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toshidou · 1 year

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lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

#☁︎⋅writing #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #ghost x you #dear lord #this derailed so quick #i wanted soft ghost #i got soft ghost plus nearly 2k of soft ghost smut #i ruined myself #anyway enjoy SLDFS

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k4marina · 1 year

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just some horny thoughts about our babygirl ghost 🫡

warning: smutttttt. grab y’all’s holy water (also not proofread pls don’t kill me 🙏)

simon loves you in his clothes, like i mean lovesss. i can imagine him coming home from a long a stressful day, walking into your shared bedroom wanting nothing more than to just hold and feel you close and he just sees you wearing his shirt.

something primal lights up in him when he sees you. it’s like another subtle way of him marking his territory on you. you’re his and his alone.

when he sees you in nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties, he’s rock hard. thoughts of the cuddles and nap that he was previously had in mind is quickly replayed by him wanting you underneath him, buried deep inside of you, hammering his hips into yours all while you wear nothing but his shirt.

just the thought of your scent mixing with his shirts scent is enough to make this man cream his pants. his hands underneath the shirt holding on your hips in a tight grip. or his hands traveling up and squeezing your breasts.

whenever you try to take off the shirt he quickly moves your hands away saying “no. i want you like this” watching you fall apart on his cock while wearing his shirt.

and dear lord don’t even get me started on you wearing his clothes out in public 😵‍💫

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 ghost #modern warefare ii #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #dear lord the things i would let this man do to me 🛐#i wanna scream #i want his kids #k4marinafics

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wispscribbles · 1 month

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do you think like. when ghost and soap were kids they competed in like some kind of sport? I’m trying to think of sports they have in Europe.

yeah idk jus a little thought I had. Johnny seems like the kind of child to play rugby. what other sports are there in Europe?

I keep thinking abt American football. I would play rugby if I could (I can’t)

I think Soap canonically played football (soccer) ! I love that for him. As for Ghost, I doubt his parents would pay for any lessons or hobbies. Does getting into fights count as a sport? I do have a headcanon that he was interested in ballet, but never told a living soul

#ask #Chloe-is-slightly-epic #hi Chloe!!!#ghostsoap #my art #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod fanart #doodle #ghostsoap kid au #young Simon who loves ballet is very near and dear to me #could also see him as a gymnast tho #if soap didn’t actually play football in canon then I’ve completely tricked myself into believing that #it’s canon To Me

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pettyprocrastination · 10 months

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actually thinking about that “not all characters should be in a coffee shop au” because simon riley is absolutely a line cook with a permanent record who takes hella smoke breaks and is always one more “table three said theyre chicken tastes ‘funny’ “ away from fucking killing somebody

#line cook simon tag #tj talks #i know he can EAT ITTTTTT #simon ghost riley x reader #actually thinking about making out with this man. DEAR G O D #i know this man has probably had a bad workplace relationship with a waitstaff before than ends in a messy breakup that makes work weird

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mandofury · 1 year

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Soap: I don't think we can mansplain, manipulate or malewife our way outta this one Lt.

Ghost: *reloads weapon*

Ghost: Manslaughter it is

#incorrect quotes #cod incorrect quotes #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw #cod modern warfare #it's the queue dear heart #I've done this type of incorrect quote before but i just had to reuse it for them lol

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lousysharkbutt · 1 year

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patron sponsored blorbo

#call of duty #uhhhh oh no which one is he from oh dear #his face is on mw2 so that must be the one right #if im being honest i didnt realize cod actually had characters good for them #WAIT HE HAS A REAL NAME #simon ghost riley #im learning so much

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shadow0-1 · 11 months

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heartbeat

#call of duty #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #MWII #CoD MWII #blender renders #Simon Riley #Simon Ghost Riley #Johnny Mactavish #GhostSoap #SoapGhost #Ghoap #emotional support tiddie #holding on for dear life yknow

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aliciamorov · 4 months

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BUT DARLING YOUUUUU AREEEE THE ONLY EXCEPTION ‼️‼️‼️(I love him so much)(the only exception coded)

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natelia-aldelliz · 1 year

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Drunk 141 & friends headcanons:

Price : complains a lot : "Nik is way too romantic, can you believe I'm gonna have to learn how to waltz to surprise him for our anniversary? How fucked up is that?" or "These two assholes are so annoying, like they think I'm blind or something, do they know how much effort it takes to not tell them to get their heads out of their arses?" or "Did you know Nik forced me to confess when we were young? He kept looking at me with his eyes, so I told him to stop or I'll kiss him and he blushed so I did. Asshole. … I'm gonna ask him to marry me."

Laswell : falls asleep where she is. Price can keep talking to her for hours, doesn't actually care if she listens or not. Gushes about her wife when she's awake.

Ghost : likes to drink but rarely gets drunk, doesn't like the loss of control. When he does, he gets anxious and cuddly but won't ask for it, will just stare at Soap in silence (Roach moves too much, too overwhelming). Is happy even if just Soap's or Roach's thigh is touching his own, but prefers when Soap is using him as a pillow or backrest, or Roach is climbing on him. Tears up when Price pats him on the head.

Roach : takes any bet anyone is telling him, climbs on any surface available just to see if he can. They once found him asleep on top of a pub's cabinet.

Gaz : rambles and forgets how to talk. "Yeah, I was head down in uh that green shit, y'know, uuuh grass! And there were… they… fuck. Whazzit called… Lullabies. No. Butterflies? Mmmno. Like little choppers, y'knoooow… I don't like choppers. They're mean to me."

Soap : forgets what 'inside voice' means, aggressively whispers for thirty seconds when people tell him to be quieter before going back to shouting instead of talking, giggles at everything, his accent in English gets thicker and he'll also just start speaking Scots.

Rodolfo : looks at Alejandro with hearts in his eyes, never stops smiling. Ale could be telling the dumbest story ever, he'll still look absolutely enamoured. (doesn't change much from sober lol)

Alejandro : tells all his friends he loves them, gets very emotional in Spanish, randomly starts to sing songs going through his head.

Nik : needs a lot more than what they generally have to get drunk, will get tipsy at best, keeps an eye on all of them and pretends to not remember what Price says, especially when it's supposed to be a surprise.

Alex : either laughs about absolutely nothing, starts crying in the middle of a sentence, or stares unblinkingly at the wall, nothing else. Might say afterwards that it reminded him of frat parties when he was young, that's a lie, he's never been to one, he was a shy nerd before the army, he only looks like a jock.

Farah : probably doesn't drink tbh, religion and all that, but she keeps an eye on them with Nik. Gets second hand embarrassment about them sometimes, but will get angry if anyone else makes a remark.

#cod mw2 #captain john price #kate laswell #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #rodolfo rudy parra #alejandro vargas #cod nikolai #alex keller #farah karim #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghostsoaproach #nikprice #gaz was talking about dragonflies btw #price being like 'don't tell nik it's unfair how pretty he is ok?' and nik like 'yes dear now put your glass down it's time for bed'

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dutiful-wildcraft · 5 months

Text

Pack 141 - Vampire!Ghost Headcanons

Tags: mentions of blood and scars, mostly just HCs of Ghost as a vampire, some very light ghostprice, even lighter poly 141, if ya squint

Ghost who's change had been partially undergone in a shallow grave in a southern countryside.

Price had been the one to find him, bringing him home and helping him through the rest of his change. Taking on the role of his new sire. He had known Riley prior, a strong and bright soldier. And while Price should have taken appropriate action and put him out of his misery…he had other plans in mind.

Unsired vampires generally don't survive, and the ones that do often become feral or have very significant behavioral problems. Due this arrangement, Price and Ghost share a very intimate bond.

Simon hadn't been aware of the monstrous world around him prior to the events around his changing. And upon learning of Price's lycanthropy he felt a bit betrayed for some time. He would eventually come to understand, but he was definitely salty about it.

This being said Simon was not socialized as a vampire. All his information came from Price and what official reports they had on his kind in general. He isn't totally out of his depth, but there are some pieces missing.

By vampiric standards Simon is still a fledgling, though only other vampires would clock him on that.

Through diligent training Price helped Simon through any frenzy instincts, though it isn't completely gone Simon has exceptional control around the copious amounts of blood that come with his profession. Not to mention the mask helps muffle the scent.

What Price finds most amusing, is that after most of the wrinkles are ironed out, Simon is largely indifferent to the change. He carries trauma certainly, but the new found power and diet appears to have not phased him fuck all.

Simon still stubbornly takes his tea at the same time, after having gone through some trial and error. He found he can still drink his tea albeit a little altered. Blood with 3 sugars please.

Though Simon had eaten his mess hall gruel without complaint for years, he did miss the routine. He still slinks off to his room to eat his own meal on the same schedule.

While he doesnt burst into flames with the sun touching his flesh he is significantly weaker. He was already prone to burning red like a lobster in his human life. The change didn't make things to terribly different. The mask and layers of clothes prevent most of the issue.

Due to certain traumas around his change. Simon is very particular about feeding. And besides emergencies or very specific exceptions. Simon does not feed from the source. He often just drinks from a canteen/bottle with a blood/water mixture. To human onlookers it would honestly just look like he was using the flavored water enhancers. Which also brings Simon a certain kind of amusement.

As is common, Simon has enhanced strength and senses. He now possesses a red pearly tapetum lucidum or “eyeshine”. He suffers through the ‘sunglasses at night’ jokes to avoid any questions or accidental detection on night ops.

The change did not make Simon ethereally beautiful. He looks mostly the same besides paler skin, red tinted eyes and new shiny fangs. He still maintains all his scars/marks and tattoos from before. And while his healing factor prevents most scars, significant wounds may still scar lightly or the scar may take decades to fully fade away.

Simon doesn't feel cold to the touch per se, but he does run cooler than the average human due to his altered metabolism.

If available, he does prefer to at least long ‘nap’ during the day. While it's possible for him to carry on normally during daylight hours it does take more out of him.

Generally speaking most normally socialized vampires forgo sleeping regularly all together. Price however, insisted upon resting during Simon's changing. “Good for your mind” he'd stated gruffly. And Simon had kept up with it ever since. While he does legitimately sleep, this happens less often. His naps being more meditative in nature.

Similarly to Price, Simon does have brood instincts which occasionally become a point of contention between the two. Price's alpha wolf mixed with Simon's brood nature have them butting heads possessively over other members of the task force on occasion.

They are both smart enough to know the common goal of ultimately ensuring safety and care over their brood/pack mates. And most of the time they behave…but sometimes…

#back on my bullshit #i defo have a story for Simon's change and our dear captain coming to the rescue #i definitely view vampirsim less like an undead #more like a kind of disease? virus?#ghostprice #simon riley x john price #poly 141 #if you squint but there is more to come #simon ghost riley #captain john price #monster au #pack 141 au #call of duty #vampire simon riley #vampire ghost #werewolf john price #modern warfare

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hotchaways · 2 years

Note

What would the teams pfp on insta would be? I’m invested now

omg hi, lovely!!! OKAY i think these would be their pfps 🫣 but totally subjective to the reader’s pov when they read the fic <3

#dear riley #ask #answer

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pfhwrittes · 4 months

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retail hell au again because why not. so imagine with me that 141 fellas find you after a miserable customer has made you cry.

warnings: reader!character is experiencing the aftermath of a panic attack/distressing emotions when she’s approached by the boys, nothing explicitly stated but she’s feeling a bit vulnerable.

fem!reader and the use of gendered pet names (hen, love) and use of the word cunt as an insult to describe a customer.

also apologies, i’m english and my grasp on scottish slang/scots has mostly been informed by the wonderful show Still Game which is distinctly glaswegian in flavour and various scottish twitter posts.

so you’re hiding out in the smoking area (lmao smoking area, okay let’s be honest it’s where a bucket filled with sand has been dumped near an ex-display bench about idk 20 feet from the customer entrance) because you just need 5 fucking minutes to compose yourself…

gaz is actually coming back from his lunch break and spots you hunched up on the bench in a way that looks truly uncomfortable. he carefully sits next to you and offers a soft smile when you look over at him. “bad customer?” he’s gentle when he asks and doesn’t make a fuss when you make a truly gross sniffling noise and wipe at your eyes. “want a hug?” you shake your head no and hunch in tighter on yourself. “want a milkshake?” you shrug and he passes over a strawberry milkshake. surprisingly he doesn’t say anything and let’s you drink in peace. you like gaz, he’s always friendly and warm when you interact briefly on the shop floor. he always seems to know what to say or do to get the best out of you and everyone else around him. eventually you check your phone and see it’s been 10 minutes since you left the customer service desk with tears in your eyes and lump burning your throat. embarrassment and residual anxiety washes through you when you recall how you’d all but fled to the safety of the smoker’s bench despite not smoking yourself. gaz catches your shudder when you check the time and knocks his shoulder into yours gently. “don’t worry, i’ll let price know you need a few more minutes, alright?” gaz gets up and heads inside the building, you know he’ll speak to price so you unfurl a little bit and chew on the straw of your milkshake.

soap and simon find you next. soap’s chattering away about the most recent delivery as they both approach your bench. simon stops dead a respectable three feet away but soap throws himself onto the bench bumping his knee into yours “what’s the matter wi’ you then, hen? you’ve a face like a smacked arse”. you shift away from soap, usually you don’t mind his directness but it’s just rubbing you the wrong way right now. you’re still feeling raw and a bit sick from finishing gaz’s milkshake and lingering anxiety. “fucks sake johnny, leave ‘er alone.” simon grumbles and fishes a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. “how? am just askin’ what’s the matter!” soap’s hands swat the air near your face and you shuffle further along the bench to avoid being hit in the nose in his agitation. “johnny.” simon snaps and soap huffs and folds his arms across his chest. it’s quiet amongst the three of you while simon taps out a cigarette and pats down his pockets looking for a lighter. soap shoots a wink at you and starts playing with a lighter that apparently has just appeared from thin air. “give me my lighter back johnny.” “gies a cigarette an’ i’ll trade it.” “no.” “c’mon simon! wan little cigarette.” “fuck off.” “awright then you miserable bastard.” you shake your head at their bickering and hold out your hand. soap pouts but drops it into your open palm. you lob the lighter in a poor underhand throw to simon who plucks it out of the air easily and nods in appreciation. “aw c’mon hen, that’s no’ playin’ fair!” soap whines and knocks his knee into yours “i thought i was your favourite.” “favourite pain in the arse.” is simon’s dry response around the lit cigarette and you crack a wobbly smile. “there she is! didn’t i tell you si?” soap’s grin is blinding “i knew we could cheer her up!” your wobbly smile starts to resemble more of its usual cheer when you catch simon’s eye roll directed at soap. you open your mouth maybe to defend soap or maybe to provoke him, you haven’t quite decided, when a pointed throat clearing catches your trio’s attention. your smile drops off your face and the anxiety that had started to quiet down in the face of johnny’s cheerfulness rises again in your belly because price is aiming a stern look towards the three of you from only six feet away.

price gently sits next to you on the bench when you’re certain simon and johnny are back inside. johnny squawking about the injustice of having his break cut short and simon calling him an idiot in response as they both disappear through the doors. you open your mouth to apologise for skiving off and offer any reason or explanation that will help your case but your teeth click shut when price holds out a palm to forestall your inevitable word vomit. “i don’t want to hear it, love.” price’s tone isn’t unkind, he’s just shooting straight with you, it’s something you quite admire about him really. “that customer was a cunt quite frankly and i’m proud of you for handling her the way you did.” the praise creates a small glow in your chest and burns away the last of your dread. “but, a word of advice, as the duty manager for today?” price offers a small encouraging smile so you nod. “you’re not paid enough to put up with that shit, so don’t.” you grimace and blow out a breath, you want to argue, maybe even defend yourself and explain that it’s fine really that’s just how retail is. price chuckles “no love, listen. you aren’t paid enough, but i am. so next time it happens, send ‘em my way alright?” price offers another smile when you nod in agreement before pushing himself off the bench. “now, c’mon. i’ve got stock that needs counting down the plumbing aisle and you can give me a hand. no more talking to muppets on the customer service desk today.” you follow price back into the store feeling much better than you did twenty five minutes ago.

the rest of your shift passes by easily enough and you make a mental note to buy gaz a milkshake as a thank you when he shoots you a friendly smile as you pass him on your way out the store on your lunch.

#cod fic #kyle garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #retail hell au #‘p why do you refer to johnny as soap when other characters call him johnny and reader thinks of him as johnny?’#because dear reader of my nonsense i am easily confused by johnny and john #‘but p you refer to john as price’ yeah i know i messed up there but here we are and now i’m too lazy to change it #maybe if i do singular character x reader interactions or singular character headcannons i’ll use john and johnny #also this got pretty soap and ghost heavy so apologies to any gaz and price fans #i just loved writing the ghost and soap banter that i couldn’t stop #jp #jm #kg #sr

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kissyghosty · 2 months

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prompt was "this is going to hurt" but i made it fluffy. silly little wingies au drabble

Simon Riley shows affection in often-subtle ways: Sitting close enough to Johnny to have their shoulders touch. Tangling their legs under the table while they sit somewhere and have coffee. Fussing over John’s hair and feathers, as haphazard as they always are, trying to get them to at least resemble something like intentional style and not “just rolled out of bed and went with it”..

“Christ’s sake,” Simon mutters under his breath as he tries smoothing down flyaways on Soap’s head. “Do you ever do anything with this mop on your head? Or do you just let fate decide how it’ll look for the day?”

“There’s a strategy to it,” Johnny explains, giggling underneath Simon’’s fussing. He’d never admit it to anyone--except Simon, of course--that being the target of someone’s finicky nitpicking meant more to him than the other would think. It meant Simon currently is and previously was paying attention to the little details about him. It just so happened that the detail he focused on was “fixable” by Simon.

“You need to cut this shit shorter,” Simon rumbles under his breath as he sweeps a hand over Johnny’s mohawk. “You’d have a chance at taming it then.”

“It’s fine as is,” he retorts lightheartedly. “As if you don’t have horrible bedhead when you wake up. Not all of us can just don a mask and hide it.” He can tangibly feel Simon’s face twist further into a frown behind his back. He’s about to spit another quip when he feels tugging on his primary feathers, making him flinch automatically.

“Not all of us are hell-bent on looking like wet cats either.”

“That’s a low blow, Simon.” Johnny pouts. “You can’t--”

“Hush.” Simon says sharply. “This is going to hurt a bit.”

“What’s go--” Simon’s fingers dig into his hair and pull, working a stubborn knot out at the expense of John’s state of mind.

“Jesus,” he hisses, reflexively ducking away from the talons Simon suddenly seemed to have instead of fingers. “Warn a man, yeah?”

“I did.”

“You didn’t give me time to process it!”

“I don’t have time to ‘wait for you to process’ everything I say, daft.” While Simon speaks, his fingers smooth over John’s sheer-black feathers, fingers gently twining through fluff. It instantly calms Johnny down, making him damn near slump over as he revels in the feeling. “At least you look presentable now.”

A slurred mumble is all Simon’s met with. “I’ll forgive you for now.”

#ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #mw2 #mar's stuff #dear god please be merciful

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marblemoovt · 1 year

Text

Lace - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Fluff with some reverse hurt/comfort. The reader's gender is not explicitly mentioned or referred to, but you do wear a dress and makeup in this.

Summary:

Going undercover at a Gala, you need some help lacing up the back of your dress. Luckily Ghost is around to help you.

------

You turn around and show him your back. “Can you lace up my dress, please?”

“I think it looks better this way.” He nuzzles behind your earlobe, inhaling your scent. Goosebumps litter your skin, and you grip the table to ease the shiver that runs through your body. Ghost hums appreciatively, grabbing your waist and rubbing circles into your lower back. “In fact, I think you should take it off.”

Note:

This was almost complete and sitting in my drafts forever. So as a little birthday present to myself, I powered through and finished this fic. I could have worked on this more, but I'm happy with where it is. This entire idea started with a gif I saw on Instagram, which I can no longer find cause I didn't save it :(

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

You smooth the gown of your dress, admiring yourself in the mirror. The fabric hugs your waist and flares out at your calves, with a slit up to your thighs on one side for more freedom. Turning around, you frown at the reflection of your back. You didn’t think that part through when you bought the dress. It looked so pretty at the time that it never occurred to you how you would close up the back by yourself.

The dress needs to be laced up and tied. While you could struggle and try to manipulate the ribbon on your own, you know the result will be far from passing to fit in with the crowd at the gala. Laswell needs intel—intel kept in a mansion opened to the public only once a year. Price deemed you had the best chance at infiltrating the event; you didn’t get much say. At least you get to keep the dress after this, which is why you bought one of the most expensive dresses from the store.

Heaving a sigh, you walk to the door and peek into the hallway. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to the doorway, skeletal gloves swiping across his phone. You bought him a new pair with thermal tips when you noticed him tugging off his gloves with a grumble every time he reached for his phone. Brown eyes shift from the screen to your face. Maybe it’s because of the flickering fluorescent lights, but his pupils almost tremble when they land on you. He doesn’t say a word, only pockets his phone and pushes himself off the wall stiffly.

“I need help,” you say. His mask shifts, and he tilts his head. Stepping back from the door, you wait. Ghost walks in, his broad shoulders brushing against the doorframe. He pauses after one step, not quite in the room, but not outside either. A statue stuck in limbo. You wave a hand in front of his face, keeping the other on your chest to prevent the dress from falling. “Fucks sake, Simon. I’m half dressed—close the fucking door!” you hiss. He jolts and slams the door behind him. The walls rattle, and the lights flicker. God, you hope Price didn’t notice anything upstairs. When you don’t hear the pounding of footsteps from above, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Ghost continues his silence, but you can feel his eyes rake over you. You shiver under his gaze. “Y’look nice,” he mumbles.

You blink, not registering a single word. “I beg your pardon? I didn’t catch that.” Ghost walks closer, slow and steady steps that send a flutter in your chest. His hands grip your waist and pull you to him. Shivers run through your body when his gloved fingers trace your spine.

“You look ravishing,” he whispers, lightly massaging your exposed back. You bite your lip to suppress a groan, but he hears the quiet noise coming from the back of your throat and chuckles. “How’d I get so lucky?” You can tell from his tone that the question isn’t directed at you.

“I have to be in position in 30 minutes,” you remind him. His hands pause, and he pulls back. Beneath the stoic exterior, Simon is admiring you, burning your image into memory. You’ve noticed that he likes to watch, to silently absorb the world around him and all its minute details. The man makes planning surprises a living hell. There’s a silent promise in his eyes to continue this later.

Ghost clears his throat. “Right. What’d you need me for?” he asks, voice still husky.

You turn around and show him your back. “Can you lace up my dress, please?”

A throaty chuckle escapes your lips, and you lean into his touch. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You can see his reflection in the vanity mirror. The darkness in his eyes threatens to drown you in liquid pools of obsidian. His gaze is intense, but his touch remains featherlight. Constantly aware of his size. Sometimes you wonder how he would react if you told him you want to be torn apart. Would his self-control finally unravel? You suppose you’ll find out tonight.

“30 minutes is plenty. I can give you at least 5 orgasms in that timeframe,” and he sounds almost boastful. You decide to knock him down a few pegs. Bastard’s cheeky enough as is. Personally, you think his banter with Soap has inflated his ego. You’re surprised his head fit through the door when he came in earlier.

“Only 5?” you tsk and shake your head. “You’re losing your touch,” you tease.

Ghost chuffs, sliding his hands down and kneading your thighs. “Didn’t seem like that last night. Had ya beggin’ me to stop,” and his fingers brush dangerously close to your crotch.

Breathing in a shuddery gasp, you grab his hands and squeeze them in a warning. “I need you to redirect the blood flow back to your other head. Mission first,” you insist. His eyes glint in the mirror.

“Didn’t stop us last time.”

“Last time didn’t involve the risk of being flayed alive by Laswell. We can’t fuck this up, Ghost. It’s our only chance.” Months of planning have led up to this moment. This evidence is the last piece of the puzzle needed. Then there will be one less group terrorizing the world. Who knows what will happen in a year—if there even will be another event next time. Laswell has intel that the higher-ups are going through a reformation, and it’ll be too late afterwards. No. This is the one shot your team has at finding those files. You take a deep breath and grip the edge of the table. Your fingernails dig into the old wood, engraving crescent moons onto the surface. “Alright, I’m ready to have my organs rearranged.”

“Thought that was my job.”

“Jesus Christ, Simon!”

He snickers, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fight the grin on your face and hand him the ribbon. He gets to work. His deft fingers lace the back of your dress, tightening as he goes. “Let me know if it’s too tight,” he says, nearly finished. You clench your teeth when it feels like a hydraulic press is squeezing your insides. Ghost hears you wheeze and immediately loosens the ribbon. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s not a real corset. Just has to be tight enough so it doesn’t slip,” you say, and he loosens the rest of the back until your organs aren’t one compact ball.

Ghost pauses. You’re not sure why. All he has to do now is tie a knot, and then you’ll be on your merry way to the party. Soap and Gaz are already posing as servers. Lucky bastards get access to the fancy food before you do. You don’t doubt that some expensive bottles will go missing by the end of tonight. You make a mental reminder to pilfer some of their bounties when everyone returns to base.

“Don’t….” It’s barely a whisper. You look back at Ghost, cocking an eyebrow.

“Did you say something?” you ask.

Ghost, gripping one end of the ribbon in each hand, tugs you into his chest. The air is knocked out of your lungs—more out of surprise than force. The warmth from his body seeps into your exposed skin, stoking the flames that are steadily building. You would have to be a goddamn liar if you said the maneuver didn’t turn you on in the slightest. “Careful,” he mumbles into the nape of your neck, arms wrapped protectively around your waist. His mask is cold, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Are you worried, Riley?” you tease. The arms around you tighten, and your gaze softens. “I always am,” you say, reaching behind to pat his head. Ghost huffs, but he leans into your body. You like to call him your personal weighted blanket.

You don’t need to ask what’s bothering him. You don’t typically go on the field for missions. Your position keeps you out of immediate harm, a blessing that Ghost would never admit. He must feel anxious. And while you trust Gaz and Soap with your life, the thought does little to quell his fears. Ghost can’t save or stop you from doing something stupid where his scope can’t follow.

“Come back to me, please,” he whispers. You stare at him in amazement. It’s rare to see him beg. Normally he nags you instead.

“I will. I won’t leave you—not unless I die.” A wry grin cracks your face, but he’s not amused.

Ghost’s signature glare burns into your face. “I’ll kill you if you die on me,” he grunts.

“That’s not how death works,” you say. Despite the ridiculous notion, it’s sweet in its own way.

His expression remains the same. “I’m a ghost, Poppet. I’ll find your spirit and kill you again.”

You tsk, “And here I thought you were going to say something romantic about bringing me back from the dead; I expected too much from you.” When his posture remains rigid, you sigh. “I’ll be fine, Simon,” you say, leaning into his chest. You hear the click of his jaw when he clenches his teeth.

Ghost remains silent for a few moments, lost in a memory from another life. He sighs, the words coming out scratchy, “You don’t know that—no one does.”

You lay a hand over his and give it a gentle squeeze. His fingers dig into your skin, desperate to keep you encircled in his arms where he knows you’re safe. “Well, I know an excellent sniper has my back,” you say.

“Rest of the team would feel left out.” You can’t see the grin on his face, but you can see his reflection squint and hear the lilt in his tone. He’s so cute, puffing up after a little bit of praise.

You snort, “Gaz and Soap are probably guzzling hors d’oeuvres without me as we speak, so fuck them. Mom and Dad always have our backs, so that’s a given.”

A low rumble tickles your back. “I dare ya to call Laswell and Price that to their faces,” Ghost says.

You bark out a laugh. “Do I look suicidal to you?”

Ghost shrugs, “Must be if you’re with me.” Your smile quickly flips into a frown.

“Uh uh. What did I say about self-deprecation?” You sigh and turn around when he doesn’t answer. Hopping onto the table, you sit and cross your legs. Ghost doesn’t meet your gaze. He stares at the mirror behind you. “Simon, you’re not as bad as you think you are,” you whisper, slowly reaching out a hand. When nothing happens, you gently grab his chin and tilt his face to you. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

His pupils swallow his irises. A faint halo of brown that struggles to contain pools of ink. “I think I love you.”

Your lips slant into a crooked smile. “I would hope so, considering we’ve been together for a while.”

He sighs. “Would it kill ya to just say it back?”

“I love you too,” and you go limp like a ragdoll, groaning for added effect.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Ghost scoffs.

Your lifeless body snaps to life. “The hypocrisy! If I have to put up with your Dad jokes, I’m allowed to have my bits.” Ever since you groaned at the first joke, the number of puns on the radio channel has doubled—quadrupled if Ghost manages to wrangle Soap in on it. His posture is more relaxed now. “Better?” you ask.

“Mhmm.”

You place your right hand over your heart and hold the left one up. “I promise to neuter any man that tries anything with me.” The knife sheathed in your thigh strap will be your best friend tonight.

Ghost crosses his arms, and you know he’s smirking underneath the mask. “Present company excluded, of course?”

“….”

“…Darling.”

“My knives aren’t picky; let’s leave it at that, yeah?”

Ghost’s hands travel down your hips, squeezing them firmly. “Misbehaving already?” he purrs.

You pat his cheek and trail your finger along his jaw. “I like riling you up, same as how you like putting me in my place.”

He pulls you off the table, pressing his growing erection flush against your stomach. “What a pair we make,” he says, his smooth voice caressing your ears.

“Would now be a terrible time to remind you that I must leave in 15 minutes?” you whisper.

Simon doesn’t speak, only tugs his mask off before initiating a heated kiss that sends your head spinning. Minutes pass, and the table thumps against the wall when he pins you against it. Simon is insatiable, devouring you until you’re a gasping mess. His hands prevent you from melting into a puddle on the floor, keeping you upright when your legs lose the ability to stand.

He pulls away with a smug grin, thumb tracing your puffy lips. The bottom half of Simon’s face and his neck are covered in a smattering of red lipstick stains. You’ll need to touch up your makeup before you head out. His eyes flicker to the mirror, and he chuckles, admiring the marks you left behind.

“C’mon, love. You’ve got intel to steal, men to castrate,” he says.

“Don’t forget a buffet to eat,” you add, patting your stomach. You haven’t eaten the entire day besides a light snack in anticipation of this mission. Who says you can’t enjoy yourself at a party thrown by a terrorist?

Simon shakes his head and chuckles. “I fear for whichever poor sod gets between you and the buffet table.” He gazes at you lovingly. His eyes always remain the same. Warm and filled with adoration. “And Poppet?”

“Yeah?”

Simon pauses and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Give ‘em hell,” he says, grinning widely.

“Yes, sir,” you say with a salute, turning to strut out of the room.

Simon leans against the table and adjusts his pants. Fuck, you look delicious from behind. Ghost will have to make sure not to pull the trigger tonight on anybody who shows an interest in you. But Simon? Simon is going to rail you into your bed later and leave some marks of his own. He admires the lipstick stains in the mirror once more. A pleasant reminder that there’s someone still alive who loves him unconditionally. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he assumes it’s a message to get onto the rooftop.

‘Stop shaking the walls, you animals.’ Simon can sense the annoyance in Price’s words. It isn’t until a stream of emojis appears that he realizes this was sent in the group chat. Gaz and Soap are already giving him shit, sending kissy faces and eggplants. His fingers tighten around his phone, the device creaking from the pressure. The screen updates, and he can see in the bottom corner that you’ve read the messages but haven’t said anything. He smirks and heads to the rooftop, putting his mask back on.

Simon gets to watch a free show tonight through the scope. He can’t wait to see how you’ll terrorize the ‘waiters.’ The spam in the group chat continues, messages zooming through his phone screen. He sets the device down next to him, setting up the rifle and locating you with the scope. Your dress makes it easy for him to find you, and you are power-walking straight to the buffet table, where a pair of waiters are discreetly sneaking food from. His phone screen stops flashing, and a chuckle rumbles through his chest.

Those two are so fucked.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

This was going to be spicy, but then I decided not to. So the ending is left open for everyone's interpretation.

I don't know if anyone will see this, but I'm planning to stream on my birthday, so check out my Twitch if you can! I'm hoping to reach the 50 followers goal for affiliate status.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

Taglist: @lovecats123451

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #I am one year older today #no y/n #established relationship #fluff #reverse hurt/comfort #Gaz and Soap being little shits #I bet they steal the little soaps from hotels as well #I have not posted in so long dear lord

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