost’s reply. “Go look for blankets. I’ll start the fire.”  

It was only once he mentioned the fire that she noticed the stone fireplace hiding behind a stack of boxes. She felt relieved for a moment, watching as his tall figure approached the corner of the room, moving the stacks of boxes to the side to inspect the fireplace.  

She hesitantly moved from her spot and ventured into one of the only other rooms within the house. The moment she stepped foot inside it, she felt the protein bar she ate 6 hours ago try to come back out. The room smelt of death and mould, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she found a rotting corpse somewhere in the small space.  

The bed was broken in the middle and the mattress was a sickly green colour. She could only gag at the sight, ruling out the option of either of them sleeping soundly on a bed.  

“Why the fuck is this still marked as a safehouse,” she muttered to herself whilst crouching down, opening all the drawers she could find in search of a blanket. A pillow. Anything.  

There was nothing in the room except the vomit-inducing smell. And so, before she had the chance to actually throw up in the middle of the floor, she sped away and entered the room next door.  

The bathroom was much nicer. Not nice, but nicer than whatever was happening in the bedroom. She slowly approached the toilet and pressed the lever, grinning when she heard the loud noise of the water flushing. At least the toilet was useable, that was a relief. 

There was a small cabinet in the corner of the bathroom, right beside the lime-scaled bathtub. She wasn’t quite sure what else she was expecting to find in there, but the sight of towels made a frown pull at the corners of her lips.  

She felt defeated when she left the cold bathroom, more so when she saw Ghost struggling to light the fire with the wood that was laying around in the common space. “How’s it going?” she questioned despite clearly seeing him struggle.  

“Shit,” was all he said in return, an annoyed grunt leaving his throat as he blew on the wood.  

She let herself look around the, what looked like, a living-room. The sofa-bed was sunken in and the material was severely ripped. The arm chairs which stood at either side of it didn’t look much better, making her curse at the only option the two had.  

Sleeping on the floor it is.  

As she looked around, her eyes eventually settled on a closet which stood at the far end wall of the room. How she hadn’t seen it before, she wasn’t sure. But she was glad she eventually did, because the moment she did –  

“Bingo!” A wide smile pulled at her lips.  

Not only were there blankets in there, but also two, thick duvets that she was more than happy to see. Taking one of the duvets, she placed it on top of the carpet in the middle of the room, not too far away from the fireplace. She turned the blankets into make-shift pillows and then placed the other duvet on top. She guessed this was better than sleeping on the floor, or on the mould-ridden bed in the other room.  

A bright light made her look up, and a smile formed on her face when she noticed the fire that now engulfed the logs of wood. Ghost looked down at the ‘bed’ and sent her a confused glance.  

“Yeah, sorry, but unless you want to sleep on a mouldy bed, or on that piece of shit,” she pointed at the sofa behind her, “we’re gonna have to share.”  

Ghost didn’t break their eye contact, as if contemplating what his next move was going to be. Eventually, he sighed and accepted his fate. “Kick me in your sleep and I’ll lock you out.”  

She looked offended at his words, her brows furrowing and mouth falling open, “I don’t kick in my sleep, dickhead.”  

He nodded, as if not believing her and walked away, making his way towards the bathroom.  

By the time the two were situated in the bed, if you could even call it that, the moon had risen high in the sky, making her smile at the sight. The flames had warmed up the room, and hiding under the duvet, she could no longer feel any cold that lingered in the air.  

The two soldiers were laying on their backs, her position closer to the fireplace than his. She guessed it was a chivalrous act, or maybe he just didn’t get cold as easily as her. Whatever it was, she was glad, her eyes admiring the orange flames as though they were a painting in an art gallery.  

At this point, the two had stripped from some of their clothes, only leaving their socks, cargo pants and t-shirt on, and in Ghost’s case, also his mask. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would have to do.  

With a small inhale, she glanced over at the man laying down beside her. The black paint was still smudged around his closed eyes, and staring at his covered side profile made her wonder what was hiding under the balaclava. She guessed she would never know, but it was fun to speculate, especially when she had nothing better to do.  

Her eyes drifted downwards a bit, past his nose, lips, chin and down to his neck, right above his clavicle. There was a faint line there, almost invisible unless you paid attention. Her hand moved without her realising and before she knew it, she was pressing her index finger against the bumpy patch of skin.  

His eyes shot open, though he didn’t move. He didn’t say anything either, only letting his eyes move to gaze at her concentrated expression. Eventually, her eyes lifted, making contact with his brown ones. He was expecting her to move away, maybe even apologise, but she didn’t. Instead, she sent him a soft smile and spoke, “When did you get this one?” 

He remained silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before he decided to answer, “Five years ago.”  

She nodded with a hum and turned on her side to see him better, “Mission?”  

“Yeah,” he swallowed thickly and glanced down at her cheek, where a small scar decorated her skin. “What about that one?” 

She smiled at his words, and for a second he thought she was going to burst out laughing. “Training. Got knocked out and fell. The asshole had a ring on his finger and cut me up.” 

Ghost hummed, looking back up at the ceiling. For a moment, she thought that was the end of their conversation, but he soon spoke up once again, “Did you return the favour?”  

“Hell yeah, I did,” she grinned, “Broke his nose.”  

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he laughed at her answer. But she couldn’t be certain, not when she could only see his eyes.  

“You got anyone out there?” she asked, only realising how invasive the question was after she said it. For a second, she was afraid he would blow up on her, tell her to go to sleep and mind her own business. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he took in a deep breath and shook his head, “No.”  

“Me neither,” she told him. “I guess it’s better this way, right? No one’s gonna be sad when we get killed off.”  

Ghost hummed in agreement.  

“Though sometimes,” she laid back down on her back, staring up at the wooden ceiling, “It’s gonna sound selfish, but sometimes I wish I did have someone out there. Someone I could visit when we’re not deployed.”  

He didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even move a muscle, but she could see that he agreed. He didn’t have to tell her out loud when his eyes said enough.  

Biting on the inside of her cheek, she turned towards him with a smirk, “You ever had a girlfriend, or boyfriend?”  

This time, he rolled his eyes and turned away from her, his back facing her.  

“It was just a question,” she laughed, “Come on, don’t ignore me. I’ll pester you all night if you don’t turn back around.”  

“Go to sleep,” he told her. It wasn’t a suggestion. She knew that tone of voice, it was an order.  

An order she was going to disobey. “Come on, talk to me. We’re gonna be here for the next few days, so we might as well talk.”  

“No,” he huffed, letting himself fall on his back again. 

“No, what?” she asked.  

“Your question,” he reminded her, “No.”  

“Ah,” she hummed, “Me neither. Guess we’re both loners. Would you ever-” 

“No,” he answered before she could even finish her sentence. 

Her brows furrowed, “Why?”  

He turned his head in her direction, their eyes locking together as he answered her truthfully, “Why would I? We’re gone most the time. I die, they’re left alone. Doesn’t sound fair.”  

She hummed in thought, “I guess. But maybe they would just be happy to have spent that time with you, rather than none at all?” 

He searched her eyes for something, refusing to look away even when he didn’t find what he was looking for, “You feel that way?”  

“As in, would I rather spend time with someone and have them die, rather than never know them at all?” she asked, and he nodded, confirming her question. She pondered for a while. She would definitely be devastated and heartbroken, but at the end of the day, she knew her answer, “Yes.”  

This time, he fully turned on his side to be able to look at her, “Why?”  

“Everyone dies, Ghost,” she told him as though he wasn’t aware of the fact, “Even if we were civilians, we could die suddenly. Car crash, stabbing, or maybe even an undiagnosed illness. It doesn’t matter, we’d all die eventually anyway. If everyone avoided relationships just because of that fear, we would have died out centuries ago.”  

Simon thought over her words. He understood what she meant, because despite it hurting when he lost people – soldiers, friends – he didn’t regret ever knowing them. They lived in his memories. Memories which sometimes haunted him in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret ever meeting them.  

He didn’t realise how long he seemed to have been staring at her, unblinking, until she spoke once again. “You’ve got pretty eyes, you know?” 

She changed topics a lot, which he already knew from years of working with her. But it never failed to take him by surprise, especially when she said something like this. “They’re brown,” he pointed out.  

“Yeah. They’re warm,” she told him seriously.  

“Warm?” 

“Mhm,” she nodded, “Bet you’re pretty, too.”  

He almost snorted. “Trying to get me to take my mask off?”  

She shrugged, a smile pulling at her lips, “You caught me.”  

He shook his head, amused by her antics as he let his eyes fall closed. Just for a moment, because not even a minute later, he felt her fingers pushing back some of the dirty-blonde hair which managed to escape from under his mask.  

His eyes shot open, but there was no hostility in them. In fact, they were soft.  Softer than she ever saw them before. There was a slight glaze to them, and she didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she moved forward, her face barely inches away from his.  

He didn’t move back, and she took it as a good sign. She always did feel a certain attraction to him, his gruff voice and tall stature was sure to pull her in despite her protests. But he was her superior, she wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way. Not when it could get them both in trouble.  

He said her name lowly, the sound of his voice making her look down at his balaclava-covered lips. She wanted to move the wretched material away, but she knew better. She didn’t move, her eyes moving back up to his, only to find them staring at her own lips.  

“Gho-” 

“Simon,” he whispered, the name sounding foreign on his lips.  

Was this permission? She could only assume it was, and so she whispered, “Simon.”  

His eyes closed at that, only opening back up when his hand was gently holding her jaw. His touch was feather-light as if he feared she would disintegrate the moment his skin made contact with hers.  

She placed her hand on his, a small smile playing at her lips when she angled her face enough to place a soft kiss on the inside of his palm. He watched her moves carefully, only moving closer towards her after watching the gesture he had never received from anyone before.  

He whispered her name again, this time placing his forehead against hers as he did so.  

“Simon,” she spoke softly, her eyes staring deeply into his. “Can I kiss you?”  

He clenched his eyes shut. And to her, it looked as though he was fighting with himself. Trying to fight against what he wanted, and what he knew was right. Yet despite all this, his thumb hooked around the bottom of his mask and lifted it just above his half-full lips.  

He didn’t open his eyes after he did so, not even after his hand returned to her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek with so much affection, she felt as though she was going to melt.  

“Can I?” she asked again.  

He nodded, moving towards her and pressing his lips against hers himself. The kiss was slow and soft, his lips working against hers with a gentleness she wasn’t aware he was capable of. She moved herself up ever so slightly, balancing herself on her elbow without breaking the kiss. They were in sync, and all she could think about how perfect the moment was. How his lips fit perfectly against hers. How his touch was soft and gentle as he used both his hands to cup her face, his palms feeling hot on her warm skin.  

She pulled away, catching her breath as Simon chased after her lips, desperate to feel more of her touch. He stared up at her, his fingers tangling into her hair as he placed his forehead against hers.  

“This is wrong,” he voiced.  

She knew it was. He didn’t have to tell her. Internal affairs would have a field day, had they found out about this. But she wasn’t going to tell, and neither was he. They were stuck in an isolated safe-house with no electricity and they wouldn’t be able to go back for the next few days. There would be no way of this ever getting out, but the fear was still there.  

She let out a sharp breath, “Do you want to stop?”  

He shook his head, “Fuck no,” and pressed his nose against hers, “Do you?”  

She breathed out a laugh, “Fuck no.”  

There was a moment of pause, neither of them making a move to enjoy the closeness between them. The echoing of the crackling fire created a feeling of cosiness in the otherwise uncomfortable safehouse, making them wish for the moment to never end.  

With a shaky breath, she pressed her lips against his again, the material of his balaclava rubbing against her nose as he angled his face to deepen the otherwise soft kiss. He pushed himself up on his arm and guided her to her back as his tongue slipped inside her mouth.  

She didn’t feel intimidated by his larger frame hovering above her. It was quite the opposite in fact, as she felt safer than ever. She felt at peace when he moved on top of her, placing one knee between her thighs to hold himself up, careful not to collapse on top of her body.  

“Simon,” she whined, her abdomen feeling warm with excitement.  

He groaned and his head fell against her shoulder, hand moving away from her cheek to rest beside her head. He pressed his lips against her neck and her eyes had fallen closed, enjoying the feeling of soft, gentle kisses being peppered from her clavicle and up to her jaw. She had never imagined him to be as soft as he was. A part of her believed he would be a rough lover, with harsh kisses and hard touches, but the reality caught her by surprise, and she could only smile at the almost loving kisses he placed upon her skin.  

She turned her head to the side, pressing her lips against his as her hands ventured downward, pulling his tucked-in shirt from underneath his pants. Her fingers made contact with the skin on his abdomen, and the man above her let out a groan. She wondered when the last time he got touched in any way was. When was the last time he kissed someone, or had someone press their palms against his? She could only assume it was years ago, if ever.  

“Can I?” She asked, tugging at his shirt.  

He nodded, sitting up on his knees to pull his shirt over his head and throw it behind him. Her eyes immediately went down to his chest that was littered with scars from missions in the past. Some were deep and long and others short and faint. There was a burn mark on his shoulder and with a frown, she pushed herself up to press a soft kiss against it.  

Simon sighed, his hand reaching for the back of her head to run his fingers through her hair. She smiled at him and reached for her own shirt, pulling it off her body and leaving her in her sports bra. He watched her attentively, half-lidded eyes taking in her half-naked form. Surprising him further, she reached for the clasp on her back and got rid of the restraining bra, a soft sigh leaving her lips.  

His eyes lifted to hers again and, with a soft look on his face, he placed one of his hands on her waist to push her back on the make-shift bed. He trailed another set of kisses down from her neck and down to the valley of her breasts, yet his hand remained on her hip.  

It was only when she placed her hand on hers and moved it up her body that his warm palm cupped one of her breasts, receiving a series of moans from her in return. She could feel him smile against her soft skin before his lips enveloped her nipple, wetting it with his tongue.  

“Simon,” she moaned, reaching for his head, only to be met with the material of his mask. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to rip the dreaded thing off his head.  

He groaned in return, stopping his ministrations against her breasts when he felt her thighs wrap around his waist. He moved his hand down to her cargo-covered leg, pulling it slightly higher up his waist.  

They shared a long look, and a small frown pulled on his lips 

“What’s wrong?” she asked with concern.  

Simon moved back, and for a second she panicked. Had she done something wrong? She was about to ask him when his hand reached for his mask. She was expecting him to pull it back down, but instead his finger pulled it up, reaching only his nose before she stopped in. 

She had a worried in look in her eyes, “You don’t have to,” she told him, afraid she somehow pressured him into removing the covering.  

He smiled at her. A genuine smile that has her knees feeling weak, “I want to,” he told her as he removed the mask and exposed his face for her to see.  

She watched him with widened eyes, admiring him like he was a piece of art. And perhaps, to her he was. Every scar that decorated his skin, those half-full lips, lightly crooked nose and those warm brown eyes she found herself drowning in. Every part of him was art. 

She cupped his face and moved towards him, straddling his waist and pressing her chest against his. “I knew you were pretty,” she grinned.  

He let out a laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners at her words. With a smile, she connected their lips again, wrapping her arms around his neck as his snaked around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Her lips left his, leaving him to chase after her with a small groan.  

She connected her lips to the skin on his shoulders, busying herself with kissing every scar she came across as her hands went down to his abdomen, pulling on his belt to undo it. It didn’t take her long, and soon the leather was hanging loosely around his hips, the metals clinking against each other. His zipper was next to be undone, getting pulled down by her slender fingers as he let out a quiet moan.  

She almost squealed when his arms wrapped tighter around her waist and pulled her up to her feet, his form towering over hers. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the metal of her own belt and unbuckled it with expert fingers, letting the leather loose. She watched as he then hooked his fingers around the top of his cargo pants and pushed them down, letting them fall all the way off before kicking them away.  

Her eyes darkened with lust as she shamelessly looked upon the tent in his boxers. He let out a chuckle and approached her, his lips pressing into hers as his arms landed on her waist, sliding downward until his hands reached her own cargos. Deepening the kiss, he pushed them down enough for him to cup her ass, letting the material fall to the floor and join his own when she kicked them away.  

They were soon back on the soft duvets, her legs wrapped around his waist as his boxer-covered cock pressed against her core. She whined at the contact, breaking the deep kiss as her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.  

Ghost sent her a soft smile, placing a kiss to her cheek before diving his head and kissing his way down her body. He stopped at her abdomen, above the line of her underwear. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and expecting, “Can I?” he asked.  

With a heavy exhale, she nodded.  

“I need to hear you say it,” he spoke in almost a whisper.  

She let out a shaky breath, “Yes.”  

With a smile and a gentle kiss against her abdomen, he pulled her underwear down her legs. He couldn’t stop his eyes from settling between her legs once the thin material was off her body. Suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, she closed her thighs.  

He looked up at her, his eyes understanding as he placed a hand on her knee, “It’s okay,” he told her softly. 

She hesitantly opened her legs up slightly and Simon placed them on either side of his hips again, not even once breaking eye contact as he did so – it was intense, the way he was looking at her. Despite his eyes remaining as soft as when their evening began, she could see a certain intensity within them. Perhaps it was due to the moonlight highlighting his face, making his gaze seem more passionate than it actually was.  

His muscles also seemed to benefit from the bright moon, the light highlighting every vein on his bicep and every muscle on his abdomen as he crawled on top of her once again. Taking her lips in his, he let his hand travel from her legs and stop between her thighs to collect the pooling arousal with his index finger. 

She moaned at the action, her legs tightening around him as her fingers grabbed onto his dirty-blonde hair. Their tongues met, exploring one another with fervour as his moved up towards her clit, rubbing it in slow circles. 

She moaned into his mouth, head falling back and eyes clenching shut as the ecstatic feeling made her move her hips upwards. Simon kissed her pulse, humming against her skin as he gently placed one digit at her entrance, the finger moving inside her with ease.  

A harsh tug at his hair made him release a low groan, though a smile played at his lips at the sound of her breathy moans. Adding another thick finger, he massaged her walls by curling them inside her. She moved her hips in sync with his movements and clenched her eyes shut, entirely losing herself in the feeling of him pleasuring her.  

“Simon,” she moaned, and the way she said his name - in such an erotic way - had him moving his own hips downward. His cock was now uncomfortably pushing against the fabric of his boxers, and she could not stop herself from using her feet to push it down his hips. His dick sprang free, and he hissed upon feeling the raw air against his skin.  

Her name fell from his lips when he felt her walls clench around his him, speeding up the movement of his fingers to chase her incoming orgasm. She looked up at him, her lust-filled eyes glassy as they rolled to the back of her head. 

She moaned his name once again as she felt herself approaching the finish line. Her legs tightened around him and arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush against her. His cock made contact with her abdomen and a small hiss left his lips as he rocked his hips upwards. 

Finally, with a loud moan, she felt the knot that formed in her stomach let go, and her orgasm washed over her. Her legs trembled and walls clenched tightly around his to digits, which he continued pumping in and out to milk her orgasm. Her breathing was erratic, and with his head pressed against her body, he could hear her heart jump in her ribcage.  

He eventually pulled his fingers out and untangled her arms from around his neck, pushing himself up enough to be able to look at her. The hand that previously toyed with her was now on her thigh, keeping her leg in place as he gazed into her eyes.  

“Are you okay?” he asked, his gruff voice ever so soft.  

She could only nod, not trusting her own voice as she could feel his hard cock resting against her, leaking precum that slowly pooled on her skin.  

“D’you want to continue?” he questioned.  

This time, she answered with a smile, “Yeah.”  

Nodding, he kissed her once more, groaning when he felt her fingers wrap around the base of his cock and moved her hand up and down as their tongues met once more. She pressed his dick against her vulva, gathering the remains of her arousal with the tip. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes meeting hers as she angled him at her entrance, sending him a small nod to let him know it was okay.  

Moving her leg further up his hips, he pushed into her, his cock entering the walls which invited him with a warm hug. They both moaned in unison as he stretched her, gently pushing more of himself in until he was fully seated inside of her.  

His hips stilled for just a moment, enough for him to look at her once more and see her nod. Giving him permission to move.  

His thrusts were slow, matching the softness he had shown her the entire evening. He pulled out almost completely, making her feel empty until he dived back inside and filled her up entirely once again. His head fell to her shoulder, groans and moans leaving his mouth with every thrust.  

Despite wanting nothing more than to close her eyes and lose herself in the feeling – of his chest rubbing against her perky nipples, of his cock hitting the back of her uterus with every thrust and in the way his pelvis deliciously brushed against her clit – she didn’t. She looked down to where his hand held her thigh, keeping it up on his hip, perhaps to give himself a better angle, or maybe just because he wanted to touch her. His tattoos were almost shining in the moonlight, and so was he. His skin looked ethereal under the bright light, and she hoped the sight would never escape her memory.  

The moonlight was washed over the both of them, and the warmth from the fireplace made the moment feel more romantic than it otherwise would have been. They didn’t pay attention to the dust-filled floors, the smell of mildew in the air or even the harsh storm outside the window. All they could feel was each other’s skin, and all they could hear was the gentle moans getting past their lips. Everything else was forgotten; it was ignored.  

“Simon, please,” she whined, pressing a kiss to his shoulder to urge his movements. He sped up his thrusts, yet only slightly. Not too fast or rough, but just enough to chase their orgasms. He could feel her clench around him once again, and the wet sounds coming from between her legs gave him further motivation to get them there faster.  

His thrusts got lightly rougher, his pelvis hitting her clit more harshly than before, but that only made her moans increase in volume and her fingers dig into his shoulder blades. She let out a choked sob and with a stronger clench than before, she finally came around his hardened cock.  

Simon moaned at the feeling, hips beginning to stutter as he approached his own orgasm. “W-here?” he asked, pulling himself up to look into her eyes.  

She smiled up at him, unable to find the strength to answer him, and so she just nodded. She was still clenching around him when he thrusted deeper into her, getting entirely swallowed inside of her as he let go. He painted her insides white with a loud grunt, and his forehead fell against hers. 

They were both panting, trying to catch their breaths as they embraced one another. They stayed like that for a short while, bodies pressed against each other and his cock was still deep inside her. Despite the sensitivity they both felt in their groins, they were comfortable. They felt safe within each other’s arms, and for a moment they even managed to forget where they were. That they were soldiers and this moment of bliss would not last long.  

With a soft kiss against her cheek, he pulled out of her. She was ready to wrap her arms around him again when he stood up, moving away from her and heading to the bathroom. She was confused for a short while until he returned with a damp towel and kneeled beside her.  

“It’s not mouldy, is it?” she asked seriously when he placed the cold cloth against her hot skin, collecting the sticky fluids which stuck to her. 

Shaking his head, “No,” he assured her, momentarily watching as his own cum spilled out of her before collecting it with the towel. Once he deemed them both clean from their activities, he left the towel in the sink and laid down beside her. They wrapped their arms around one another, the duvet covering their naked forms as their legs got tangled together.  

She let out a soft sigh, “This is going to complicate things, isn’t it?”  

“Yeah,” he admitted, though he didn’t sound like he regretted anything that had happened. He kissed the crown of her head and closed his eyes, enjoying how their bodies were pressed together – how he could feel the heat radiating off her, and how he could feel her heartbeat against the skin on his chest.  

“I won’t tell,” she told him, as though that was his concern.  

He breathed out a laugh, “I know,” he told her, “Sleep. We’ll talk it out tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, closing her eyes as the crackling of the fire lulled them both to sleep.   

The two stayed like that all night; their limbs tangled together as the moon bathed them with its light, giving them its blessing.  

#simon riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost one shot #simon riley one shot #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley #Simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #Simon ‘ghost’ riley x you #Simon ‘ghost’ riley x female reader #simon ghost riley cod #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod x you #cod imagine #simon riley imagine #Simon riley x reader imagine #ghost x reader imagine #ghost x you imagine #modern warfare #modern warfare 2

[mlmxreader]

A Man After My Heart | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ 37 “I have a bad reputation.” “I don’t give a shit” with ghost please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Ghost takes a liking to another soldier, and although he's apprehensive, he doesn't realise that his attention is far from unrequited.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, symptoms of mental illness

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

When Ghost first met you, he was immediately enamoured; loud mouthed, opinionated, no stranger to getting into fights and deeming it friendly fire. He was starstruck, in all honesty.

He started eating his dinner outside when he was on base, hoping to get a glimpse of you; you would always wave at him and nod curtly before sticking your arm up and offering him a thumbs up. It always made his heart pound in his chest.

So of course he did his best to impress you; sparring with new recruits alongside Gaz and hoping that you would walk by. Whenever you complimented his form, it would knock the wind right out of him, and he would stare at you, grinning like an idiot.

Naturally, his teammates - Gaz, Price and Farah - noticed, as none of them had ever seen Ghost have a soft spot before… well, Price did, but he supposed that Man City didn’t exactly count - plus they were shit, if Price was to be asked.

It was one of your teammates who approached Ghost, decked out in thick black spandex, leather and Kevlar from head to toe, only their dark brown eyes visible as they handed him a note; they didn’t say anything, just handed it to him and then moved on.

He glanced at it, and upon seeing your name at the bottom, bit at the inside of his lip as he smiled to himself; you had asked to meet him over by the smoking area. Of course he went, stealing two of Price’s cigarettes and hoping that the Captain wouldn’t notice - it was only fair play, after all.

Especially since Everton had recently won against Man City.

There was a slight giddiness in Ghost’s steps as he made his way to the smoking area, pulling out one of the cigarettes and lighting it; he almost dropped it when he saw you, decked out in your uniform.

A pair of freshly ironed and perfectly kept crimson trousers, yellow crossed Kukris on red backgrounds on each of your sleeves, a brown beret, khaki shirt and tie covered slightly by a black jacket.

You were quick to light a cigarette, leaning against the fence and glaring up at him.

“Seen you looking, Simon,” you huffed. “How you doing?”

You knew his name. Fuck.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he breathed out, sitting down on the harsh concrete beside you and doing his best not to lean into your leg. “You know my name?”

“I talked to your Captain,” you explained, “he says you fancy me.”

Ghost swallowed thickly as he turned his gaze to the ground quickly. “Well…”

“I’m not gonna bite,” you chuckled, shaking your head and gently nudging him. “Well, if you ask - I might consider it.”

He smiled, laughing a little as he chewed at the inside of his lip, taking a quick drag from his cigarette. “Will you, now?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And who says I’ll ask?” He mused, moving to sit in front of you and raising his brow.

You grinned as you raised your brows at him, grinning like the dog that got the bone. “Who says you won’t?”

“Fair point,” Ghost agreed with a curt nod. “But don’t you reckon I might bite?”

“You?” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Sweetheart, you can bite me all you want.”

His jaw fell slightly slack, a little stunned as he hummed and cleared his throat; no one had ever been so forward with him before, and he was… a lot more than taken by surprise, in all honesty.

His throat felt dry, and although Ghost was known to have a sharp tongue amongst his teammates, he felt as if he had fallen on his face as he did his best to come up with a response.

“I can?”

“Oh, yeah,” you beamed, more than aware of the effect that you had on him. “I’m not sure if you know, Simon, but I have a bad reputation.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he admitted, almost under his breath. “Don’t you know I have one of my own?”

You dropped to your knees in front of him, licking your lips as you tilted your head to the side slightly. “Oh, I’ve done my research… but I don’t care about that. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“You have?”

You nodded, finishing your cigarette and helping him stand up. “You’re not exactly subtle, y’know. I’ve seen a bull in a china shop with more subtlety.”

By now, Ghost’s face was burning bright pink as he grumbled; he had hoped that you wouldn’t have noticed his little crush, knowing that you were unattainable, but… but you would probably be the only person in the world to understand it.

To understand him.

The nightmares, the paranoia, the craving and the need to be on the battlefield; knowing nothing other than constant violence, than a war that would never end. You would be the only person in the world who could look him in the eyes and say you understood and actually mean it.

Nurses, civilians, medics, they would never understand what it would be like to have so much blood on their hands that their fingers stuck together and reeked of copper. He met your gaze, swallowing thickly, nearly gulping audibly.

“You understand, right?” He whispered. 

You nodded, putting your hand on his shoulder. “More than most, yeah… you ever see things that ain’t there?”

He nodded.

“Hear things?”

Another nod.

“You ever get convinced that you’re gonna be taken away by cunts in big white coats?” You asked softly. “Every van that pulls up… every car door closing…”

A third nod.

“Then we’re understood,” you told him. “They tell you it’s normal, right? Tell you that it just comes with the job?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “One and a half pills a day, they say.”

“But it’s not enough,” you mused. “Is it?”

“Never will be,” Ghost admitted. “Say… there’s a match on later - Man City against Arsenal - fancy going to the pub to watch?”

You nodded, shaking his hand. “It’s a date, Simon.”

He grinned, nodding back. “I’ll pick you up when it’s time?”

“Sounds good,” you agreed. “Spoons, or local?”

He took a moment to think about it. “Spoons?”

“Atta boy,” you chuckled. “Man after my own heart.”

#mlem writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x yn #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley oneshot #simon ghost riley one shot #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x yn #simon riley imagine #simon riley oneshot #simon riley one shot #simon riley fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #simon riley fic #simon riley #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x you #ghost riley x y/n #ghost riley x yn #ghost riley oneshot #ghost riley one shot #ghost riley fanfiction

[miseries-mistress]

A L𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 H𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖠 𝖲𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖥𝖺𝖼𝖾)

Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Synopsis: It wasn’t often that the OP went wrong, not after all the planning and hours spent pouring over logistics and floor plans, but the darkness often holds unforeseen powers that wait in the shadows to strike. As a result, you end up injured, and Ghost doesn’t take it lightly, his concern mutilated into a body of rage. 

Warnings: gender not mentioned, injury, canon-typical violence, blood, gore, reader is injured, insecurity, self-doubt, slight angst

Words: 2633

Notes: my first ghost fic. just tryna get the feel of writing such a complicated man. 

call of duty masterlist

If your eyes weren't so heavy, you might have come to appreciate how light flickers across Ghost's dark irises. They're a pretty dark blue, almost black in the shadows that skimper across them, with flakes of silver breathing life into the soulless window. His long ashen eyelashes are sprinkled with black from his eye makeup, fluttering gently as he blinks. 

His stare, however, is anything but gentle. Instead, they pierce you, digging beneath your skin to unravel every secret bound in life's coil. Yet, despite his unrelenting eyes, emotions hide behind the cracked veneer of his facade and let you peek at the ever-boiling concern in his chest whenever your gaze is diverted to him.

The tension is palpable, like a tightrope walker balancing precariously between the safety of their starting point and the unknown depths below them. Every movement could shift them off balance, and the slightest misstep could mean disaster. You attempt to swallow the taste of apprehension as it lingers in the air, your stomach twisting into knots. 

The cabin groans, its creaky walls offering you no reprieve from the constant whistling of the trees and the slashing of rain against the dingy pain. You didn't dare to move, worried that the slightest twitch was the very thing to crumble away the safety net the stillness had provided you from Ghost. You didn't dare look at him, but you could feel the dark waves riddled with anger roll off him, drowning you in its smoldering intensity. 

After all, it's your fault that you're both here. 

-

Get in, retrieve the package, and get out. That was the brief, in layman's terms, that Laswell had given you not even a day ago. An assignment you had done hundreds of times before. It was all going well, the task force working and adapting to every new command or plan alteration as you and Ghost cleared floor by floor. Synchronization was embedded into every call-out to ensure everything ran smoothly. A perfect plan, too simple to mess up. That's what ran through the floating, gloomy clouds of your thoughts until you failed to notice a soldier engulfed by the buildings shadows, his body fluid with the darkness, his hands grappled on a weapon of death's design. You were preparing to trek the next flight of stairs, your legs heavy with the constant climbing as Ghost radioed Price. A man, the one who proclaimed his life to the cover of despair, took aim at your unaware figure.

You didn't see the bullet fly or its infamous wizz as it tore like a wild animal through the tissue in your thigh, embedding itself in your muscle. Initially, the gut-wrenching agony you were promised never arrived nor impeded your ability to move as you shot him down and continued to move up the floors, hostile after hostile, falling victim to your violence. It wasn't until the area was cleared that the beginnings of hot ice began to flood your veins, spreading down your leg like a paralyzing sickness. You stumbled, bolts of lightning splintering up your entire leg. Only when a deafening droplet of blood met the reflective, white floor, splattering over the tile, did both you and Ghost finally address your injury.

You almost wished you didn't, from how the angry, gory flesh flayed outwards from the intrusion, grappling to your blood-stained pants. Your hand had fumbled to the spot, blood spewing from between your fingers in your attempt to stop the bleeding. Ghost's eyes grew large, his dark pupils engulfing the humanity in his vision. 

The next part was a blurry, nauseating mess of the rest of the force descending into a frenzied, discoordinated chaos of too many bullets and bodies for a stealth OP as you dragged yourself out of the building and to the nearest safe house. Ghost was quick to comm Price on your condition, despite your admittedly weak protests that it was nothing to waste time on. He didn't take your assessment of your condition very well. 

At first, the pain was nothing more than a pang that migrated down your leg, bearable for the time being. It's when you enter the forest, shock and adrenaline having run their course, that you all but collapse in white-hot agony, black spots obscuring your vision. Ghost is at your side before you can blink to drag you the rest of the way to the location. He doesn't give you a chance to resist his effort; his firm grip a reminder that you are in no position to argue.

A steady trail of blood, thick with the poison of age, left behind proof of your borrowed time, of death's notorious hand perched at your door, ready, waiting. She's been a constant shadow in the corners of every room, a fleeting wisp, a reminder of your constant flirting. And as you often toy with her, death knocks now and again, beckoning you on the verge of your demise to turn the door handle. But, no matter how sweetly she calls to bring you salvation from the torture the mortal world offers, the hand that touches the knob only does so with innocent curiosity, never with the firm expectation of your end. So when soft knocks echo in an incessant, dizzying pitch, beckoning you towards the void of black, you had half a mind to let her in.

The safe house Price instructed you to lay low in for the night had blended in with the rustling leaves of the trees that skimmed its roof, the forest around you offering Mother Nature's hospitality. It had been by luck alone that a storm brewed during your trek to the cabin and released its continents over the mud, washing away the tracks of your presence. However, neither you nor Ghost could have anticipated the temperature drop, your joints creaking with every body-rattling shiver that rolled over your back in frigid waves. You were chilled to the point where your skin was numb to the touch.

With your clothes drenched, your vest tried to push you into the slug clinging to your boots so much so that Ghost practically carried your limping form to the front door, your body clinging to the deliriousness of blood loss as he let you clasp the wall for support. Even though it's a safe house, Ghost still checks the cabin, weaving in and out of your narrow sightline while darkness creeps at the edges of your vision. The pain has intensified tenfold, your ragged breathing foreign to even you as a loose hand covers the bullet's entry point. It seems like hours before he beckons you in.

The place was a tiny thing, no more than a single bedroom and bath. The wood floorboards shrieked under each footfall, your blood matching the pitter-patter of the rain as it dripped on the floor. Only seconds later, the blood in your leg turned to lead and crumpled beneath your weight. He caught you at the last second, his sturdy hands gripping your flesh to lower you into a more comfortable position against the splintering wood.

Ghost moved to a cabinet, yanking out the first aid kit and returning to your side in a blur. Within seconds, he had it open and out of its bag, spilling its contents onto the ground and allowing him to search through the various bottles and tools. Before you knew it, he had gathered the items needed and was back at your side, cutting the fabric of your pants away. He functioned with an intensity and purpose that you'd never seen before. His motions were a whirlwind, the vigor of his focus never wavering as he worked to stave off the flow of your life from spilling further from your veins, his calloused hands operating with a gentleness that belied their strength. He had seen enough death to know the importance of time, his hands a haze of action as he fought to save you from the same fate.

You bit back every cry of agony as his fingers dug and weaved into the fiber of your being, your blood becoming his second skin. He wouldn't admit it, but his chest ached at the sight of you hunched over, your chest heaving with labored breaths as you fisted your shirt in an effort to ground yourself. Anyone could tell how much pain you were in even without the whimpers that slipped from your lips, and he moved faster, his hands working meticulously to ease the pain.

-

You were grateful for the thunderous downpour of rain that stomped at any chance of stillness because now, more than ever, you didn't want to fall victim to the eerie quiet that would have surely settled over you if not for the storm. Yet Ghost doesn't seem to mind it, his hands making quick work over your thigh with sharp pokes of the needle pulling your skin back together. His fingers flex over your convulsing leg, keeping you steady while he finishes up. You watch him, pupils flitting over his hands speckled in white raises, occasionally observing the movement of his stare over the injury. 

With the urgency of your injury out of the way, there's the heat of the silent rage emanating from his build as he finishes up, wrapping gauze around it, your lungs burning with the thickness of the anticipation that permeates your senses. You refuse to move to address the silence you are suffocating in. 

It's now, your eyes fighting sleep attempts, that you take notice of him, all of him. Even his eyes which carry a callous fury. 

"That was fuckin stupid, Dove." You briefly recognize the use of your call sign, hungover from the cold bite in his words hurled at you.  

"I know." Your voice lacks its usual conviction, crushed, ground into fucking ashes by the weight of your failure. 

"You were supposed to clear the room," he continued, a low growl punching from the depths of his vocal cords. "How the fuck could you have missed him?"

If exhaustion, blended with regret and doubt, wasn't creeping in the back of your mind like a morning fog, maybe then you would have recognized the cruelty he carried in his speech was brought from a place of concern but expressed in a seeming ice bath of bitter wrath. His words are laced with contempt and scorn, every syllable dripping with acidic pessimism, shredding your heart with the thousands of knives he plunges into your chest. It's as if all he sees in you is your incompetence, your inexperience. Whether accurate or not, the unspoken words he appears to telepathically send to you- to recognize what he is truly trying to convey under his hardened exterior, fall flat. 

Your downturned gaze is the only indication you heard him. 

"Can't bloody believe you could fuck up so badly." 

The rain screeches outside.

"'M sorry." The wobble in your pupils must indicate the weakness that permeates you and drowns you in a sea of doubt. The notch in his throat bobs for a moment as he sighs through a flared nose.

His razor-sharp stare roves over you as if searching for something. His throat is choked with words of vulnerability. His mind battles against his heart, the beating organ demanding to let you in, to wipe the chest-crushing look of guilt and cleanse your blood-stained consciousness of regret. His mind, however, the very thing that kept him alive, kept him from a deeper, more excruciating pain emotions offer him, urges him to pull away before he can fall to his knees in front of your altar of his design; to protect Simon and him from what will be his destined demise.  

He settles on the middle ground and huffs, an indigent sound muffled by the balaclava. "You're better than this." 

You can only swallow the wad of failure and spit in your throat in hopes of erasing the fragility that takes shape in mortar and stone to build up the damaged mask of strength and confidence you once clung to. You nod your head, your tongue too heavy for anything else.

"Don't do that shit again, ya' hear me?" It's a coarse murmur coming from his strained vocal cords, but softer, delicate even. Two fingers tap against the meat of your cheek, tilting your head while your eyes roam over the shell of his pupils. Only then does his hardened shell seem to melt, breaking down brick by brick to reveal a whisper of the man underneath, Simon Riley. 

His finger grazes the outline of a scar next to your lips as his body shifts into an emotion akin to tenderness. A subtle scatter of shadows in the far reaches of his gaze holds an unspoken understanding, despite the walls of silence he has built around himself. It was as if he could see the turmoil raging within you, insecurities and remorse crashing into each other as violently as the storm outside.

"Could have died today," he huffs, low and ruff.

"I know," it's a soft murmur, acknowledging the fragility of your life, of the threat the job poses. He releases a low exhalation in response, his attention shifting to the dark corners of the dinghy cabin, lingering there for a second. Then, he returns his focus to you once more. 

"Need to be more careful, yeah?" The soft pads of his hands meet your face in a gentle touch, a reminder of the blood that flows beneath the flesh, of the pulse in your skin. Your eyes flutter close, the feeling of bliss blossoming beneath his fingertips. It's all the acknowledgement he needs, knowing too well the loss of any real words. They fell a moment later. 

Ghost moves silently next to you, his body your only hope of warmth to combat the frigidness of the night. He's warm, you realize, and a benevolent gooey feeling builds from the pit of your stomach. It's easy- too easy- to fall into the trap of wishful thinking, to hope for a friendship more intimate than the bond you already share with the lines so blurred. Your hope, which very well might be misguided, makes your heart beat impossibly faster at the possibility that he might share an inkling of the intimate attraction you feel. 

Your limbs are weighed down by sleeps caress, the pain in your leg now subdued to a constant throb. It's easy to forget about the events that transpired today when sleep beckons you so dearly it feels impossible not to give in. 

"Sleep." It's a simple, short command, yet it carries the promise of his protection. It's supposed to ease you and make you feel safe, knowing he will protect you from the dangers of the night, and it works. Your head falls to his shoulder, and Ghost, seemingly anticipating the contact, lets you. You don't have the mental fortitude to dwell on the implications of his actions. Only accept them for what they are. The rain, his warmth, and the promise of safety all ease you into the oblivion where dreams and nightmares dwell, and instead of them spitting you out like most nights you seek rest, they never reach you, not with Simon next to you.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #ghost cod #mw2 #simon riley x y/n #simon riley one shot #simon riley angst #modern warfare 2 #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #simon riley x gender neutral reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x gn reader #call of duty simon riley #cod simon riley #call of duty fanfic

[suzzukiiii]

hello! :33

i wanted to request something for simon “ghost” riley x fem!Reader and there’s an age gap between them where reader is 19 and simon is in his late 30s and he moves in next door to her and her family and she starts getting a little crush on him then simon finds out about it and starts teasing her about it you can choose if there is smut :3 i would love to see what you do with this!

have an amazing day/night! <3333

ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪɴɢ ɪɴ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ ☆

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆

a young female notices that someone finally moves in next door, she decides to talk to him. ☆☆☆

pairing; female!reader x ghost. !! a/n; there will be a part 2 of course, i just wanted to post something lol. !! genre & disclaimer; fluff i think ?? contains age gap

it was a sunny afternoon, and y/n was sitting on their porch, enjoying the weather, when she noticed that someone was moving into the house next door. it was a tall man, probably in his late 30's, carrying a bunch of boxes. strangely, he was wearing a mask? he then walked outside the house again to grab more boxes, when he noticed someone staring at him. he turned his head to the young female. he asked in a deep, cold tone that suggested he might be a little irritated, "can i help you?". the sound of his british accent was quite noticeable. y/n's eyes widened, realizing that she had been caught staring at him. a nervous stutter was heard from her as she replied. "uh, no. sorry, i was just...looking around." the guy looked away and continued transporting the boxes.

never ever had y/n seen someone like that. wearing a mask, randomly like that, and who knows why? she somehow found it attractive though, as-well as his muscular build, deep voice, and him surely being way older... this guy was totally her type.

the day went on and y/n just couldn't stop thinking about his voice, his line just went over and over through her mind. "do i try to talk to him tomorrow? like give him some sort of welcome gift..?" she thought to herself. "he seems a bit scary though.."

and then she fell asleep.

day after,

y/n woke up. it was a saturday, which meant no school. she thought of maybe baking something to the new neighbour. she instantly went on her phone to find a few recipes, and with that, about an hour later, the house was filled up with aroma of the choclate cake y/n just had made, feeling proud of herself. she went to her room to go and grab a cute outift, letting her hair out and left the house with the choclate cake in her hands. she then knocked on the door of his and suddenly felt her heart beating faster, she started to feel nervous.. "this isn't too much, is it? but this might be the chance where i could ask about the mask he's wearing...." she began to think. not so long after, the door opened, only to reveal the tall and muscular man.

"hello! me and my family live next door, i thought i would bake something for you as a welcome.." y/n stated, pretty quickly, but was good at hiding her nervousity.

the neighbour looked down at her, he had to be around 6'4 or something as tall as he looked. "you didn't have to do that, but thank you" he stated and took the cake, he placed the cake on a table and walked to the front door. he didn't really say anything after that, as if the conversation was over but y/n quickly came up with something.

"...your name?" she slowly questioned, waiting for him to answer. "name's simon ghost riley. you can call me simon" he responded. "and yours is?"

"my name is y/n! nice to meet you." she exclaimed, stretching out her hand, waiting for him to shake her hand. he looked down at the empty hand and then shook it. his hands were big, firm, yet soft. she couldn't help but feel her heart skip a beat. "nice to meet you" he replied. he then let go of her and was about to walk inside his home. "well, i'll see you around" he implied before closing the door. y/n was just completely frozen about what had just happened while her hair swinged with the wind. her heart was beating fast and a thousand emotions came across her body.

part 2 coming up tomorrow !!

#ghost x you #simon riley one shot #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #cod ghost #mw2 cod ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #mw2 ghost oneshot

[ghostandsoap]

Cards and Communication

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. Soap, Gaz, and Price) Tags: Soap being Soap. Kinda jealous Ghost. Slightly aggressive Ghost? Price eating up all the drama.  Word Count: 5.3k “I…I really want to talk to you,”

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡

Alejandro’s safe house had been an absolute blessing. 

It wasn’t much to look at. In many ways, it was almost nothing to look at. The structure was well outdated and parts of the building were nearly ready to disintegrate. The outside was overrun with untamed weeds growing in the area around the house, and some of them had even begun to venture up the sides. 

 It was no movie star mansion, but it would do. If you were being completely honest, you found the safe house rather endearing. It wasn’t often that you were graced with a safe place to stay and call “home” while you were on a mission. 

There were times where you could go days (or even weeks, if it was really bad) without anywhere to crash in those periods of waiting to move into action. Alejandro had provided a safe zone and a home base for the remainder of the team’s time in Mexico. That was something that everybody appreciated. 

The inside was a tad more appealing than the outside, but not by much. The innards of the house were pretty beat up as well. The furniture inside was worn and washed out, some pieces even falling apart. The wooden floorboards squeaked and creaked, and a few of them had become loose from their not-so secured position. 

Soap, Ghost, and yourself had been the first ones to arrive, Gaz and Price were scheduled to be there later, so the three of you got the first look at the place. The sun was close to setting when you arrived, and the sky was already dotted with speckles of stars. 

The most fortunate part was that all the windows and doors were intact, which offered great relief from the weather of the world outside. However, that didn’t stop the outside temperature from creeping in, and Soap had immediately commented on the house’s chilly nature.

“Fuck. It’s freezin’ in here,'' Soap hissed. “Gonna get a fire going, Lt.” 

“Affirmative. Need a hand?” Ghost offered as Soap kneeled to inspect the fireplace in the living area.

“I don’t think so. You and Gecko can go ahead and get first dibs on where you wanna set up your stuff.” Soap politely declined.

Ghost released his backpack and all of his gear into a pile on the floor at his feet. It was no wonder that Ghost stayed in such flawless shape. All of his gear put together must’ve weighed a ton and lugging all of that stuff around was a workout in and of itself. 

“Actually I’m going to scope out the perimeter before it gets dark.” Ghost remarked.

That was typical Ghost behavior. On the off chance that you were able to score a safe house or some kind of temporary base, Ghost always checked to make sure that it really was safe.

“Alejandro swore this place was secure, and no one followed us, Ghost.” You piped up, turning to the colossal man preparing to exit the house. 

Ghost’s stare into your eyes was lingering. He knew that your words were a reassurance rather than a criticism. It was even more typical for you to attempt to keep Ghost from getting stressed. But Ghost believed that there was no such thing as being too careful. 

“I know. I just want to be sure.” Ghost replied. 

“Okay. Do you need help?” You offered, a certain sparkle gleaming in your pupils as you asked.

Ghost noticed that glimmer. It was the same one that shined in your eyes every time you wanted to do something with him. It was also the one that made his heart revel in the fact that he had someone who cared about him enough to want to do such menial tasks with him. Of course he wanted to say yes. He always wanted you with him – but if there was some kind of external threat waiting for him outside, he didn’t want to take that risk of you getting hurt too. 

“No, I can handle it. Go ahead and pick a spot. Take a load off, G.” 

With that, Ghost disappeared outside, armed and ready for any potential unwanted visitors. A quiet sigh escaped your chest as you closed the door behind him, a slight twinge of disappointment pecking at you. It passed quickly though when you turned around and saw Soap peering at you through squinted eyes.

“What?”  

“Nothin’…” Soap squeaked as he scrambled to return to assembling the fire.  

“No – what is it, Soap? Why are you looking at me like that?” You demanded, your hands landing on your hips as you glared at your sergeant.

“It’s nothin’ really, it’s just…he called you ‘G’ again.” Soap pointed out, tossing the last log into the fireplace.

There was a roll of anxiety over your stomach. This wasn’t the first time that someone had questioned you on Ghost’s demeanor when it came to you. It had gotten easier to dismiss over time, but if Soap was noticing it – then you and Ghost had gotten really sloppy when it came to hiding it.

“Yeah? Lieutenant calls me G sometimes.” You shrugged, refusing to let the knowingness show on your face.

“Sure, but…he’s the only one who calls you that,” Soap returned, turning to look at you. “I’m pretty sure he’d shoot me if I even tried to call you G.” 

“Oh, come on, Soap. You’re a nut,” You groaned with a grin. “I highly doubt Ghost takes it that seriously. You should try it sometime.” 

Soap only hummed with uncertainty, but a beaming smile appeared on his features when the fireplace erupted into flames of orange and red. A rush of heat flushed through the living room, and it made you realize just how cold you were. Who knew that Mexico could get this chilly?

Your hands ran up and down your arms, rubbing through the material of your jacket and long sleeved shirt underneath to create some extra warmth.  

“Here,” Soap moved over to allow you to get closer. “I’ll share with you this time.” Soap joked.

You gratefully accepted the empty space in front of the fire, kneeling down next to Soap in front of the flames. The house would be warm in no time, as long as there was someone to tend to it. About the time that you and Soap were fully warmed up, the front door of the safe house opened to reveal Ghost once more. Based on the fact that he wasn’t frantically running to cover, it was reasonable to assume that the coast was clear. The sky had gone fully dark now, and the night hours had officially started.

“Good call, Johnny. It’s warmer than when I walked in the first time,” Ghost kicked the door closed with his foot. “Check all the windows and doors to be sure that they’re closed. Don’t want any heat gettin’ out.”

“Sure thing, L.T.” Soap rose to his feet and scurried off to check the rest of the house.

Once Soap was gone and out of earshot, you turned to Ghost. 

“Didn’t you check the windows and doors when you scoped the house?” You asked. 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.” Ghost grinned under his mask.

You laughed at that, and Ghost used it as an invitation to join you by the fire for a moment. He’d been on his feet all day, and he needed a moment. 

A moment alone with you.

“Are you warm enough?” Ghost whispered in your ear, his voice sounding like more of a coherent rumble more than anything.

“Yeah, I’m warm.” You replied, voice just as quiet as his.

“Good,” He pressed a swift kiss to the crown of your head. “Did you get your stuff put somewhere?”

“No. Didn’t have a chance to.”

“There’s one bedroom in the back,” Ghost suggested. “The bedroom is bigger.”

“I mean, I don’t particularly need the space,” You snorted. “Give the bedroom to Price.”

“He won’t do that. He always likes to hang out near the door,” Ghost bantered. “How about you take the bed and the rest of us can camp out in here?” 

“The bed might be better for you. It’ll keep you from being so stiff in the morning,” You countered. Ghost’s large frame was a constant victim of sleeping on the floor, and it never boded well for him the next day. “You’re taller.”

“Mm. You’re prettier,” He raised his balaclava just enough for a fast, real kiss. “Take the bedroom. Please? For me?”

“Alright,” You rose from the floor, collecting your pack and smaller belongings that you had dropped by the front door when you had entered. “Be right back.”

Ghost watched you traverse to the back of the house to mark the bedroom as yours. A shudder and an exhale of air fluttered from his lungs. For a moment, albeit he knew it would be brief, he felt relaxed. The house was secure, the team was safe…you were safe.

He could take a breather and collect himself over the course of the next few days to follow. He was no good to Force 141 if he was all strung out with himself and unorganized. Ghost was learning how to be just as skilled and good at his job as he always had been, while simultaneously making sure that you were happy and taken care of. This safe house was a life saver for literal and metaphorical reasons. He was grateful to have it.

And for now, the lieutenant could rest.

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡

Sleeping never came easy for any of you when you were in the midst of completing a mission. When there was too much at stake and danger always on the horizon, a good night of decent slumber was hard to come by. Nights like this usually consisted of everybody spreading out and staying up until they had even the slightest urge to fall asleep. Ghost usually stayed on watch, considering he didn’t sleep much to begin with. 

This meant long night hours with hardly anything entertaining to do. The first night at the safe house was no exception. 

Gaz and Price showed up at the safe house well after the sun had gone down. They were cold, weary, and in need of a minute to decompress. Their arrival sparked enough conversation to last an hour or so. Price filled you, Soap, and Ghost in on what to expect in the next few days to come. You talked strategy and theorized on what could go wrong, but also what could go right if things worked out. The plan was explained and understood, and everyone was on the same page.

The initial buzz of excitement for having a legit place to hole up had worn off. Now the boredom had set in. The five of you had run out of things to talk about that weren’t work related, and you could only talk shop so much before it grew old. 

It was around 1:00 a.m. when everyone had hit burnout. Ghost was sitting on the battered sofa by the window closest to the front door, keeping a watchful eye out for anything or anyone that might appear outside. He had discarded his outer skull mask an half an hour before, but the infamous balaclava was clad to his face as usual.

Price was sunken as far as he could go into the armchair next to the sofa, cradling his left boot in his hand and inspecting the newly formed hole in the side of it. Of the five of you, he was the closest to feeling any kind of desire to get some sleep.

You accompanied Gaz in front of the fire, sitting on the floor as he prodded the logs to keep the fire burning. Soap was roaming around, scrounging for any kind of morsel of entertainment. No one said anything, and the only noises were the crackling of the flames and Soap’s rummaging through cabinets and drawers. Surely there had to be something to do here. Even if Alejandro intended for it to be an emergency safe house, someone had to have left something behind at some point.

“Ah! I hit the jackpot!” Soap shrieked from the small kitchen that was adjacent to the living room. He came barreling back in with a laugh, a small cardboard box in his hands. The box was ripped in places, and there was no way to really know what it was. “Anybody up for a game of cards?”

“Me!” You gasped.

“I’m in,” Gaz nodded. “Price? Ghost?”

 “The only card game I play is poker.” Price responded, which was his way of saying no considering there weren’t any chips or real items to bet with.

“I’m on watch.” Ghost mumbled, never once looking away from the window he was seated next to.

Soap was hardly listening as he joined you and Gaz in front of the fire, the three of you making a halfway triangle. This would keep you occupied for at least a little while. There were plenty of card games to play to keep you busy.

“Let’s start easy. How about Go Fish?” Soap questioned.

“Sure. Hopefully all the cards are in there.” Gaz remarked.

Soap slid the deck out of the box, his hands thumbing through the stack. The cards had definitely been sitting around for a while because they smelled of stale paper, and they didn’t look to be in the most pristine shape. Regardless, Soap shuffled the deck and dealt five cards each. You were sitting across from Soap on the left, meaning you were the starting player.

“Soap. Got any twos?” 

The Scotsman glanced over his cards, squinting at the numbers that had either faded or been rubbed off completely.

“Nah. Go fish.” He smirked.

There was a light grumble from your chest as you plucked a new card from the draw pile, adding it to your already hefty hand.

“Any queens, Gaz?” Soap asked.

“Nope.” Gaz sighed.

The banter back and forth continued until the end of the first round, where Gaz was the winner. It was a simple and rather bland way to kill time, but it definitely beat staring into the fire for the rest of the night. Price listened to and watched the game being played in front of him. He watched the three of you argue over Soap’s “adjustments” to the rules and listened to you giggle every time Soap nearly rage quit.

Ghost was listening to bits and pieces, picking up a comment here and there – and really only tuning in when your voice and laughter registered in his mind. For the most part, he was more focused on keeping his attention on watching through the window. 

Or at least, that was his focus until something very peculiar graced his ears.

“You have any sevens, G?” Soap asked, and you nearly passed out.

Ghost nearly gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned to look. His eyes were wide as he stared at his best pal. His cheeks were running red, and he couldn’t help but notice the overwhelming sting of annoyance in his chest. 

Gaz and Price sucked all the air out of the room and spit it right back out. Price’s eyes were trained on Ghost with a bit of a smirk, waiting for a reaction. Gaz avoided eye contact with anyone in the room – only boring a hole into the card that was in the middle of his hand.

Now, an outsider might say that you set Soap up for this rocky encounter that was about to ensue. After all, you had quite literally told him to call you the very special nickname that was generally reserved for Ghost. Ghost was the only one allowed to get creative with your call sign – it was an unspoken rule amongst the 141. It was common knowledge that you were Gecko and Gecko only to everybody except Ghost.

In your defense, that rule was lost on you…and also you didn’t actually expect Soap to try it.

But you would’ve been a fool not to notice how tense the room became after Soap’s test run of your Ghost-only-nickname. Based on the way that Ghost’s shocked stare had turned into more of a glare, you were pretty confident in saying that he wasn’t happy. 

“Sevens?” You cleared your throat with a meek tone. “Yeah, I have a seven.” 

You shoved your hand forward that was holding the 7 of spades, but Soap was hardly paying attention, because he could feel the searing stare of his lieutenant on the back of his head. Soap said had a silent appreciation for the fact that he was sitting with his back towards Ghost. Soap had regretted saying it as fast as he had said it. 

It felt wrong. It felt straight up illegal even uttering what he had said. Soap felt like Ghost could kick his ass all over the street, and he wouldn’t even have the right to stop him. 

“That’s Gecko to you, Soap.” Ghost nearly boomed.

So much for being sneaky. If Soap hadn’t caught on before to what was going on between you and Ghost, he definitely had a better idea now. At least it wasn’t a mistake he’d make twice. 

“Right. Uhm…” Soap chuckled nervously. “Sorry, L.T.”

“Sorry is not an answer,” Ghost went on, and suddenly the fire didn’t seem so warm anymore compared to the heat he was spitting out. “I don’t want to have this conversation again, Sergeant.”

“Understood. Won’t happen again, Lieutenant.” Soap gulped. 

You didn’t like the tone that Ghost was taking with Soap. You understood Ghost wanting to have something to himself when it came to you, but you’d be damned if you allowed him to get aggressive with his best friend like that. It wasn’t in your best interest to pick a fight about it right at this moment, but it was definitely a conversation that needed to be had. 

You gave Ghost a look. A look that was very annoyed and a look that read “what hell is your problem?” Ghost knew that look, and he didn’t like the way it sank his stomach.

The next hour to follow was rather quiet. 

Price was barely holding it together. Even though the room was incredibly uneasy, he found this situation exceedingly funny, and the burning red in his cheeks as he withheld his laughter was evidence of that. Every few minutes, a stifled chuckle would sound from him – which only made the tension worse. 

Gaz was too afraid to say anything. He tried his best to pay attention to the game of Go Fish once the three of you continued. He had debated on making a joke to at least try to ease the room, but he feared that no response to it would make this unbearable. 

Ghost’s mood had gone sour. He was irritated for the most part that Soap had said that, a little hurt that you were so okay with it. He returned to watching the window and was about one pout away from straight up sulking. 

In the back of his mind, Ghost understood that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. 

So what that Soap called you the name that only Ghost used? It wasn’t like Ghost had ever explicitly said that the name was only for his own use. Soap really hadn’t done anything wrong. Soap hadn’t done it with any intentions that weren’t innocent. Ghost knew that.

Ghost didn’t get much to himself. It had been like that his entire life. There hadn’t been many things that Ghost felt like he could really call his own. You were your own person, of course. You were as independent as could be and Ghost didn’t see you as anything less than the most wonderful, loving person on the planet.  

But Ghost would even admit that there was this part of himself that was so unbelievably happy that you were his. Happiness was something that was foreign to him for the longest time. It was something he didn’t understand as well as most people probably did. He had the seed for it, and it was well watered. But you were the sunshine that really allowed it to grow and blossom into something beautiful for him.

He didn’t like the thought of something or someone else getting in the way of that. There was nothing that he adored and cared for more. In a lot of ways, his harsh overreaction had been a defense mechanism, something that he was very familiar with.

Ghost knew that was something he needed to work on. Building a stronger sense of trust would prove beneficial to both of you. He didn’t want to ruin this just because he flipped out over every little thing. He needed to find a balance – a healthy one. 

Ghost’s busy mind traffic was cleared when he heard Gaz finally speak up, despite his previous hesitance.

“As much as I’d love to keep playing, I think I need to get some shut eye.” Gaz mumbled, returning his cards to the pile. 

“Not a bad idea, Gaz. Think I’m going to turn in for the night myself,” Price announced, rising from the chair with a groan. “Need to switch out, Ghost?”

Truthfully, he didn’t. Ghost could stay on watch all night without getting tired. But Price’s hard glance was a hint to Ghost that he needed to swap and take the opportunity to have a chat with you. 

“Sure, Captain.” Ghost shifted, standing from the window and fully extending his massive frame. 

“Alright then. Soap, you’re up.” 

Soap was quick to clean up the cards, shoving them back into the box and into his pocket. He was keeping them on him just in case. At least he could play Solitaire in the base of the window when he got bored. He practically rocketed to his feet, taking Ghost’s former position on the sofa to keep an eye on things.  

Ghost felt a pit in his gut when he realized that you had retreated to the bedroom without a word. That was a telltale sign that you weren’t very happy with him. Ghost shoved his hands into his pockets, dragging his heavy boots across the creaky floorboards to get to the closed bedroom door.  

He debated even knocking at all. Odds were that you would probably be a little easier to talk to in the morning…but Ghost didn’t like the thought of leaving this unresolved for the remainder of the night. 

“Hey, Gecko?” He called, and his voice nearly cracked. “Can we talk? Please…?”

There wasn’t a response, so he knew you were ignoring him.

“I…I really want to talk to you,” He tried again, a bit softer and quieter this time. “Please, baby?”

There was a quick moment of quiet on the other side, and then a reply.

“Okay.” 

He felt a jolt of relief, and he turned the brass knob to allow himself in. You were standing at the foot of the full sized bed, removing all of the items out of your pack to no doubt rearrange the contents as you always did when you had a spare moment. 

The room was fairly dark. There wasn’t much to it. There was a bed, dresser, and one bedside table on the left side. The battered curtains were drawn, and the full moon outside was the only source of light spilling into the bedroom. 

Ghost wasn’t sure what to say, but he wasn’t surprised when you hardly waited for him to come up with something. 

“That was uncalled for.” You started.

He swallowed hard, his head lowering as he shifted his feet,

“I know.”  

“He didn’t mean anything by it.” You went on.

“I know.” 

“He’s your best friend. You can’t just talk to him like that.”

“I know,” He repeated. “I’m sorry.”

His timid and meek apology brought a ping of sympathy to your chest. It was that same feeling of sympathy that plagued you any time you knew that he was aware that he had done something out of line. He took accountability and responsibility for his action and his words…and he knew when it was time to make things right. 

All at once, you were reminded of why he reacted to certain things the way that he did. 

All you could imagine was a young, tiny Simon Riley – a defenseless and teary eyed kid who was scared to death of every person in his life that was supposed to love him. He was once a little kid who was terrified of making anybody in his life angry (even over the small things) because of the consequences and emotional misery that always followed. 

Now, he was a grown and scarred man who shut down every time that he made a mistake. No one was harder on Ghost than Ghost himself.

He never wanted you to be angry with him. He never wanted anyone that he cared about to be angry with him over something that he did or said. Simon didn’t handle fights well. The two of you had only fallen into a real argument a couple of times. It was never anything permanently altering, and it was surely never enough to make either of you resentful of the other. If there was a way to resolve a situation without fighting, that was the route he always took.

“Simon…” You took a breath, keeping a level tone when you turned to look at him. “Why did that make you so upset?”

“I didn’t like him calling you that,” He answered, eyes trained on the tips of his boots that were as worn as could be. “It’s just…I like calling you that.”

“Did it bother you because Soap said it?” You went on.

“I don’t like the idea of anyone saying it.” Ghost admitted.

Ghost closed the door behind him considering that this conversation was just getting started. He didn’t want any of the rest of the team eavesdropping. 

“Okay, sure. But it isn’t that serious. It’s just a name, Simon.” You pleaded with him.

“It’s not just a name. It’s my name for you.” He stressed.

“So just because you came up with it, you get to yell at Soap for saying it?” 

“No, love. I don’t know what I’m trying to tell you,” He huffed. “I didn’t like it because I like having you to myself.” 

His wording was specific. You caught this, and it was just enough to let you take the invitation to transition to the real reason for all of this. 

“You…you always have me to yourself,” You said, a brow raised. “I’m nobody’s but yours. You know that.”

Simon was disappointed in himself more than anything. He had made a lot of progress when it came to himself. He worked hard to better himself mentally and emotionally to be the best person to you that he possibly could be. He was grateful that you were willing to work with him on a lot of things. He liked your support in helping him through some of the challenges. But every progress journey had its slip ups. Those moments of insecurity and doubt that would always set him back a step.

“I know,” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck through the fabric of his balaclava. “I guess I just had a moment.”

He was beating himself up over an issue that was far bigger than the fact that he had gotten out of line with his best friend. It was a battle that he had been fighting since long before he had ever been blessed with the chance to merely even lay eyes on you. It pained you to see him so hard on himself, especially when you had seen the progress he had made for yourself.

“Come here.” You stretched out a gentle hand, a sign of comfort and reassurance. 

It was an invitation that he always accepted, and one that he was always thankful for. He slipped his hand into yours, its size was always laughable with how it made yours look so petite. The skin of his palm was calloused as always as he held your hand in his. He towered over you from where you were now sitting on the edge of the mattress, the springs making a rickety noise as you sat down. 

He looked into those eyes of yours. The very same ones that he had gotten lost in the first time he had a real chat with you. They were pools of love, swimming with adoration and care for a world that was otherwise doomed. 

He had seen stars of joy dance over your irises on many occasions. He had seen your pupils dilate in an angry rage when things didn’t go as planned on a critical mission. He had seen rivers of tears fill their space and stream down your cheeks in moments of hurt and despair. He’d witnessed all the stories that your eyes could tell, and some of them were stories he was ecstatic to be a part of.

“Simon. It makes sense how you feel. I understand what you’re saying,” You spoke to him sweetly and smoothly. “But you can’t lash out like that when you feel that way. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” He said for what felt like the millionth time. “Just let my head get the best of me.”

“It happens. It’s okay. But I think you owe Soap an apology in the morning…or, well, whenever we get up again.” You suggested, noting aloud that it was indeed already technically the morning. 

He nodded. Soap wasn’t one to hold grudges – not against his pals anyway.

“Alright. I’ll talk to Soap.” He agreed.

You stood from the bed, your chest pressed against his sternum as you looked up at the giant of a man. 

“I’m yours. Completely and totally yours,” You smiled, and he felt every neuron in his body combust. “And I’m proud of you.”

He never understood it. How could someone like you be so wrapped up in someone like him? Not that he complained, of course. Here you were, praising him for doing nothing more than calmly working through his emotions and communicating his problem. He felt like that really should’ve been the bare minimum, but he supposed that if it was important to you, then it was important to him.

His free hand came to cup your face, his hand nearly engulfing the right half of your face. His thumb dragged across the apple of your cheek, which was his silent sign for you to do the honors. Your fingertips slipped under his balaclava just enough to raise it above his lips that were just begging to be kissed. He softened when you kissed him, as he always did. 

He loved nothing more than sharing moments like this with you. The ones that reminded him that one little fight wasn’t enough to destroy what you had. Those moments of conflict really were necessary for a relationship to grow. And with time, he’d learn to be more comfortable with that. 

He exhaled when you pulled away, returning his mask to its correct position on his face. 

“I’m going to get some sleep,” You told him. “Want to stick around and get some actual decent sleep?”

“You take the bed. My feet are gonna hang off the end I’m afraid.” He chuckled.

The bed was rather short. Tall people problems. 

“You sure?” You asked one more time.

“Yeah. Think I’m going to go talk to Soap now since he’s on watch.” Simon said. 

Another beaming smile spread on your face. He couldn’t help but grin a little too. 

“Okay, Ghosty.” 

Ghosty. That was a new one. He nearly melted all over again.

“Goodnight, my love. Call me if you need me, yeah?”

You nodded as he exited, your heart swelling with love for him in a way that grew stronger and stronger each day.

“Goodnight.”

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x fem! reader #simon riley x fem ! reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley oneshot #simon riley one shot #simon riley imagine #simon riley imagines #simon riley fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x fem! reader #simon 'ghost' riley x fem ! reader #simon 'ghost' riley x you #simon 'ghost' riley x y/n #simon 'ghost' riley one shot #simon 'ghost' riley imagine #simon 'ghost' riley fanfiction #ghost x reader #ghost x fem! reader #ghost x fem ! reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost one shot #ghost oneshot #ghostandsoap

[annaphoenix1994]

Acts of Service Headcanons

Masterlist:

How I would assume Simon shows his love for you.

Tags: Domestic Simon/Soft Simon/Implied Smut/Fluff

Simon has always been rough around the edges, but that doesn’t mean he can’t show how he feels for you through acts of service as he has always been bad with expressing his emotions through words.

He gets you flowers for no reason at all.

He brings you lunch when you’re working a long shift at work, even when you’ve already packed your lunch.

He knows you’d prefer take-out sometimes anyway, especially if you’ve been having a stressful day.

When driving, he likes to hold your hand and fidget with your fingers, giving your ring finger more attention than the rest, rubbing the area where a ring would be.

One day, he thought.

Even though he had been looking at rings every chance he got, not liking any of the ones on display as he thought you wouldn’t like it as you weren’t one for extravagant taste. You were simple.

Hell, he could get you a ring from Claire’s and you’d wear it proudly.

When watching a movie or his favorite show. He likes it when your legs are propped up on his lap so he can massage your feet and calves.

While deployed, he would find the time to send you a loving email or paper letter - depending on where he was.

He keeps a photo of you in his wallet as well as in his uniform - one of them being of the two of you in his breast pocket of his uniform, reminding him with every glance that he had everything he ever wanted.

You brought out the best in him.

However, he kept the photo in the barracks if he knew he was about to go on a recon mission, afraid that the enemy would find it and target you.

When in the bedroom, he puts your pleasure before his own.

He lets you take the lead in foreplay, loving every bit of it. But when you tell him with your body language that you want him in control, he doesn’t hold back.

When sleeping, he’s either the big spoon or on his back while you’re snuggled to his chest.

He never lets you sleep where you’re between him and the door.

There’s no way in Hell.

No matter where you’re at - whether it be at home, a hotel, or a relative, he’s always between you and a point of entry.

In public places, his hand is always on the small of your back, keeping you in front of him as most enemy’s attack from behind.

If you’re at a store and stop to look at an item on the shelf, he stops walking and waits for you to finish, not wanting to put major distance between the pair of you.

He was a bit clingy sometimes, but you understood why. In fact, you embraced it as you haven’t been used to it before.

He wished you could be as clingy as he would, but he knew you always tried to give him his space when he needs it.

On the days that you’re working and he’s off-duty, you text him when you make it to work and when you’re leaving, knowing it gives him reassurance that you’re okay.

Although he checks in every hour or two to check on you and if you’ve eaten your lunch yet.

Speaking of reassurance, you never have to ask for it. He knows when you feel uneasy about something. Whether it being your social anxiety, sensory overload, or frustration from a work day, he was always there to help your mental stability.

When out with your friends, both yours and his, it’s always a group affair. Soap would bring his spouse as well as Price and Gaz. It helped Simon’s social anxiety a lot as he knew his team was there, but it didn’t stop him from keeping himself between you and the point of entry.

#simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #simon riley #simonriley #ghostriley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare ii #modernwarfare2 #simon riley one shot #ghost riley

[vhsgoghs]

roommates (Simon Riley one shot)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x female reader

Summary: Simon is jealous that his roommate dates other guys

TW: none

word count: 1966

note: English isn't my first language but i have done my best, sorry for any mistakes.

★ masterlist here

★ spanish ver on wattpad (vhsgoghs)

It was a stupid fight as always, the last few weeks they had been fighting as if they were a divorced couple that had ended up on the worst possible terms.

And she hated it, she hated fighting with him because it wasn't easy living with a person who seemed to hate you one day and be his favorite person the next, but here she was, in their third fight of the week, feeling her face burn with a mixture of anger and sadness.

"I already told you no!" she yelled desperately.

She had completely forgotten the initial fight, now they were simply arguing about whatever came to their mind, as if they were both bringing out those misunderstandings that they had kept inside for weeks.

But this time something was different, there was something different in the conclusion that Simon had reached in those moments.

"It seems disrespectful to me and my sleeping hours that you arrive at whatever time you want." She rolled her eyes and looked away, but she could feel Simon's eyes on her. "You come late at night and it wakes me up."

"Does that wake you up? You sleep like a bear." she said annoyed.

And (Y/N) could lie about many things, but right now she was right, the only reason Simon heard her every night was because he just wouldn't close his eyes until she walked through the apartment door, no matter how long ago he had gotten into bed, he just didn't.

Simon felt the anger vibrate in his body, he had looked for every possible way to put that fight aside, but he simply ended up shouting whatever stupidity made the fight continue and it was his fault, it was his fault for not measuring his words and it was his fault for not closing his mouth and asking for forgiveness.

He wasn't even a violent person, he considered himself quite calm and, at some point, patient, but the last few weeks his emotions had been all over the place and he felt overwhelmed.

(Y/N) was not responsible for his anger. It was true, she could date any boy who crossed in front of her and that shouldn't be Simon's problem. He had never cared about it, but something had changed in the last few months and it could all be resume in one damn word: jealousy.

"That's not the point!" He sighed, it was becoming difficult for him to hide his anger, his tone of voice was not cooperative at all.

"You're an idiot." She muttered. The tone of her voice wasn't annoying, there was a small hint of frustration, but no more than that.

And (Y/N) didn't know what it was like to be angry with her roommate. Simon was a pain in the ass sometimes, but most of the time they both knew how to handle things. They had a good friendship, but Simon's attitude was starting to cause problems.

They were both silent for a few seconds, she looked away and waited to hear something from him, but she knew him, he wasn't going to take the first step or that's what she thought, because Simon always planned to take the first step if it came to someone who he cared.

"I'm sorry" his voice was soft when he spoke again. The girl raised her face and stared at him, she waited for her to give him some more information about his apology. "I'm sorry, I know I've been an idiot and it's not your fault."

"I'm sorry too." She nodded. "I know it's not nice to be so late."

Simon felt guilty and quickly shook his head, it wasn't her fault that he didn't know how to control his emotions. He had thought about it more than once, he tried to find a way to explain his behavior without telling the truth, but it was impossible, everything sounded like a cheap excuse, which in reality, it was.

"I'm jealous." He finally admitted and that felt like the worst hit to the chest, especially when he heard the giggle coming from the girl.

Simon looked at her confused, his brow furrowed at her laughter, which stopped immediately as soon as she saw the seriousness on his face.

"Are you serious?" He nodded and she suddenly felt guilty for laughing. For a second she thought it was one of those things Simon always said to lighten the mood. "I… Why?"

He sighed, what was he supposed to say to her? That for some reason, after drinking a couple of beers he realized that he had feelings for her? That was the only truth, but she was afraid. He looked like a teenager who didn't know how to ask a girl out on a date. He wasn't a teenager, he was an adult… who didn't know how to ask a girl out on a date.

"Listen, we've lived together for a long time." Simon took a couple of steps towards her, he could almost swear she had tensed up. "And I think… I have feelings for you."

(Y/N) pursed her lips and tried her hardest not to yell in his face, not because she was angry, but this had taken her by surprise and she simply didn't know how to respond.

"When you say something, you mean like when the milk runs out and I'm not going to buy more?" Simon giggled and shook his head, his little laughs in the middle of a conversation were one of her favorite things when she was talking to him.

"I think you're pretty and we'd be a great couple."

"Of course not." She shook her head although she couldn't stop that smile that escaped her lips. She was starting to feel nervous because she didn't know how to handle that situation. "Don't you think living together will ruin us?"

"Of course not." Simon reduced the distance even more, making her feel even more nervous, however, she was still there, in front of him, completely motionless, without showing her true feelings towards him. "I know how messy you are in the mornings, but when you come back at night it bothers you to see the mess." She smiled, it was totally true. "I also know what you eat daily, but on the weekends you always change your diet, so I could take you anything for dinner and you won't say no."

"Are you going to invite me to dinner?"

"Yes, and you will accept."

She narrowed her eyes. She hated that know-it-all attitude…actually, she liked it. She had always made fun of girls who had intense reactions to that kind of attitude and now, in those moments, she completely felt like one of those.

Her mother had told her, she knew Simon, she liked him, and she had mentioned that his feelings for her were too obvious. However, (Y/N) had only laughed at that and completely denied it because she always thought it was impossible for her roommate to have feelings for her.

But now she was here, with him in front of her, after confessed his feelings in the most direct way possible, something she appreciated, even if she hadn't said it out loud.

"I think… maybe I'll accept." She nodded. She was beginning to feel the nerves prickling at the tip of her stomach. She had never felt so nervous around Simon, maybe the first time she saw him shirtless, but that had been an accident.

Simon thought about it for a few seconds, but finally wrapped one of his arms around her hip. He didn't hold her too close to him, he held back, he wanted her to feel safe with him, but (Y/N) already felt too safe with him. She trust him enough after living together for so many years.

In her head, just for a second, she thought he might be going too fast, but he wasn't a stranger. If they hadn't fought so much in the past few days, she would even dare to call him one of her best friends.

★

Simon and (Y/N) had gotten used to having dinner together most nights, but that night was different, everything felt different, neither of them were at the other end of the couch, watching the television in silence.

No, Simon had discovered that he didn't care at all about personal space when he practically found himself with the girl on top of him, the TV didn't seem to matter right now, their conversation seemed much more interesting than even dinner.

"What about that time you said the guy I was dating seemed married in secret with three kids?" She put it on a list the boys she had dated in the past and about whom Simon always seemed to have something to say.

"Well, that wasn't jealousy, he did seem married with three children." He wrinkled his nose remembering that boy who was not at all attractive in his opinion. "Did you go on a date with him again?"

"Of course not. If my roommate, who is also my friend, says he seems married with three children, he is probably married with three children."

Simon laughed. He had never purposely ruined her dates, for many months he had kept his distance, watching the girl he loved date someone else, however, there were certain comments that had come out of his mouth without thinking and probably had more impact on the girl's decision than he thought.

"I'm not just your friend and roommate anymore, right?"

She narrowed her eyes. She thought about making a joke and maybe playing a little after all the fights he had put her through, but Simon wasn't someone who expressed himself as easily as he did that day, so she wasn't going to ruin it.

"No, you certainly aren't." She murmured.

They were both silent for several seconds, he was attractive, too much. She had never denied or hidden it, she had simply tried not to see him that way, she liked living with him, changing the way she see him would be a big problem for their coexistence.

Simon leaned towards her and she could feel his breath brush against her lips, making her more nervous than she already was. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep his gaze. Under other circumstances, she would have already pulled away, but she wasn't going to be the first to take a step back.

"I want to kiss you."

"Why do you announce it?" Her brow furrowed slightly. Any other boy wouldn't even have taken as much time as he was doing right now.

"Because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

(Y/N) felt like she stopped breathing for a second, she nodded slowly, silently giving him permission. For a second she hated him, because how could she not be attracted to this man who not only knew her well, but made any other man look like nothing next to him?

When he finally pressed his lips against hers, her breathing actually hitched for several seconds. Simon was gentle, setting a slow pace and for a second she felt like she had never kissed anyone in her life and was completely inexperienced.

His arms slid around her waist slowly, pulling her towards him. For the first time, she felt Simon's arms completely surrounding her.

She felt a little disappointed when he pulled away from her, breaking the kiss, and her lips itched for more, but she noticed that for the first time, a boy had been able to make her blush and feel completely nervous.

Her mother was right when she said she was going to end up with the boy she shared her apartment with.

#ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #ghost one shot #ghost x you #ghost x reader imagine #ghost x you imagine #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon riley fluff #simon riley one shot #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley cod #Simon riley x reader imagine #call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #cod imagine #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 3

[corbbbyboiii]

Battle Scars

This is the first time I've written anything in a long time. So I'm sorry about the quality.

Summary: Ghost holds you while asking you about your scars

Warnings: Slightly suggestive. Other than that, none. Fluff. Toothrotting Fluff. Not beta read. It is what it is. Fem reader. No use of y/n. Brief mention of Knife play. Domestic(?) Ghost. Slight teasing.

You stood infront of your bathroom mirror, in nothing but your bra and a pair of sweatpants.     Today you felt especially insecure about all of your scars. Each and every one representing an event, both in and out of work.     Simon walked up to you from behind and wrapped his arms around the front of your torso, his massive body engulfing you in its embrace. His balaclava was no where to be seen, which was becoming an increasingly common occurrence when you two were alone. Not that you were complaining, you took every chance you could get to soak up his features.     "What you thinking about?" He rasped as you dragged a finger across a scar on your shoulder.     "Nothing important." You responded, turning your attention towards his face and resting a hand on his cheek.     "Really?" He mumbled. His head dipped down into the crook of your neck, his lips just barely brushed against your skin.     You made eye contact with him in the mirror has a gently grabbed ahold of your chin and tipped your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck. Your hand left his face and grabbed onto the forearm that held your head in place while the other gripped the vanity infront of you.     His other hand dipped down and began to trace a scar on your hip that started just below the waistband of your sweatpants.     "What's this one from?" He whispered, the gravely timbre of his voice vibrating in his chest as his lips barely grazed the shell of your ear and broke eye contact with you.     "Started messing with the wrong crowd when I was a teenager and got stabbed in a fight." You sighed as his lips worked further down your neck.     "And this one?" His fingers made their way up to another scar that spanned across one of your ribs, this one was smaller than the rest that littered your body.     "Some hookup tried to get kinky with some knife play and accidently cut me." You chuckled at the memory. "Major turn-off."     He paused for a second before responding with a low "I bet." His lips made contact before making their slow ascent back up your neck.     His fingers circled a scar from a bullet wound. "Mission in Serbia. Got shot." You explained.     He kissed your jaw and used the tip of his nose to trace the curve of it. You wanted him to kiss you. You wanted to stop talking about your scars. You wanted his hand to make its way below your waistband and make you forget about all of your problems.     "Simon." You groaned, your grip on the vanity and his forearm tightening.     You were met with only a quiet hum as he continued to place light kisses up and down your neck.     "Please." You sighed, feeling his hot breath fan against your collarbone and his soft hair brush against the side of your face.     "I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific, love." He teased and you could feel him grin against your skin before he pulled away from you, his hands now resting on your hips.     You made eye contact with him in the mirror again, and felt your cheeks grow red from embarrassment. Judging by the look on his face, you could tell he was enjoying this.     You didn't answer him as you struggled, and ultimately failed, to work up the courage to do so.     When you didn't answer, he checked the time on his watch and stepped away from you. Your back felt cold from the lack of heat coming from him.     "Where are you going?" You squeaked, still embarrassed.     "Get your pretty ass dressed, we've got a meeting in twenty minutes." He groaned as he landed a light smack on your butt and made his way towards your door.     You turned towards him, but failed to get anything put of your mouth before he left your room and carefully closed the door.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley one shot #ghost cod #cod mwii #one shot #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2

[bingoboingobongo]

the right thing to do (i)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Fluff

Summary: You’ve become a distraction to Ghost, and so he’s started keeping his distance for the sake of the team. But when a mission goes awry, he finds himself stuck with you.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of/allusions to sex, brief mention of dacryphilia, brief mention of blowjobs, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury, forced proximity, pining

A/N: hiii, ngl i’m actually really proud of this fic, like deadass this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of starbucks. anyways i was thinking of including smut in this but changed my mind bc that shit’s hard to write so it’s pretty pg-13. i plan on making this a bit of a series (with smut hopefully) so while this chapter is gender neutral now (i think, don’t quote me tho) in the future the reader will be written as a girl. as always, likes/reblogs and constructive criticism are always appreciated, enjoy :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2

It wasn’t right for Ghost to be paying you as much attention as he was. It felt right, and he wanted it to be right, but that didn’t mean it was. What was right was what kept the most people safe. What was right was what kept the most people alive. Usually that was what Ghost did. Ghost did what kept most people safe. He did what kept the most people alive. The problem, however, was that doing the right thing and indulging in his feelings for you were two diametrically opposing things. Indulging in his feelings — indulging in you — was wrong.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with you; there could never be anything wrong with you in his eyes. How could there be, when he was seeing you through rose colored glasses? Although in his case, he supposed, they were more dark red than rose. Trivialities aside though, the real problem wasn’t anything that you were doing, it was what he wasn’t doing.

He wasn’t peering around every corner anymore. He wasn’t focusing on covering his tracks as well as he should. He wasn’t triple checking every piece of intel the task force got their hands on. He tried to, he really did, but with a thousand thoughts running at a hundred miles per hour — and a large majority of them having to do with you — it was only expected that a few things slip through the cracks.

For the most part, nothing too bad had happened as a result of his carelessness. A few scrapes and maybe one-too-many close calls, but nothing that would have gotten anyone in trouble. Maybe, if he weren’t a lieutenant or if he were in a completely different field, he would’ve been content to let it slide. But as corny as it sounded, he was part of a team, and he wasn’t going to let more people get hurt on his watch. Not again.

So for the safety of the team, Ghost started avoiding you. It always hurt him to push past you in the hallways, ignoring your little attempts at small talk; or to use Gaz as an example for takedown demonstrations, when in reality all he wanted was to be able to savor the warmth of your skin, even if it was with you pinned under him. Although, if he were being honest, he wasn’t opposed to pinning you down in other contexts. But as much as he hurt, he knew he had to do it. It wasn’t fair to you or the rest of the team if he wasn’t at his full capacity at all times.

He had made that decision two weeks ago, and it was already starting to get to him. Sleep was harder to get by, he was snapping at his teammates more, and when he rubbed the eyeblack off, it was only replaced by the sunken shadows under his eyes. He missed you too. Missed the way you would always offer him a bite of your food during dinner even though he would never eat it; missed the way you would always shoulder him to get his attention while you were walking to the training room, your hands in your pockets as you began telling him about something you had read the night before; missed the way you would grip onto his arm and try to goad him into taking off the mask or telling you what he looked like. Always the utilitarian though, he shouldered the problems in stride. They were nothing, he told himself, he had been through worse and he would go through worse. That was just how it was in the military. Besides, Laswell had just told them about a new mission, and a new mission meant new problems and new distractions.

It had gone fine in the beginning, but after a certain point everything started going to shit. On paper, their mission was simple; extract Krasimir Zhelyazkov, an arms and ammunition dealer with the Bulgarian mob who had allegedly dealt with one of Makarov’s right hand men, Demyan Solovev. Zhelyazkov would take them to Solovev, and Solovev would take them to Makarov. Simple. Of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to war.

For one, Bulgaria in the middle of winter was cold, and with cold came snow and ice and wind. And of course, with snow and ice and wind came slippage and extra gear and low visibility. Ghost had been worried about the weather going into it; while all the members of the 141 had training in multiple environments, it was never easy going into a fight with snowfall as thick as blanks in a lottery.

The other problem was Zhelyazkov. While Ghost and Laswell both confirmed the validity of the intel they had received, there was no guarantee that Zhelyazkov would turn. Makarov was an intimidating man, and the stories of what he did to snitches were not pleasant. Either way, Zhelyazkov was unlikely to make it out alive, Ghost just had to make sure he got the information out of him before he died.

And of course, the other problem — which Ghost admitted was not unique to this mission but was still a problem just the same — was you. Even though he had tried to put distance between the two of you, he couldn’t help himself from stealing a glance in your direction every once in a while, just to admire the way your breath condensed in the frigid air or how you scrunched up your nose as if to make sure it was still there.

Ghost knew about these problems before they happened, and so he prepared for them. Worried about slipping on the snow covered ground? Request boots with better traction. Worried about Zhelyazkov not snitching? Get his family involved; it was unethical, yes, but if it was what it took to get the information then so be it. And you. Ghost knew he couldn’t afford spending anymore time eyeing you in the field, so he only increased the distance between the two of you. 

Typically, if a target heard that someone was coming for them, they tucked their tail into their legs and ran — usually to a foreign country or some sort of island. But with Zhelyazkov, there was nothing to tip the 141 that anything was amiss; no sudden airplane rides, no sudden stoppage of shipments, nothing. Zhelyazkov kept living and doing business as he always had, seemingly unaware of the intel the 141 had on him.

Which is why when they approached Zhelyazkov’s compound, they expected it to be an easy takedown. In order to save personnel and to preserve stealth, the task force only sent one team out. For this particular mission, the team included Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, and of course, you. Ghost was conflicted about your inclusion on the team; on one hand, you were a valuable asset to the mission, but on the other hand, seeing the way you rubbed your hands together for heat in the cabin of the helicopter filled him with an aching urge to reach out for you and was an obvious distraction that impacted his ability to protect his team. In the end though, he couldn’t hold his inability to focus over you and besides, you had experience from your time before the 141 working in similar conditions, not to mention the general tactical expertise you brought to the table.

The mission had started like any other routine extraction would. A chopper flew the five of you to a forest on the edge of the compound, the thick snowfall helping to cover you. Once on the ground, Price did a quick headcount to make sure everyone had landed alright, before readjusting his rifle and leading the group forward. The five of you traveled in a line, with Price at the head and Ghost at the rear. You were positioned behind Price, but even with Soap and Gaz in front of him, Ghost was still acutely aware of every step you took.

At the moment, it seemed as if there was nothing to worry about. The snowfall was heavy of course, but not too heavy that it hampered the team and besides, it covered their tracks and kept them hidden. At least it should have. 

The sudden shower of gunfire actually wasn’t the first thing that tipped Ghost off that something was wrong. It had been their radios. Laswell had told them she would be checking in on them after they landed, but five minutes had already passed with no sign of communication. At this point, they had left the forest and Ghost tried calling in, but to no avail. His radio provided nothing but crackly static, buzzing and impatient. He knew something was wrong and he tried to call for Price, but that was when hell started raining down on them.

The thing about gunfire is that you could actually see the shot happen before you heard it. It had always been an odd phenomenon to Ghost, the slight delay between sight and audio. For a brief moment, Ghost watched the snowy skies in front of him become aglow with a barrage of flashing lights. In a weird sense, it was dreamlike. Mesmerizing. And then the sound hit him. Even with earmuffs on, the gunfire was deafeningly loud. It was like watching a fireworks display, except the pops were louder, harsher, and there would be no delighted children looking up at the air in awe.

He tried screaming at the others to take cover, but the combination of winter winds and cracking bullets was hard to cut through. Somewhere to his right, he heard Price yelling, but his words were constantly interrupted by the enemy’s fire. Ghost tried looking for the others, but suddenly the snow was too thick, the bullets too loud, his teammates too far away. He did the only thing he could: run to the treeline for cover.

Between the sheer magnitude of bullets being aimed at them, the time Ghost spent looking for his team, and the time it took him to get to the treeline, Ghost had taken more than a few hits. Nothing detrimental, thankfully, but he could feel the familiar sting of a bullet that brushed him a little too close than he would have liked. He keeled over against a tree, listening as bullets flew past his face or struck the thick wood behind him. He tried using his radio again but it was no use; he couldn’t get a signal. 

He tried to turn around, but the gunfire was too constant. He couldn’t get a clear look. He swallowed down an unceremonious groan as he considered the situation. Returning fire was an option, of course, but not a smart one. Considering his lack of a decent vantage point and the fact that he couldn’t even clearly see where the shots were coming from, even the best sniper on the force — which was him — wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot. Besides, he only had so much ammo on him, and if the attack was coming from Zhelyazkov, which he assumed it was, then he was seriously outmatched in terms of equipment. The man was an ammunition dealer, for Christ’s sake, if he couldn’t shoot Ghost, he could certainly keep him waiting long enough for hypothermia to set in.

“Shit, Ghost!” he heard from his right. He turned to look, and there you were, sitting with your back against a tree and your rifle in your hands. He was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of you, before cursing himself under his breath. He was in the middle of being fired at, why was he letting you distract him? “Where’s everyone else?” you cried, your voice barely carrying over the roar of bullets.

“Safe, hopefully,” he yelled, “I didn’t see where they went.” He watched you shake your head, you were probably cursing to yourself right now.

“Did you see who was with Zhelyazkov?”

“There was someone with Zhelyazkov?”

“Not just someone,” you yelled, looking at him grimly, “Fishers.”

Ghost turned away from you, leaning his head against the tree. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, before turning to look at you again. “You sure?”

You didn’t say anything in response, only giving him a grave nod.

“God damn it,” he muttered. “Well, we don’t have time to worry about that, understand? Right now we just have to get somewhere safe.”

You nodded again, turning back to look at the source of the fire. “Most of the fire is coming from an MG3,” you called out, “they’ll have to change the barrel soon, we can move then.”

Ghost nodded at you, briefly looking back as well. It wasn’t long before the gunfire began to die down and the two of you moved from your positions in the trees, running further into the forest. But whoever was operating the gun was well-trained, and it didn’t take long for them to replace the barrel of the gun and restart the fire. Ghost ducked behind another tree, his eyes watching you do the same as he took a breath.

That was the only way the two of you could move for a long time. Waiting for what felt like painstakingly long minutes for the barrel to have to be changed, just to be able to run maybe a few yards before the spray of bullets picked up again and you had to take cover. It was a painstakingly slow process, and throughout all of it, Ghost couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t get to cover in time, and he would have to watch as you died in front of him. He also couldn’t stop worrying about the rest of the team. It concerned him that you were here but Price, Gaz, and Soap weren’t. If they had died when the gunfire started he would have been able to see their blood in the snow, he supposed, as if that thought was supposed to comfort him. It didn’t do much, and he could only hope that the three of them had at least found each other.

Finally though, the deafening roar of gunfire began to quiet down, either due to distance or to lack of ammunition, and Ghost felt like he could breathe again. “Are you alright?” he called out to you, quickly scanning over your body.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you gulped in the freezing air. “You?” He nodded. You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, stomping to you through the thick snow. “You get hit anywhere?” he asked, his hand reaching tentatively for a scrape on your face.

You reached for your own face, freezing his hand in its tracks. He might have been a weathered war veteran, but even he got nervous in front of people he liked. He watched you wipe the blood off your face and stare at it, “It’s fine,” you told him, “it’s just a scrape. Motherfucker must have clipped me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t scar.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m pretty enough to pull off a face scar. What do you think?” you asked, the minx-like grin on your face providing a sharp contrast to the sheer gravity of the situation the two of you were in. That was another thing you did that distracted him. Those snarky quips and sly suggestions that made Ghosts stomach flip and his cheeks heat up. 

“Stop worrying about appearances,” he chastised, trying to regain his focus, “we don’t have time.”

“You were the one that brought it up!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

“Quiet,” he said, “just because they stopped firing doesn’t mean we’re safe. For all we know they could have men on the ground looking for us.”

You dropped your hands to your side, “So now what do we do?”

He pursed his lips, surveying their surroundings. “We make our way to the secondary location as planned. Look at the tree branches,” he said, gesturing above him, “trees will grow their branches towards the direction that gets the most sun: south. The secondary location was north of the drop site and we’ve been traveling in a relatively straight line. If we keep moving in this direction we should come across it in an hour or so.”

You chewed on your lip, “Do we even know if it’s safe? Fishers was with Zhelyazkov, for all we know we could be walking straight into an ambush.”

“You sure it was Fishers?”

“Yes, it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Ghost asked again, “the snow was thick, I couldn’t even see anything besides Gaz and Johnny.”

“I’m sure,” you insisted, “Me and Price were at the front, we saw the wall of Zhelyazkov’s compound. One of his cronies was up there with Fishers. He was standing next to an MG3 and pointing at us, I know it. I would recognize that stupid cowlick anywhere.”

Ghost groaned. Fishers wasn’t someone Ghost had known very well, so at the very least he was spared the painful feeling of being betrayed by someone he cared about — not that his feelings mattered. The traitor, Colten Fishers, was an American soldier. A veteran to military service, no doubt, but still considered a rookie in special operations. The official report would probably say that Fishers turned in exchange for some quick cash, that he was a cowardly traitor who betrayed them, but that answer didn’t satisfy Ghost. 

Honestly, Ghost wasn’t even sure how Fishers had gotten onto the task force in the first place. Compared to the rest of the people on the team, Fishers’ resume was weak, his experience was subpar and his track record was a little too spotty for his liking. The fact that Fishers’ was even in a place to betray them worried him, almost more than the actual betrayal, because if Fishers was able to get on the task force with his lackluster résumé then that meant he had bad friends in high places. 

“God damn it,” he muttered, “you have a point, but there’s not much else we can do. The more time we spend out here the more likely we are to get shot.”

“Or get hypothermia,” you said.

“Or get hypothermia,” he added. He reached for his radio, clicking it on only to be met with static again. “Bravo team, this is Bravo 0-7, do you copy?” No response.

“They probably set up signal blockers,” you pointed out, “either that or the storm is so bad it’s messing with our signal.”

He groaned, “Does yours work?” he asked.

“No,” you said, gesturing lamely at the damaged radio next to your chest, “motherfuckers clipped it while I was looking for Price. Scared the shit out of me too, thought they had gotten me right in the chest for a second.”

He walked up to you, bending down as he inspected the broken radio. He could feel you suck in a breath, and for a moment he let himself wonder if he gave you butterflies the same way you did to him. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at you, his mask inches away from your face, “this thing’s been shot to hell, there’s no way it’s gonna get a signal, even without a storm.” He lingered for a split second, captivated by the way your eyes stared up at him, large and round like a marble, before pulling back.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said, adjusting his rifle. “We can’t afford to be stuck out here when night falls.”

Walking in the snow was hard, walking in the snow and feeling you glance over at him every other minute was even harder. He didn’t want to look at you, well that was a lie, he did want to look at you, but he knew he shouldn’t look at you. He needed to put on a brave face, that was his job as a lieutenant. He needed to be serious, to have a plan, to not get hung up on distractions, and he couldn’t do that when he was watching you.

Instead, he tried to think about everything that could go wrong from this point. It seemed pessimistic, he knew, but he needed to be prepared. You had a point about the second location. While Fishers hadn’t been told everything about the mission, he knew enough to severely compromise them. Besides, if he did have one of the higher-ups on his side, there was no telling how much he knew. The secondary location had once been a logger’s cabin; it was small, kitted with only the bare necessities. A bathroom, a small kitchenette, and an empty bedroom they had planned to keep Zhelyazkov in. In other words, it wasn’t an easy place to set up an ambush. But they could’ve rigged the outside, set up tripwires connected to shotguns or planted mines along the perimeter. The forest around it was dense, which once would’ve been helpful to keep them hidden but now only provided a wide array of hiding spots for Zhelyazkov’s men to hide in.

Additionally, there was no telling how many men Zhelyazkov would have waiting for them. Even by himself, Ghost could hold his own and with you, their chances only increased. But Zhelyazkov practically had an army, and it would only take one well-aimed shot before it was all over. Granted, some of his men would likely be looking for the others, and if they also went to the cabin, the five of them could probably hold their own.

But there was no guaranteeing the others were heading to the cabin, let alone breathing. For all Ghost knew, their team of five could’ve been cut down to two long ago. “What are you thinking about?” you asked, pulling Ghost out of his thoughts.

He turned to look at you for the first time since you had started walking. There were snowflakes on your eyelashes and your face was tinged red from the cold. He wanted to be able to cradle your jaw, to warm you up until your face was flushed from something other than the cold weather. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, that you would always be safe when you were with him, that he would kill anyone who tried to touch you and would do anything for a chance to hold you. “Just thinking about what you said earlier,” he said instead, “about Zhelyazkov ambushing us.”

You hummed, “Me too. I don’t know how likely that is anymore though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean think about it,” you said, “we flew over the cabin on our way here and everything looked fine, no footprints or anything. And by the time we did that and the time they started shooting, maybe ten minutes had passed. That would mean Zhelyazkov had ten minutes to get his men there, and they wouldn’t have been able to take a direct route or else they would’ve ran into us. Besides, why waste his manpower by setting up an ambush we might not even show up for? I mean, the plan was probably to kill us all right from the beginning, so why plan for us showing up at the cabin if we’re not even supposed to be alive? I mean, who in their right mind would do that?”

“Let’s not assume Zhelyazkov is in his right mind. It’s thinking like that that gets people killed,” he said, harsher than he intended. “Not that you don’t have a point,” he added when he saw you look down in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he had fallen into that mindset before and he knew how dangerous it was. “For Zhelyazkov to waste his manpower on an ambush would be tactically unwise, you’re right, but we don’t want to go in expecting an empty house and get caught off guard.” 

“So then what? We go in expecting to get immediately gunned down by another machine gun? How is that any better? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to prepare for that.”

Ghost grimaced, once again, you had a point. “Still, it’s better to be prepared,” was all he could say. You looked at him as if you wanted to say more, but your mouth stayed shut and your eyes turned to focus ahead of you once again.

The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of crunching snow to indicate that anyone was even in the forest at all. After what felt like ages, Ghost paused, holding out a hand to stop you too. He felt you looking at him, but he didn’t respond. He was studying your surroundings, scrutinizing the snow on the ground before searching the skies.

“What is it?” you finally asked in a hushed whisper.

“Checking for traps,” he said, his gravelly voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. “The cabin should be just beyond that treeline,” he whispered, pointing. You followed his hand, but you couldn’t see anything behind the dense wall of tree trunks. “Let’s go,” he said, “get your gun out.” You complied, mirroring him as he unshouldered his rifle and held it against his chest. He turned to look at you, your lips pursed into a tight line and your hair sprinkled with snowflakes. He wished you weren’t at risk of walking into an ambush, that way he could capture the way you looked with a camera.

He began slowly stalking towards the cabin, cursing to himself at the snow crunching under his feet. He arrived at the edge of the treeline, coming onto an open clearing with the small wood cabin at the very center. His head swiveled around, constantly checking for the familiar glint of gunmetal hiding in the trees. He turned back to you, “Let’s split up,” he said quietly, his voice muffled by his mask. “I’ll go left, you go right. Meet in the back and then sweep the house.” He watched you nod, and his eyes followed you briefly as you began to move in the opposite direction before he returned his focus to the task at hand. 

The perimeter of the clearing wasn’t necessarily large, but it still took him a painfully long time to reach the back. “You see anything?” he asked when you arrived. You shook your head, and he cocked his head towards the cabin. “Let’s go,” he said, turning back to check on you as the two of you made your way towards the front of the house.

There was a small porch on the front, with a pair of steps leading up to it. Ghost skipped them, choosing to step over them and go straight to the porch. You weren’t so smart, and when you put your weight on the first step, it squealed and groaned. Ghost whipped around at the sound, and you rolled your eyes back and cringed, “Shit,” you muttered quietly.

The two of you were frozen for a second, you with your foot still on the step and Ghost with his eyes trained on the door. When nothing happened, you lifted your foot and stepped over the stairs, copying Ghost like you should have before. When you were both on the porch, Ghost gestured for you to open the door. You reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly before swinging it open.

Ghost walked in, his rifle swiveling as he made his way to the bathroom. He could hear you following behind him, the snow on your boots crunching slightly as you went to the bedroom. He swung open the door of the bathroom, only to be met with his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. His helmet was covered in snow, only accentuating the darkness of his eyes. When he had confirmed that the room was empty, he exited, watching as you came out from the bathroom.

“It’s clear,” you said, before he could ask.

“That’s a relief,” he said, letting out a sigh, but he didn’t lower his rifle. 

“You think the others will be coming here too?” you asked, looking around the tiny house.

He wanted to say yes, but honestly he had no clue. The forest was huge, and he had no idea where the others might have been. They could be looking for the cabin as well, but there was no guarantee they’d find it.

He took off his helmet and cracked his neck. “Night’s about to fall, get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” he said instead, reaching into his pack and tossing you a bedroll. 

You caught it easily, but made no move to set it down. “It’s fine,” you told him, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep, you deserve the rest.”

“That wasn’t a request,” he said sternly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah it’s an order, isn’t it? Geez, you sound like Price.”

“Price is right. You need your sleep, a sniper could spot your eyebags from a mile away.”

“Rude,” you shot back, “and by that logic, wouldn’t a sniper be able to see you from, like, two miles away from all of your eyeblack?

“If they see me, they’re already dead.”

“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I’m so scared.”

“You should be.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “I’m gonna take a shower then, you got any soap?”

He threw you a small plastic container, “Suave three-in-one? What are you, a high school boy?” you asked, shooting him an incredulous look.

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, “Beggars can’t be choosers, darling, you want luxury toiletries bring them yourself.”

You were silent for a moment, and Ghost started to feel worry bubble up in his chest. He didn’t mean to say that nickname out loud, it just happened. He was exhausted and paranoid and hungry and he was stuck in a room he could cross in about ten steps and it just slipped out. And if this was how it ended, in this stupid, tiny, suffocating house that could have gone in so many other directions; if he ruined everything because he couldn’t control himself, he would have never forgiven himself.

“You think I’m darling?” you asked with a grin, and Ghost could practically feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“Just go take your shower,” he said, but even he could hear the smile in his voice. 

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” you asked, pulling out a towel from your bag. Ghost stilled. He could tell you were just joking, you had to be. But there had to be at least some truth in it, otherwise you wouldn’t have even thought to say that right? Suddenly the house felt uncomfortably warm. It was too small, too cramped, too stuffy. He thought the house’s lack of heating would have been a problem, but for some reason it felt like there were a thousand heaters in this tiny room.

“Geez, Ghost,” you said, giggling, “I was just messing with you. Dang, is it really that easy to get you speechless? Guess I have a new party trick to show the others when we get back.”

He stared at you, trying to come up with something to say. “I’m gonna set up outside,” he said finally, changing the topic, “leave the soap in the shower, will you?”

You hummed, slinging the towel over your back. He watched you step into the bathroom, his eyes lingering on the door as it shut behind you. He could hear the shower turn on, but he made himself leave before he could hear your clothes come off. 

The crisp, winter air provided a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere of the house. The frigid winds nipped at his eyes and he could feel a shiver rack through his chest but he didn’t mind it. It was refreshing, feeling the freezing air fill his lungs and watching his breath condense in front of him. He sat down on the porch steps and reached for his rifle, checking the magazine. He picked out one of the bullets, thumbing it thoughtfully as he stared at the snowstorm in front of him. He put the bullet back and looked back at the house, making sure that you weren’t around before he pulled off his mask. He let out a sigh, thumbing the hard plastic skull in his hands and letting the frosty air kiss at his exposed skin before pulling the soft, black, skull-marked balaclava he wore normally out of his bag and over his face.

Ghost wasn’t the kind of person to let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people did, Soap did, Gaz did, even Price did, but not him. It was just easier that way, he never really had a good place for his mind to wander to anyways. His mind had a tendency to lurk around dark places, and it always left him worse than he started. Once, he had tried to speak to someone about it, and that had only ended up with another dead body to his name. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on the task in front of him: watching the treeline for enemy soldiers. 

Somehow though, you started to linger around the edge of his thoughts, and he didn’t push you away. He kept staring ahead at the snow-covered trees, but in his mind he was seeing you. He was seeing your stupid teasing grin, your fidgeting fingers that never stayed still, that smooth skin on the junction of your neck and your shoulder that he wanted to kiss and lick and bite. He could almost see your lust-drunk face in front of him, starry-eyed and teary, your lips swollen and red from how hard he would kiss you. He could practically hear you under him, all breathy and pitchy, your voice raw from how much he would make you beg for him. God, he knew he needed to stop these thoughts but he needed you more. He needed you pressed against him, your skin warm and soft and supple, he needed to feel you on top of him, to be inside you. He needed to know how it would feel to have your mouth around him, your eyes lidded as you stared up at—

“Hey,” you said, tiredness leaking through your voice. Ghost suppressed the urge to jump, turning to look at you. “You see anything interesting?” you asked, taking a seat beside you. 

“Nothing,” he said, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way he had to slightly readjust his pants. You didn’t, thank god, for a special forces operator you surely weren’t the most observant, but he wasn’t complaining. You weren’t wearing much, only a pair of thin pajama pants, a tank top, and a hoodie. He was surprised you weren’t shivering.

He could feel you staring at him, partly because of the way your warm breath fanned over him and partly because you stared at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. He had to fight the urge to look back at you because he knew if he did, you would be able to see the star-struck in his eyes. “You need something?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.

You turned away from him, your eyes scanning the treeline. “Not really,” you hummed, “but it’s lonely inside, can’t sleep.”

“Lonely?”

“Well— Not lonely, but— I don’t know. It’s just… unsettling, I guess.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he said, with a slight chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snorted.

“It means I’ve seen you do things that would make a grown man cry and you're scared of sleeping alone.”

“Uh, that is not it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m not scared, I’d just rather stay out here. Besides, it’s easier to fall asleep in the cold.”

“Is it really?” he asked teasingly, “or do you just like me that much?”

You yawned, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He tensed up at first, but when he realized how nice it was to feel you against him, he relaxed. “You got me pegged, Ghost,” you said tiredly. He had to suppress a groan when he saw the way you looked up at him. Your eyes were large and slightly damp from the yawn, and he could see the smallest speckle of teardrops on your eyelids. Everything about you was just so damn intoxicating, and for what? It wasn’t like he could act on it like he wanted to. He couldn’t push your slightly damp hair out of your face like he wanted to, he couldn’t run his hands up your body and squeeze you in all the right spots like he wanted to, he couldn’t push you down against a table and fuck you until you cried out for him like he wanted to. He wanted to do so much to you and he just couldn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice sweet and tired.

He stared at you, it’s not like he could tell the truth but it hurt him so bad to lie to your face. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re interesting,” you said simply.

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, staring back at him, “are you gonna give me an answer?”

“Not tonight. You gonna sleep out here?” he asked, watching as you let out a yawn.

“Do you want me to?” you asked, picking your head up off his shoulder and staring up at him.

Ghost was silent for a moment, “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said finally. You gave him a sleepy smile which made his heart melt before resting your head against his shoulder again. “Aren’t you cold? You’re barely wearing anything and your hair is still wet, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder, “Now you really sound like Price,” you mumbled, voice muffled by his jacket. 

“And Price is right, again. You’re gonna get sick or catch hypothermia, go get a blanket,” he said, nudging you off of his shoulder gently. He didn’t want to have to push you away, especially since you looked so comfortable, but he was worried for your health. In this weather and in this line of work, catching a cold could have unforeseen effects, and god forbid you get hypothermia. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of Ghost, shooting him a pointed look as you turned back into the house. He turned back to the treeline, trying to remember the way your head leaned against his shoulder. He could still feel the shadow of your touch against him, the warmth and the weight of it. He wanted it back again, regretting sending you off.

It wasn’t long until you returned though, carrying a large wool blanket. “Happy now?” you asked, quirking your brow up at him as you returned to your spot beside him. “I stole it from the bedroom, figured nobody else would be using it.” You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, pulling your knees in so you could cover them too. You let your head fall back on his shoulder again. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sky.

He looked up, he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but you had a point. The sky was a dark sapphire blue, punctuated by a canyon of stars down the center. Even with the snow falling, the beauty of the stars shone through, their light bright and blinding. He let his eyes wander down to you for a moment, and he could see the night sky reflected in your glassy eyes. Your eyes flickered to his and you grinned, “Like what you see, L.T.?” you asked.

Ghost looked away, “Go to sleep,” he said, missing the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance at him. 

Although he wasn’t looking directly at you, he could still see you in his periphery. He could feel you too. Feel the way you nuzzled into his shoulder, one of your arms snaking up to wrap around his like you were a koala clinging onto a branch. Feel the way your chest rose and fell against him as you breathed, small puffs of air condensing in front of you. He could feel the soft flutter of your eyelids on his arm as you buried your face into his shoulder, trying to shield your face from the cold. It wasn’t long before your breaths began to even out next to him, the puffs of condensed air arriving slower and more evenly.

He turned to look at you again, his eyes raking over your body. The blanket pulled tightly around you, your hair which fell slightly in front of your face, your lips which he swore were pulled in the smallest smile, the bridge of your nose, the ends of your eyelashes, that little scrunch in between your eyebrows. You were the most beautiful thing in that moment, stars be damned. He would’ve given anything to be able to snap a photo of you right now, but he couldn’t, so he resorted to tattooing the image of you into his brain. Not that it was hard, looking at you, admiring you, treasuring you, it was the easiest thing he would ever do.

Ghost shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to you, not here, not when you were so vulnerable and he was supposed to be keeping watch, to be protecting you. It wasn’t right. But wasn’t it? Couldn’t it be? It felt right, and he wanted it to be right. He needed it to be right. He had spent so much time focusing on everyone else; what was safe for everyone else, what was healthy for everyone else, what was right for everyone else. But now, just now, couldn’t he just focus on himself for once? Couldn’t he just be selfish for once, to savor and relish in this moment? You were here and you were safe, and he was here and he was safe, and wasn’t that all that mattered in this tiny moment devoid of reason or time or outsiders? This had to be right. This was right. You were right. You always were.

He looked back at the stars again, taking in a deep breath as he savored the smell of you. You smelled like gunmetal and cheap soap. You smelled like him. He let your fragrance continue to fill his nose as he stared up at the sky. He watched in awe as a streak of bright light arced across the vast canvas of dark blue sky: a shooting star. He thought back to what his mother used to tell him in the backyard of their old flat in Manchester. “Look Simon,” she would say, tracing the path of the star’s tail with her finger, “that’s a shooting star. You make a wish, and you don’t tell anyone, and then it comes true.” Back then, he used to wish for allowance, new toys, a pot roast for dinner, one time for his dad to go away. They never came true, and he knew it was because he always told his mom what he wished for.

This time though, this time would be different. He would keep it a secret until the day he died. Another weight for him to carry, but one that would be worth it if it came true. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he wished for that night, with your sleeping form against him, soft and warm and comforting. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he wished you would love him like he loved you.

#bingoboingobongo.com #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost modern warfare 2 #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #ghost angst #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon riley mw2 #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost one shot #simon riley one shot #a wish upon a shooting star

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ghost x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #reader insert #simon riley x you #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #smut #cod smut #reader insert smut #one shot #Ghost with OCD is my roman empire #he’s so much more well adjusted than I usually write him but it was fun #holly writes