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feralforfrank · 1 year

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EVERYTHING WILL BE JUST FINE.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

summary the aftermath of the mission that almost causes the loss of your life.

cw description of a panic attack (reader has one), canon codmw2 violence & mentions of it, feeeeeeelingssssss, hurt/comfort, atp mutual pining & idiots in love. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!!

a/n some people asked for part two, sooooo!!! i delivered :)

masterlist | taglist

When you opened your eyes, it was because of the horrid images that haunted your eyelids. You woke with a gasp and a ripple of pain spreading through your whole body. The room was dark and cold, but you felt the soft mattress underneath you begging to swallow your exhausted body.

It all came to you slowly. The mission, the men trying to escape with your team's hidden car, you leaving your post and sneaking behind them, fighting them, and managing to get stabbed two times. The pain in your side was becoming more and more apparent now.

A flash of Ghost holding you in his arms makes you tense. He'd come to your rescue. Called you darling. Held you in his arms and reassured you that you'd be okay. You're fine. Nothing that can't be fixed. I can fix it.

Your heart fluttered, and your gaze blurred with tears. It wasn't right to have a crush on your superior, but you couldn't help yourself. Everything about Simon Riley fascinated you—from his continuous silences and intense glares to his very attractive build. You didn't need to see his face to know he was drop-dead gorgeous. The mask was one of the things that made Ghost even hotter.

But it was wrong. Ghost's your lieutenant, your superior, and there was no way he'd ever feel the same way about you anyway. You doubt he could feel love sometimes. He cared for his team, that's for sure, but this line of work didn't allow deep and romantic sentiments.

The jiggle of the door handle snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped, causing your wounds to throb. A poorly contained whimper escaped your lips. Your heart sped up in fear, and your left hand tried to look for the knife strapped to your left thigh.

Fuck, it's not there.

The silhouette slips in, and you swear your heart feels about to leap from your throat. A tear slides down your cheek as the man approaches your side. Shit, he's here to kill you. Finish you for what you did to his companions.

In your panicked haze and blurred gaze, you don't hear Simon calling your name. You see him set down a tray next to your head, and fuck—he's going to torture you first? Where the fuck is Ghost? Soap? Gaz?

"K-Kyle?" You try, but your voice is hoarse and not as loud as intended.

Your gaze falls to the door, and you call Johnny's name. Then Simon's. You plead, but it's still not loud enough. More tears slide down your face, your ears ring, and your body shakes under the blanket.

"—ocus! Focus on me, Owl! You're safe here!" The man calls your name. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, darlin'."

Darlin'.

Darlin'. Darlin'!

Ghost.

And suddenly, the ringing in your ears subsides, and panic isn't bubbling hot in your blood. You feel his hands now, touching your bare shoulders—cold fingers touching scorching skin—shaking you to pull you out of your living nightmare.

"It's okay, lovie. S'alright. You're alright." He shushes you, sitting next to your feet.

"Help me up," you whisper.

Ghost reluctantly helps you sit up, gently touching your wrists. He towers over you to adjust the thin pillows on your back. Your gaze never leaves him. He's rid himself of the tactical vest, only wearing his tight-as-shit shirt, pants, and of course, his balaclava. Thank fuck, it's not the skull one. You melt at how he cares for you, despite you having fucked up the whole operation.

He grabs a bottle of water from the tray, and you have to remind yourself that it doesn't carry torture devices. The man in front of you is Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, not the enemy. You gulp the water greedily like you've been walking in the desert under the scorching heat for hours.

"Want another one?" He asks. You shake your head.

There's a pause. The silence isn't tense but not comfortable. The nagging guilt—from both of you—holds you back from being truly open with each other.

You should've never left your post. The team would've been able to escape without the car anyway. Your thoughts are never-ending.

Simon wants to punch himself. He shouldn't have had to carry you to the car. The guilt of letting you get hurt punctured a hole in his chest.

A sniff brought him back. "I'm sorry."

He looks at you. Stares at you with those emotionless eyes, and you hate it. You hate that you can't guess what he's thinking. You'd fucked up that much is true.

"Fuck—" You hiccup and look away from him. "I didn't mean to. I panicked. I thought—I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry, Ghost, truly—"

"What're you sorry for?" His hard tone startles you.

You look at him, confused more than ever. "I fucked up the mission. Got hurt in the process too. We would've been in base by now had it not been for my fuck-up."

"You protected the team."

"No, I put my team and this mission in jeopardy."

"You took care of a threat, Sargeant." His tone was final. "You did your job. Greatly."

You inhale deeply, your eyes meeting Simon's. His gaze is like stone, but you can see the glint of pride he has for you.

"I was so scared." Fuck you for tearing up again. You felt weak.

You look down at your hands. The light slipping through the open door allows you to see the dark colour they have. Your blood—God, you hope it's yours—stains your palms and reaches up to your wrists.

"I told you I'd fix it," Simon says, and you melt at his words. "Fixed you up pretty good, all things considered."

It makes you laugh. The timing isn't great, but the chuckle escapes before you can stop it.

"Thank you, Ghost. I owe you big time."

He shakes his head. "Don't mention it. I'm your Lt. I'm supposed to keep you safe and alive."

Lt.

I'm your Lt.

It stings. You want him to call you darling and lovie again. You purse your lips and nod your head, feeling awkward thinking such thoughts with him present.

"Thank you." You pause, looking for something to ask Ghost—so he doesn't leave. You can't be alone right now. "Where are we?"

"Deep in the woods. They can't find us here."

Pursing your lips, you nod, feeling relieved. The silence returns, and Ghost exhales. "That's soup and meds for the pain. Not much, though. I don't want you passing out."

He stands to leave, and you jump, completely forgetting about the stitched wounds. "Where are you going?" Simon stills at the fear in your voice.

"Leaving?"

It comes out as a question—not what he'd intended. He was fighting the urge to show you how scared he'd been—and still is—after almost having you dead in his arms. The sentimental feelings toward you are growing stronger every second he spends with you, and it's dangerous. He has to stop permitting himself to feel. To hope that one day you'll feel the same for him. God, he feels like a teenager just thinking these thoughts.

But how can he not hope? When you look at him with wide, terrified eyes, swimming in unshed tears. When you're gripping the bowl of soup, he made carefully just for you, silently pleading with him to sit a tad bit longer.

He can see your lips tremble, but you hide it well by pursing them. The words are on your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to ask him to stay because fuck. How much more can you ask from this man? He saved you, patched you up, made you food, and now you wanted him to stay, purely out of fear. It's embarrassing to request this, especially in your line of work.

So, Simon decides to do it for you. "Unless you want me to stay?"

Your expression is shocked, but you eagerly nod before he can change his mind. You scooch to make room for his big frame on the small bed, and he actually manages to lay next to you, a hand draped on the bedframe to pull you closer.

You feel safe. Simon tends to make people feel this way. It's not only his large frame but how he carries himself and shows affection to the people he cares about. It doesn't matter if you talk or stay silent—he prefers silence—Ghost's presence is relaxing enough for you to eat your soup and drink your meds.

And when you finish, he grabs the bowl and places it next to him. When you start to drift off and snuggle closer to steal his warmth, he forces his tense shoulders to loosen and pulls you closer. He kisses the top of your head, and your hair tickles his cold nose even through his balaclava.

He knows his back will ache from the uncomfortable position he's sitting in, but he doesn't care because you're alive. Alive and safe. In his arms. And it's all that matters right now.

previous | next

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[ taglist: @master-amidala, @darklordofthesimp (i'm finally writing for this fandom! ]

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lunarw0rks · 8 months

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humbly requesting ghost x reader where he thinks he’s too old and damaged for reader. i headcannon ghost to be anywhere between 35-38 and the reader would be early twenties. he’s all emo and “oh they’re too innocent, i’d hurt and ruin them” and reader is just like “i would die for this man.”

Too Old For You // Part One

Summary: You've been crushing on him for a while now, even going as far as taking a stab for him. But it isn't enough for him to notice you; you're too young, too nice for someone like him.

Warning(s): medic!reader, fem!reader, age gap [reader is early twenties, ghost is mid/late thirties], mild injury/blood, hurt/no comfort

Word Count: 817

A/N: I enjoy hurting my own feelings :)

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX | AO3 VER | PART TWO .ˎˊ˗

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

You did know that, by this point, at least. He had only told you about a hundred times.

“I can do this myself. It’s my job,” you let out a hiss as the Lieutenant purposefully wrapped the gauze tighter than necessary. You weren’t even supposed to be involved — you were supposed to keep hidden until the situation was handled.

He ripped off the end of it, fastening the small clip to keep the wrap in place. “Keep quiet,” he wanted to be irate. But you meant well, and that’s what bothered Simon the most. He, of all people, didn’t deserve to be the one you sacrificed yourself for. You were lucky it was a knife through the hand and not through the heart—where the intruder had been aiming the blade intended for him.

The gash in your palm would be a life-long reminder, doomed to leave a nasty scar.

Nothing says I’m in love with you like taking a stab in the hand for him, but it was abundantly clear he was too headstrong to let you be with him. Or was intentionally dismissing your signals entirely, you weren’t sure which one was more disheartening.

Ghost sets your injured hand back down, letting you admire his sloppy patchwork. It got the job done, it didn’t need to be an aesthetically-pleasing bandage. He used an alcohol wipe to cleanse the bloodstains on your forearm, now an unnecessary service. Perhaps it was his way of apologizing for you being injured on his behalf because he surely wasn’t expressing it through words.

You reached over with your unharmed hand and placed it over his, stopping his meticulous wiping, “I got this.”

The stubborn Lieutenant only flicked his gaze upwards from your hand on his, a brief scoff escaping his lips. Whatever the hell that meant. “Least I can do is get the damn blood off you, kid. Jumped in front of a bloody knife for me.”

Kid. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you.

He continued muttering and shaking his head in disapproval, running the alcohol wipe along your flesh until there was no trace of crimson.

It wasn’t a motive of stupidity, nor was it to prove yourself. You weren’t even a soldier, there would be no use trying to be tough in front of him. Your true motive was admiration for him, and even now, with a stab wound, he’s too mule-headed to let you in. Any longer, and you might just lose your mind entirely.

“Thought you would be relieved, I guess.” You shrugged, speaking with a small bit of defeat. “Knife was supposed to go right there.” A finger pointed at his heart but didn’t dare make contact. You knew better than that,.. Sort of.

Before you could finish outstretching your hand, his unoccupied one clamped over it, breaths a little heavier. Followed by a look that could only be described as intense contemplation; should I break this hand or continue to gently hold it?

“You don’t have the slightest clue what you’re doing, do you?” Simon questions, thumb instinctually caressing your knuckle to balance out the iron grip he maintained. “You’re confused.”

You were too young, too nice in his eyes. It was your job to be a healer, a good one, too. And his job? A trained killer. To him, it was too ironic, too striking of a contrast. An arrangement like that would never work—Simon was too mature, too damaged, downright unworthy of your kindness. At least that’s what he had himself convinced of, even after the knife incident.

You replied hastily, a slight tinge of frustration showing. “I’m not confused, Ghost. I know what I want—I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” You would’ve done it again if it meant another chance at restarting this conversation. A conversation that now was nose-diving into a point of no return.

“You shouldn’t have done it at all,” he sighed, amber eyes flooded with internal conflict. His grip released with one swift movement, and now his palm rested on either side of you, but it wasn’t intimidation he was after. “I’m not the bloke you want to jump in front of a bullet for, trust me.”

��Simon—” You blurted amidst his attempts at swaying you, cradling your bandaged hand. What more would it take?

“—Ghost.” He interjected, taking several steps back from his looming position. If he didn’t walk away now, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from poisoning you.

It wasn’t right. You deserve someone better than him. “It’s Ghost. We’re not doin’ this, Kid. I’m not doing it.” His words were like a punch to the gut, more painful than a stab to the hand, that’s for sure.

The door to the infirmary slammed shut, only seconds before his footsteps faded into silence, stranding you with the solitude of rejection.

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daisygirlwrites · 1 year

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Task Force 141 + Reader (Callsign-Crash): friendship headcanons

a/n: Hello hello! Just some random headcanons that I had written down for Crash and her relationships with the members of the 141 team. Nothing romantic, just some wholesome stuff.

original gif by @collinnmckinley

also, this is really freaking long, sorry in advance. enjoy reading!

Before getting thrown out the window and getting her callsign, she was quiet and shy around the group. Opting to listen to others conversations, rarely adding to it.

Honestly intimidated with how tightly knit the team is, and given her previous team’s history, she was scared to get close.

Volunteered to be the DD whenever the group goes out to a bar. Fortunately, most of the time, Ghost is sober(enough) to help her get everyone into the car and into their rooms

Would silently comfort Soap and Gaz whenever they threw up, rubbing their backs and getting them water.

In the mornings after, she got everyone a breakfast burrito. Soap and Gaz are eternally grateful. Got a little information about her when they asked why she got them food. “Help with my hangovers during college.” Soap and Gaz gave each other a look as she walks away

After the window incident, Crash becomes a lot more open. Seeing how they treat her as if she has been with them for years, it wasn’t fair to them with how closed off she was.

Soap:

He talks to you a lot and you don’t mind. He just comes out and starts rambling on whatever he has interested him at that moment. You don’t really say anything, just sitting there awkwardly (because why would he want to talk to the newbie instead of his friends) but nodding to what he says anyways. One time though, he looks at you and says “Thanks for listening to me. It’s nice to have someone not tell me to ‘Shut the fuck up Mactavish.’”

Literally you after he tells you this:

“you’re my friend now. we’re having soft tacos later” vibes

Would send him memes and funny videos whenever you guys are on leave

His contact name on your phone is “Bubbles”

Would show you how to make bombs out of random shit. Set them off in bare fields or abandon buildings. Had a couple close calls

Will let you call him Johnny but you call him Mac instead.

“Aww, why not, lassie?”

“I’d rather not get my ass beat by your boyfriend.”

Calls you Lassie along with your callsign. When he wants to piss you off, he calls you Mini Ghost or Little Ghost

Like Ghost, you rarely take off your balaclava and tactical glasses

“The mask, take it off.”

��Nah, I don’t wanna.”

“You ugly?”

“Not as ugly as you old man.”

Has yet to seen you drunk though and he intends to get you there some day

Holds his hand when he’s throwing up

You would use him as a pillow during rides back to the base

The first person to tell him about any drama that’s happening in your life

Gives you advice about men

"Men are stupid, trust me, I am one."

Loves it when you would go on ramblings about the things you like. Anime confuses the hell out of him but he would always ask you about the plot and your favorite characters. He’d ask you about the current artist you listen to and has a list of recommendations from you so he could look them up when he gets home

After a mission gone wrong and believing that it was his fault, you seek him out, finding him sitting alone in the meeting room. You tell him

“It’s going to be okay. I trust you, John.”

He tears up and you wrap your arms around him.

Gaz:

With you two being the youngest, you bond over similar experiences

Sometimes share exactly one brain cell with each other. Sometimes you, Gaz and Soap share a brain cell

Brings out the chaotic gen z energy of each other

Your guys’ energy:

Follows each other on social media and would send each other tiktoks at ungodly hours

Kind of have a competition against each other to see who’s Price’s favorite child is

Gaz finally has someone who he can talk about anime with

Favorite shows to watch together: Cowboy Bebop, Samurai Champloo and Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Similar music taste. The whole team listens to Queen, David Bowie, Pink Floyd and a few more others. However, Gaz and Crash have the same love of rap and indie pop. Anything they find on tiktok will be added to their shared Spotify playlist.

Gaz would ask about how college was like. He thought about going but ultimately for him, the military was the better option

“Were you part of a sorority?”

“Oh hell no. Loved going to the parties though. Always had top shelf vodka.”

“Really? Thought students couldn’t afford it.”

“When it comes to alcohol, we find a way.”

Share the same sentiment of feeling like they’re not doing enough in the team. After a particularly rough mission, you two would find a corner and just sit together in silence.

Would break the silence by quoting something from vine or tiktok and all things would be okay again

Price:

He has adoption papers ready

Crash, despite your name, is polite, respectful and responsible. Would always help Price clean up after meetings and briefs

Same with Soap, you would listen quietly to Price’s war stories and even his favorite fishing trips

Saw in your file about what happened to your old team and captain. Vows to never pull the same stunt as them

Sadden to see how you’re so young and has seen and dealt with many things already. It breaks his heart that there’s more that you’ll experience.

You, Soap and Gaz would do dumb shit all the time but you knew when it was the right time to bail. Of course, they would snitch on you to Price. You’d rarely get in trouble though

Basically you two:

Would gift him cigars from the countries you’d visit during leave

Also a matching set of torch lighters. His has a special green flame while yours is pink.

You don’t smoke anymore but you would hangout with him and help him finish reports together.

Price often thinks about a life where he didn’t join the military. A life of normalcy. To go to a home filled with life.

Would have loved to have kids and technically, he still can but his job makes it almost impossible.

But with Gaz and now you, you two are his pride and joy.

Would be the “hip” dad and will always ask about the new slang and memes

“This food is-what you kids call it...uh, busting!”

You and Gaz look at each other, “It’s bussin’.”

“This food is bussin’!”

Ghost:

Did not to want to get close to you at all.

Was honestly peeved when Price told him that he was going to mentor you

“I don’t want to play babysitter, Captain.”

Surprised to see how short you were. All of the rumors and information he was told, they never mention your size

At first, he hated how you would follow him around like a lost puppy.

“Leave me alone, go bother Soap or something.”

Doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in your eyes but you turn around anyways.

Before you joined, he, Price and Laswell were all sitting in Price’s office, his phone on speaker. He was reading over your file before Price’s contact said

“She reminds me of Ghost when I worked with him seven years ago.”

He looks up from the folder, Price’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Laswell nodding.

“I think we’ll have her transferred to us,” Price replies.

Hates to admit but he’s impressed. Thought the rumors was bullshit but you proved him wrong, time and time again

You still have a lot of things to learn and even more practice to do but he believes in you

Does not go easy. He’s merciless. Has put you down countless times and reprimanded you more. You would always leave training sessions with a new bruise. The rest of the team gets concerned with his training methods.

But you still get up and you blink away the tears whenever he shouts at you

At about five months after you joined, on a mission, you spot an enemy behind him before he does and without a word, you quickly take your knife out and throw it towards the man behind him.

He opens his mouth to yell at you but he sees the enemy on the corner of his eye and watch him slump down. Your knife stuck in his bleeding neck

Gives you a nod after that. Pulling out your knife and handing it back to you

Knife throwing would be one of the training sessions you’d do. It was also a good time for some small chat

Finds out that you’re also a part of the “Dead Mom, Shitty Dad” club

It takes a year for him to SLIGHTLY open up to you

Told you about one of his favorite dishes his mom made and his favorite Queen song was ‘You’re My Best Friend’

Even told you how he likes his Earl Grey prepared

It scares him of how much you remind him of his mom and brother. You have her kindness and his determination. He will never tell you this

You, along with the team, become the very thing he cares about and will protect you to the best of his ability.

Bonus:

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suzzukiiii · 11 months

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ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ ꜱᴇx - ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ "ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ" ʀɪʟᴇʏ

i've gotten so lazy lol but here's a shower sex blurb (idk what blurb means)

"fuckin' hell you look so beautiful"

as soon as they're both without clothes, he pulls the curtains of the shower aside and steps inside, turning on the water. the hot water cascades over their bodies and ghost takes a moment to adjust to the heat before pulling y/n close. he's feeling a sense of excitement build within him as he takes her in his arms.

he presses his body up against y/n, letting the hot water splash over her skin as he leans in for a passionate kiss.

ghost feels a rush of desire course through his body at y/'n soft moans. he carefully lifts her up and presses her back against the shower wall.

he spreads her legs open with one hand before using the other to guide his hard cock towards her entrance. he slips inside slowly, tilting his hips upwards as he goes deeper.

ghost savors the sensation of y/n's tightness around him while he slowly move his hips back and forth.

the bathroom is filled with the sounds of groans, moans and ghost's BBB's (big british ballz) slapping against y/n's skin along with the warm water streaming down the shower head.

he leans down and kisses her deeply, turning up the passion as he speeds up his thrusts. his hand wraps around her neck and squeezes slightly in a dominant manner.

"you like feeling me inside you, don't you?" he grunts out between breaths.

as the pace quickens with every thrust, ghost could feel that he was on edge close to cumming.

y/n moans in response to ghost's question, feeling a sense of pleasure build within them as he pounds into her body. she cling onto him tightly with one arm while wrapping her other hand around his neck, pulling him in for a heated kiss.

he reaches down to her womanhood and uses his fingers to rub y/n's clit as he continues moving inside of her.

as the pace quickens between them, ghost could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. his breaths becoming more labored as he feels y/n start clenching around him.

"fuck, im gonna.. im.."

with a loud groan of pleasure, ghost lets himself go over the edge and spills his seed into y/n, rocking against her until they both ride out the waves of mutual release.

#simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 oneshot #mw2 ghost #mw2 ghost oneshot #mw2 ghost smut #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #simon riley oneshot #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader

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ghostlychief · 1 year

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Weighted Blanket

This is part 2 to Pockets of Peace

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Wc: 3.8k+ (First half is in Simon’s POV, second is reader’s POV)

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of children being victims on a mission (nothing graphic), brief, BRIEF mentions of self harm (this part is italicized if you want to skip OR can read it as wounds from fights or missions; emotionally vulnerable reader and Simon; some fluff; some cuddling

Summary: After your last mission, things changed between you and Ghost. Although feelings shifted and emerged, your quiet routine with the Lieutenant stayed the same. He never failed to provide you with little pockets of peace throughout your tumultuous life, and you treasure these moments, holding them close to your heart. Except this time, it’s you who returns the favor, and offers him a warm embrace to grieve quietly.

A/N: HELLO! Part two to Pockets of Peace is finally here. I really can’t express my gratitude for all the love that fic received. I really appreciate all your likes, comments, and reblogs. Comments are always so fun to read and same goes for the reblog tags <3 This is another purely indulgent fic lmao and I found this part harder to write than the first, so I hope you enjoy it just as much. As mentioned, the first half is written from Simon’s POV, so that was fun to explore and write. Sorry for any typos/grammar mistakes </3

ENJOY!

Simon didn’t have much to be grateful for in his life. Sure, he was thankful for the camaraderie he found within task 141, and his friendship with Soap (although he will never admit that they’re true friends). Outside of those two things, there wasn’t much, and he was okay with that. Comes with the line of work, he supposed.

It’s hard to trust people when majority end up pointing their gun at you, even after years of working together, training together, living together. Hell, it took him years to feel somewhat comfortable around the task 141 members. When he first joined, he barely talked to anyone except when necessary either when preparing for a mission, or during a mission. Afterwards he would float off to his room and be alone. He ate alone, trained alone (unless sparing was required by Price), he went out alone. Not that he went out a lot, but if he had to leave the base, it was alone. He was somewhat of a recluse, a phantom hiding in the shadows that the team rarely ever saw.

The team member he first grew closest to, not without them trying, was Soap. The outgoing sergeant was able to make a friend out of the standoffish lieutenant, and even got Ghost to crack jokes during missions, a big deal for task force 141. This happened a little over a year and a half after Ghost joined the team. And now fast forward almost seven years later, and here he was, still on task force 141, but with a friend of sorts. That was one thing he was grateful for.

About two years in, he started to eat breakfast when the other team members did. Did he sit with them? No, of course not, but he was eating at the same time, just a few tables away. He started training with the other members more regularly, and on occasion, would coach them and give them tips here and there. And after a mission, he would sometimes tag along with the other men when they went out to a bar to wind down.

One night, shortly after you joined task 141, Ghost begrudgingly accepted Soap’s invite to go to a bar with the other male team members. Once they got there and had a few drinks, they were poking fun at him for having a “soft spot” for the new recruit.

He just rolled his eyes at their comments, and muttered “Fuck off,” up until they started talking about your skillset. Specifically, your lack of skills in sparing.

“Well, she certainly could improve her technique. We were sparing the other day, and I almost squashed her like a bug.”

“Yeah, she’s fast, but sure doesn’t know what to do with her speed and size. I pinned her down almost every time.”

“Yeah, last week, I had her in a headlock and almost made her pass out.”

“Hey Ghost, haven’t you been training with her? I’m sure you crush her each time you spar; she doesn’t have a chance against you.”

“Doubt she’s improved at all, even with Ghost’s help.”

Ghost couldn’t help but notice the frequent use of the word ‘almost,’ and at this point, he had enough. The comments the 141 members made weren’t even accurate. Sure, you had some improving to do, but by no means were you bad. He felt like they just felt threatened by you, a young woman with much more potential than them. He also had a feeling that they were jealous of your mastery at sniping. To put it simply, Ghost knew they were full of shit.

“She’s actually improved quite a lot.” His rough voice pierces through the air, silencing the banter surrounding him.

Embers burned at the pit of his stomach at the thoughtless comments his teammates said so flippantly about you. Embers that soon caught fire, and burned bright crimson flames. He stayed composed, but his eyes flickered, darkened by the shadows of the black paint surrounding them, and the tarnished skull that covered his nose and mouth. All the more imposing to those who looked at him.

“Plus, someone had to give her pointers for fighting a highly skilled, large, and imposing person; something you short fucks couldn’t do.”

Ghost was met with silence once again, and he smirked under his balaclava. Since then, the other men of task 141 have not commented on your sparing abilities, not wanting to be cursed out by Ghost.

And hey, it was all worth it when the next day you defeated Soap, match after match.

New recruits of 141 typically come and go, retention isn’t all that great. So, when you joined the team, he wasn’t expecting you to persevere, and stay. He was impressed by your skillset; snipers are always impressive in his mind. But your agility and speed that allowed you to take down opponents twice your size, is what mainly caught his eye. Sure, you needed some improvement, but you were promising.

When you first joined the team, you were so nice to everyone, even him. That’s not something he’s privy to in his line of work. Yet, you didn’t seem intimidated by him at all, not in the slightest. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to why. You just kept being so warm to him and he didn’t know what to do with that.

Of course, he wasn’t nervous to be around you, no that certainty wasn’t it; but he couldn’t help the warm feeling that would spread through his chest whenever you would talk to him. At first you only conversed with one another in meetings, debriefs, missions, etc. All work related, with no cross over into ‘personal life territory’. Simon was content with this, he rarely ever crossed that boundary with the other 141 teammates, so why would he with you? Incidentally, you and him started to get paired together mission after mission, and he couldn’t help but want more.

Ghost was immediately impressed at your abilities to smoothly get in and get out during missions, especially with what little experience you had. Not that you were any less competent than any of the other 141 team members, you just hadn’t been in the field for as long as some of them. You were smart as a whip though, and you got the job done quickly and quietly, and never got in his way. That was something he deeply respected about you. You understood the task at hand, asked questions if needed, but otherwise were highly independent. An admirable trait that takes some weight off of his shoulders as a Lieutenant. Something that he quickly added to his list of things he was grateful for.

You also had the curiosity to learn more, and to learn from the more experienced team members. Always ready with a question, and never embarrassed to ask. Sure, you were quiet like him, but when it came to job stuff, you didn’t hesitate to make your presence known.

He still remembers, one night after completing a mission, you and him were sitting in the helicopter. You turned to him and asked, “How is it that you’re never scared?” Your sweet voice traveled over to him through the coms and he felt confounded by your question. He felt his stomach warm at your tone in which you asked him this. Did you somehow look up to him?

“Who said I was never scared?” He glanced over at you and saw your eyes sparkle at his response.

To say that Ghost was concerned after you got shot in the leg was an understatement. Although he tried his best to stay composed, he was having a full-blown crisis inside his mind while trying to get you to safety, which, was a safe house miles from your current location. He couldn’t properly examine your wound, so he had no idea how bad of a state you were in, and he hated blind spots.

That was the first mission he ever felt real fear for you; distressed with thoughts that said you wouldn’t make it back. Thoughts that kept bouncing around, tormenting him the whole journey to the safe house. Luckily when you guys arrived, he was able to fully assess your wound and it didn’t look life threatening. No, all he had to do was clean, stich, and bandage it.

Simple enough, right? Wrong.

Of course, of course the best way to get the wound clean and ready for stitching was for your fucking pants to come off.

Things were never easy for Ghost.

His nerves didn’t stop him though and he somehow managed to get through everything without making a complete fool out of himself. Though, if you could somehow hear his heartbeat, at all, it would have been a dead giveaway, as it thumped erratically in his chest. There were moments when he was afraid it would burst.

Then, only to make this mission even worse, was him waking up to your blood curdling screams in the middle of the night. His first thought was that the enemy found you guys, and they got to you first. He thought that he failed to protect you, which was a silent promise he made to himself after the first night you guys drank beer in his room.

However, when he entered the living room, he saw that no one was in the room, it was just you on the couch where he left you. Your screams turned into cries, then sobs, then screams again. It was deafening and he couldn’t stand to hear it any longer. It took a few good shakes to wake you and he felt his heartstrings pinch in his chest when you apologized to him for waking him up, completely disregarding the trauma you were currently experiencing.

He decided right then and there that what you needed right now was not a work colleague, but a friend. He carried you to bed that night, hoping to provide you with some consolation, wanting to provide you with anything that would make you feel safe again. And before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself closing the distance between your lips, and he felt you kissing back. He may have added that to the list of things he felt grateful for.

It’s been a few weeks since then. Your leg is pretty much all healed, and you have full mobility. All thanks to Ghost’s handy work. Although you felt fine and ready to get back out there, Simon insisted that you continue to rest. He even managed to convince Price not to assign you to any missions for the next month, which thoroughly pissed you off.

Who was he to boss you around and tell you when you were ready or not to start working again? He was technically your direct supervisor, so he did have the power to boss you around, but still!

Even though you were slightly peeved at him, you knew that it came from a good place. He was just worried about you, and this was his way of showing it, well, in front of the team at least.

In private, he had other ways to show you how much he cared for you. After he learned about your nightmares, he insisted that you come to him whenever they occur. You were hesitant at first to take him up on his offer. What if he just said that to be nice and he just feels bad for me? You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. Even though, you found yourself slowly start to cross more and more boundaries with him as the weeks went on.

So, the first night you experienced another nightmare, you found yourself in front of Simon’s door. You probably stood there for at least a minute, racking up the courage to knock. But before you could even do that, the door swung open to reveal a sleepy looking Simon decked out in black sweats and his signature balaclava.

Since he was so close to you, you had to crane your neck to look up at him and meet his eyes. Why he was still wearing his mask at this hour, you were unsure. He usually took it off to sleep, but you were too unmoored to ask.

“I heard your footsteps approach my door.” His gravelly voice fills the space in-between, and he casually leans on the door frame.

“Oh.” You looked down at your slippers and twiddle your thumbs.

“Why don’t you come in, yeah?” Simon’s voice lifts up a bit at the end of his question, and you look back up at him and offer him a small smile.

“I’d like that, thank you Simon.” It still felt weird on your tongue to call the Lieutenant by his first name, but your chest sparked each time you did so. He held out is hand and you fit your palm against his, and he leads you into his room, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

You and Simon talked for what felt like hours before you fell asleep, head on his shoulder and his hand rubbing your head.

It was a common occurrence after that, to visit Simon’s room at night whenever you woke up screaming in the dark of your own room. It felt like nothing could happen to you in your dreams, so as long as Simon’s arms were wrapped around you, almost like an anchor. Weighing you down, preventing you from drifting too far away.

But even with this new sense of security surrounding you, some nights when you fell asleep with Simon next to you, the nightmares would still creep into your mind. Though, Simon was right there to help bring you back.

If for some reason you both separated during the night and were sleeping apart, you’d reach out to him after waking, your hand patting the bed, searching for him.

“Simon?”

“I’m right here.” He’d then swiftly pull you back into him.

He’d rub your back. Up down, up down.

Wrap his arms around you. Squeeze.

Kiss your forehead. Smooth back your hair.

Whisper affirming words that reminded you that it’s all in your head, you’re safe in this reality, he’s here. No one is trying to harm you.

Other nights, you found yourselves simply enjoying each other’s company. You love to outline his forearm tattoos with your fingers and trace your hand up his arm to his broad shoulders, to his chest. You like to trail your hand across his abs and just love to explore his whole body with your hands.

He does the same, and his touch always feels so heavenly. Though his hands were calloused and rough, they were always extra gentle in handling you.

His hand brushes over the top of your thigh and his fingertips graze over the slightly raised bumps that span across your tender skin. Your once smooth legs, now marked permanently with light lines. You feel his hand pause after it initially goes over this area of your leg. And you know, that he knows.

Before you can say anything, and push him away, his warm hand comes back up to rest at the top of your thigh, and his thumb gently traces circles over the scarred area. He doesn’t say a word, but his touches mean everything to you, and it’s all you need.

You feel him squeeze his arms that are already wrapped around your form, and feel a slight pressure against the top of your head, like a kiss was laid upon your hair.

You feel your breathing start to slow, and before you know it, you’re drifting off to sleep, the steady rhythm of Simon’s heart calling out to you like a siren with a lullaby.

You started to feel a deep sense of familiarity within the four walls of Simon’s room, and you knew that it would always be a place of condolement for your aching self. Little did you know, that you provided just as much relief, if not more, to Simon as well. Although more rare than yours, Simon had bad days too.

Tonight was no different than any other; you and Simon are lying in bed together and you’re semi-on top of him, leg thrown over his waist, head on his shoulder, fingers mapping out his entire being.

“If you want to talk about it, you know that you can, right?” You absentmindedly trace your pointer finger across the span of his chest as you ask him this. Drawing small circles into the fabric of his black t-shirt.

To Simon, it felt like there were small sparks leaving your fingertips every time you touched him, causing his heart to ignite.

“I’m always here to listen.” You remind him one more time.

Simon just came back from a particularly brutal mission, one that he has told you very little about. They were gone for almost two weeks and all you were able to find out from Soap was that children were involved- a sensitive subject for Simon. You can only imagine what he went through during the mission, and now, what he’s dealing with in the aftermath. You’re trying not to push too much, but you want him to talk to you.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But you shouldn’t have to.”

You pause your ministrations and crane your neck to look up at him with a slight pout on your lips. This was always a struggle with him, he didn’t like to talk to you, let alone anyone when he was going through something. He would just put up a wall and it broke your heart. Sometimes you would get bits and pieces, but never the whole picture; it was always fuzzy to you.

You wanted him to feel safe enough that he could confide in you, vent to you, about whatever was on his mind, but you knew it wasn’t that easy and that these things take time. You’re patient with him, as he is with you. It’s the least you can owe him for all he’s done for you. This is his time to lament, not yours to be nosey. So, you just let him be.

He lets out a sigh and then moves you so you’re laying completely on top of him. He tries not to be too rough as his hands grab onto your waist to situate you further, and he tucks your head under his chin.

One arm wraps around your middle and the other comes up to hold the back of your head.

“I just want you to be here with me right now, like this. That’s all I need.” His breath tickles your hair and you succumb to his wish, relaxing against him.

“Ok, I can do that.” Your hands come up to wrap around his neck, and you pull him impossibly closer to you, no inch of yourself is left untouched by Simon.

He likes to put you in this position whenever he can’t find the right words to explain. He instead craves the comfort of physicality, liking the weight of you on top of him.

Your hand comes up to play with his hair at the nape of his neck. You found that his hair tends to curl a little at the end, initially not expecting his hair to be this long. Silly, you know, but you’re honored that you’re one of the few people that get to see him like this.

You don’t know how long you and Simon lay like this; time always seemed to bend and disappear when you were with him. Since you guys had been lying in silence for so long, his voice startles you when he speaks for the first time in what felt like hours.

His hand that was resting on your lower back is now softly stroking your spine in a steady up and down motion.

“I felt scared for the first time in a while, on the last mission.”

His admission surprises you, but you wait a beat to see if he’s going to say anything else before you respond.

You’re glad that you do, because he continues to speak in a hushed voice.

“I- I didn’t know how to help them and they were looking towards us to be saved. And yet, we couldn’t save all of them. Some were left behind.”

You feel your heart start to crack again, the beginnings of the break started forming the moment you saw Simon step out of the plane when he returned back to the base.

And now it feels as though a chisel is working its way through your chest, chipping off piece by piece as you listen to Simon morn the loss of little lives. Lives he couldn’t rescue. You know it’s eating him up on the inside, with no respite in sight.

You personally have never been on a mission where the victims were children, and you’re thankful for that, so you can only empathize as much as your experience allows you to. You just have to remind him that he does the best he can, and not everyone can be saved, no matter how much you want to help.

You shift a little so your head is no longer tucked under his chin, and instead rests more on his shoulder. Since you’re so close to him, your lips touch is jaw.

You sigh, “I’m really sorry you went through that, Simon. I know that nothing I can say will change the outcome of what happened, and it doesn’t really matter what I say, but I do want you to know that you and the team did all you could. You did your best with what circumstances you were given.”

You feel him stir under you, and his arms warp tighter around your frame.

“You’re wrong.”

You feel you the pieces of your heart break into smaller and smaller pieces, losing hope that they will ever fit back together.

“You’re wrong to think that your words don’t matter.” Oh. “They actually mean the most to me.” Your chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to concave anymore.

“I really appreciate you; you know that right, Little Swan?” You feel him kiss your forehead and your chest warms at his term of endearment.

“Of course I do, Simon.”

“Ok, good.”

You bring him in for a kiss.

Simon found that he didn’t have much in his life, let alone much to be grateful for. Yet over the years, he realized that he grew quite the list.

1K notes · View notes

defect-child · 1 year

Note

Simon Riley with Virgin!Reader. Reader is the same age as him.

WARNING: NSFW, First time, Soft Simon (maybe ooc)

A/N: Ngl this story is based on my own first time, sorry if it’s not what you were expecting but i wanted to normalize that it’s ok to be scared and it’s ok to not touch your partner at certain places, and mostly it’s ok to not know what the fuck you’re doing. You will learn. Hope you enjoyed tho :3

“Hello?” You smiled while answering the phone, the name of your boyfriend lightening the screen of your phone. He was away, for a mission or something you didn’t really understood. His way of living was a bit curious to you with all those calls he was getting and how secret he was about his work. But you didn’t mind, he would talk when he wants to.

“Hi baby? How are you?”

“I’m doing ok, just missing you.. And you?” He heard you sigh at the other end of the line. You were sitting down, your fork picking at the vegetables you took time to chop. Your eyes sat where he would usually sit, in front of you, only to meet an empty chair. Another night alone, another night where you cooked one of his favorite dinner only to ending up eating it by yourself.

“I’m sorry angel, i really am, i promise i will be back soon. I miss you.”

You ate silently after you decided to hang up. You loved him dearly but it was hard sometimes. You missed how his muscular arms would wrap around your shoulders and how his lips would met your forehead.

After putting the dishes away, you went to take a shower, you let your body relax under the warm water, washing away your worries. You sat on your shared bed, letting your body fall on his side of the bed, face buried in his pillow. His sent was just a memory now and this made you tear up, softly sobbing, tears running down on his pillowcase. A cold hand glided over your thigh, making you choke on your own sob. Your face turned quickly to the side, tears blurring your vision.

“Surprise” He said, reluctantly now that he saw your tears stained face. You cried even more, his warmth going straight into your heart. Your arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing him as hard as you could. You were scared that he would go away again.

“I’m sorry..” He whispered, his thumb sliding under his mask to free his lips, pampering kisses on your neck. Without hesitation, you pulled his balaclava off, revealing the features you fell in love with. The black paint around his eyes was smudged, some dirt on his cheeks and some new scars to heal.

“Let’s go to the bathroom, you need a shower.” He nodded and waited for you to go first. Even if he had the reputation to be heartless at his workplace, he would do and give everything to you. You had a grip over him that you wouldn’t even imagine. Once he sat down on the side of the tub, you treated his wounds with a little bit of alcohol on a coton pad, lips finding his wounds when the sting was too much. Of course he acted hurt to feel your touch. He loved seeing you worry for him, eyebrows furrowed while you tried your best to distracting from the pain he was simulating.

You left the bathroom to let him shower in peace, your heart swelled, knowing he was finally here and even if he had to leave tomorrow, you were going to enjoy this night. You thought about this for a while, you never had sex with him nor with anybody else and he was really respectful with it, never talking about it again since you had the conversation. You were the one who would decide when it would happen, if it has to happen. But you were finally ready, after long years of relationship with him, you trusted him enough. Trying to set the mood with your little knowledge on the subject, you got caught off guard when he stepped into the room, facing your bare ass. You froze, completely. He never saw you naked and neither did you. The light of the tv reflected on your skin and the voice coming out filled the air while none of you dared to speak.

“S-Simon? Aren’t you supposed to be showering right now?” Your shaking voice broke the “silence”.

“I.. Forgot my clothes.” He took all his willpower to look away, your perfect body in full display in front of him was a torture. Every time, he had to imagine your body against him to relieve himself in mission and now you were in front of him and it was better than he could ever think of.

“So hum.. Are you..?” He jumped, apologizing multiple times while grabbing his change of clothes. You breathed hard and turned around, walking to him, clutching on your nightgown. He felt your hand on his back and turned around, meting your scared eyes.

“Let’s do it.” You blurted out, taking him aback.

“Are you sure? I’m not clean yet, won’t it disgust you?” You shook your head and wrapped your arms around his neck, hands letting go of the nightgown. He smiled softly and connected your lips together, walking to the bed. He sat you down, caressing your cheek.

“I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry about anything and if you want to stop, just say it, don’t be scared to say something, ok?” You nodded and watched him untie his belt and his pants, his shirt came off quickly and you put your hands over his when he was going to take off his pants. You loved his work gear and you had to admit that he was more than sexy in it.

“Lay down comfortably. And let me do the work, you just enjoy ok?” You smiled brightly, his words making your heart melt. After laying your head on his pillow, he settled between your legs, kisses trailing up your thigh.

“Are you comfortable with this?” You nodded, slowly, a hand going down to stroke his shaved side of hair. He left a bunch of kisses around your thigh, inner thigh and outer lips before his tongue glided over your clit. This feeling was so unfamiliar but it already had you gripping the sheets.

“Baby… It’s so good.” You moaned out, the back of your hand was on the corner of your mouth, teeth scraping against your knuckles.

“You taste delightful sweetheart, don’t be afraid to make some noises. I would love to hear you.” He pecked your thigh before going back at it, tongue toying, lips sucking and fingers pinching on your clit. All those feelings were new and overwhelming, your voice coming out shaky. You felt a finger push slowly into you after he asked if you were comfortable to continue.

“I’m going to stretch you out with my fingers baby so you won’t be too hurt when i’ll go in ok?” You nodded and breathed heavily when two of his fingers were working out inside of you, his tongue doing miracles on your clit. You were soaking wet between his saliva and your own wetness.

“I want you inside Simon..” Your voice came out like a whisper but he hear you, sitting on his knees, your thighs on his own. His zipper came down and that’s when you saw the bulge in his pants, making you gulp a bit.

“Are you confortable touching it with your hand or your mouth?” He asked, fingers ghosting on his waistband.

“No, I’m not, i’m sorry.” He reassured you, fingers stroking your cheek.

“It’s ok baby, you don’t have to do what you don’t feel comfortable with.” He smiled at you, pulling down his waistband. You gulped as the sight in front of you. He was big, bigger than you expected, it was hard, up, veiny and leaking with precum.

“Do you want me to use a condom or not?”

“I-I don’t know, can you.. finish outside so we don’t have to use some..?”

“Of course I can baby, you are the one in charge tonight, remember?” He stroked himself a few times and looked at your red face.

“Do you like this position?”

“I think .. will it hurt?”

“It might hurt, but i can’t tell you if it will hurt more in this position or in another, so it’s still up to you baby.”

“I will be fine like this then.. I think.. yeah.” You nodded for the tenth time tonight, hearing him chuckle. His tip poked at your entrance, one of his hand holding his cock while the other held your thigh up, giving him more space. With a little thrust, it slid into you. And you felt terrible if you had to be honest, it was far from what you heard or read, you felt like being ripped open on a hard stick.

“S-Stop! It hurts” You sobbed, your hand squeezing his arm.

“Yeah i know sweetheart, i know, would you like me to pull out?”

“No! Just go in… slower.”

He patted your head, and slid in even slower, his thumb rolling over your clit to distract you from the pain. And it worked fine, he felt you getting wetter, your body relaxing around him. Finally, you were full of him, eyes lidded, he felt so good deep inside of you. He leaned down, lips latching on your nipple, The tip of his tongue wiggled on the tip of your nipple, making you choke on a giggle and a moan.

“You can move, i think.”

“Alright, tell me if it still hurt, i will stop.”

His hands caged your head while your own hand stroked his cheek. His hips started to move, making you gasp. It took a few thrusts for you to relax and put the pain aside. Your hand was gripping his hair and the other rubbed your clit, trying to stimulate yourself the more you could.

“I think i’m going to cum fast, you’re so tight baby..”

“Yeah? Cum for me then Simon.”

He sighed against your neck, his hips slapping against yours. Soon he rose up, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push them against your torso, giving him more space to move his hips and allowing him to go deeper.

“You’re so big, i love you…” You moaned, felling his cock twitch inside of you. He was going to cum, because of how much he imagined this scene, because of how sexy you looked under him, touching yourself, your other hand pinching at your nipple, you looked just so good.

“Hm.. Fuck baby…” He started to slam his hips harder, his thrusts getting sloppier. You looked at him, his pupils burning into yours. With one final thrust, he pulled out, his cum splashing over your belly.

“I’m sorry baby, let me get something to clean this up.” He kissed your forehead and was about to stand up when your hand gripped his forearm.

“Lay down.” You told him, he was staring at you, confused. You sat on him, one hand resting on his chest while the other grabbed his hand.

“Put it in please..” He did as you told him, his hands now on your hips. You gasped, in this position, he felt bigger, you were so full.

Slowly, he made you bounce on him, his hips thrusting into you,ass slapping against his thighs, his finger found its way to your clit again. And that’s when you felt it grow into you, you felt hot, you felt weird, like you were going to snap. It was a really strange feeling. Your moans were mixed with crying and sobbing. Both of your hands were on his hard chest, your tits bouncing with each thrusts. You felt like losing your mind, he never looked that good, your hips almost moved on their own on him.

“Cum for me princess, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He smiled, hips slamming harder into you. And then, after a little bit, it snapped, knocking the air out of your lungs, mouth dropping, nails scratching his rough skin.

“F-Fuck!” You almost screamed, head cloudy from the orgasm he just gave you. He pushed a bit on your lower back, his hard cock still sitting into you, making you lay down.

“I love you Simon… You were so good..”

“I love you too angel, thank you for this experience i had the chance to share with you.”

You were about to doze off when you felt him twitch inside of you.

“And you have the audacity to think i’m done with you?”

#ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 x reader

355 notes · View notes

kvnimago · 1 year

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader (18+ oneshot)

— some things are (better) left unknown

word count: 4k+

⚠️: 18+, angry-fucking, GRAPHIC depictions and descriptions of smut, slut shaming, degrading, "good girl" shit, profanity, petnames kinda, they-think-they -hate-eachother-but-will-absolutely-submit, cant-really-think-of-anything-else-just-prepare-yourself-pls

(reblogs are highly appreciated! i'm a new acc)

—

For what felt like hours, days, even. You felt eyes boring their presence upon you. Like a laserbeam going through your thick skull. And it was of no use trying to see who it was, because there'd only be one person to do that.

Your hands reach for the cold steel spoon, engraved on it was 'Task Force 141'. You felt your fingers brush over the letters as you picked it up and held it to your mouth, the hot soup going through your lips and into your stomach.

It'd been a long day, when the winter was out to kill, and when the warm fires were less orange than any other December when you lit it up.

Although, the light on your cigarette appeared much brighter than any chimney to you today. You couldn't tell, at this point, if you were actually full from the meal or the Cuban you held in between your index and middle finger.

You got up slowly from your chair, which was rocking back and forth whenever you sat down or got up. You could smell another familiar scent of smoke coming from the other seat beside you, though it wasn't something very significant as of this moment.

Captain Price approached you as you looked away from your seat, checking if there was any spots of food you left behind, "Hey, kid."

"Yes, Capt?"

Price pulled out a letter from his pocket, the material of his gun rustling against his belt from his pants. "Think you can grab these from the basement for me? I need it by tomorrow."

You reluctantly take the letter, it contained some vehicle tools, ammunition supply, uniform badges, you name it. Just regular stuff, not anything too difficult. But you were neither prepared, nor did you see it coming, when he said the next thing:

"I'll have Lt. Riley tag along. That alright with you, Simon?" He said, fully aware of the fact that Ghost couldn't ever say no. He was the Captain, after all. And it was.. apart of his job to follow his orders.

Price nods approvingly without even waiting for your answer, nor Ghost's, "Good. It's in the basement. The dark room without any lights, so just bring one." He looks at his watch, 8:27.

"You should be back at 5 in the morning, clear?" he emphasized, he was always one to take the job very seriously.

As he walked away, you felt that peering stare from earlier return. All you could do was feel the wrinkles on the paper, which smelled like conditioned air.

You didn't dare turn around, you stood there, hands behind your back. Like an idiot, honestly. That's what Ghost would say.

The sound of a metal seat's legs rubbing against the tiles entered your ears. You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous as hell bein' around him.

"Come." said Ghost, "Stop wasting your time." he added.

You shut your eyes tightly and reopened them for a quick second and turned around, met by his terrifying thousand-yard stare which was surprisingly all natural. You have a guess that it's because of the mask that you notice it ever so often.

"You're still mad at me."

Ghost placed his utensils on the tray which sat on the table, tilted. "And?" he asked you.

"You wouldn't want to go in the basements alone. You'd piss yourself." his mask moved as he spoke, and you could've sworn that you heard a light laugh coming from his nose. You were afraid that he wouldn't cooperate due to the fact that you both had a slight mishap the other day, but to your relief, he's.. seemingly alright about it.

He mannered for you to come along, so you did. You were following him, hands behind your back, you got a great view of how he wore his gear, how messy some other parts were, and how he kept some specific adjustments to his uniform. For example, he has to not button the first 2 buttons on his shirt. He just covers it up with his tactical vest, because his waist is smaller than his upper body.

You smile to yourself, though it only appeared internally. After all, you're still mad at him.

"Still pissed, Sergeant?" his bone-chilling tone entered the atmosphere. Why, it was cold and stern. Had no gentleness or anything of the sort behind it.

You paused and stopped in your tracks, followed by a small grunt that escaped your mouth as you spoke: "Don't know." your response was a bit.. blunt. Not mixed with anger, or a sense of 'I don't care'. You just simply uttered the two words.

He turned to you, also stopping in his way. You could feel lava in your ears boiling at it's own temperature when he was now heading your way, the distance was closed from a meter apart, now at a foot apart from eachother.

"That is fuckin' idiotic, woman." every word he said felt like a dull blade being pressed against your chest. Over and over.

You glared, irritated by the comment. Woman? "Thank you, Simon." you retorted, it took about a thousand horsepower to bring yourself not to sound so affected, the annoyance evident in your eyes as you brought yourself to look at him in the eyes again.

"Fuck did you just say?" he doesn't like being called by the first name. Not at all. Especially when it's you, your words are like scratching at plates to him. Even the thought alone of you makes his head hurt.

You smiled a little, fuck, I think I've really gotten into his skin. "I don't know, Simon. Would you please get out of the fucking way and go to the basement now?"

It'd be very strange if you hadn't spotted his fists clenching a bit. He had a.. short temper, that's for sure. But never have you seen him let it out, which was another factor that removed your fear around him. Well, besides the death stare.

He didn't look at you again. For the next 5 minutes you both spent together trying to walk across the base to get there.

The room was dim. Only about 4 lights which were scattered all over the basement, and it wasn't much, because the basement was fucking huge.

"A pistol for the Captain and ammunition supply. Find it." Ghost demanded. Like he was the one in charge.

You dug in your pockets, the sound of multiple things clanging against eachother, no luck.

"Did you bring a flashlight?" you questioned, you didn't have one on you.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Sergeant." he stared at you, getting back up from what he was doing.

You backed up just a few inches off your foot, "Jesus. Fine. I can manage."

Ghost seemed satisfied with your reply, because you could see him turning around again through the dim lights.

You absolutely lied. It was impossible to see in the near-dark. Only the small shine of metal was a hint to what you were trying to find.

You went further into the dark, no signs of what you were trying to find, based on your sense of touch.

Boxes could be heard being carried and put on the small side-tables. To add, the ring of alloy was very apparent especially when there was nothing else that could be in your ears.

"You found anything?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

"No."

"Me neither."

You sighed, it should be around 8:50 now.

Ghost couldn't stare at you or penetrate at your soul with his glare, no, not through the dark. It removed an essence of control as he knew.

"I'm not mad, Lieutenant." You told him, desperately trying to fight the silence.

"Shut up and find the things we need."

A solid ten minutes passed before you found a pistol, contemplating on whether or not you should go back the minutes-long walk to your quarters to get a flashlight, because time was running slow.

Ghost heard the gun being cocked, moving over to your spot. "I haven't found anything."

"So? What does that make me?" you replied, his jaw clenched when he realized you were mocking his previous reply to you.

"An idiot. Because your arse forgot the light."

He came closer to you, although it sounded like he was far away. You couldn't ignore his comment, "You took your mask off, right? Now I really should've brought a flashlight, so I can see that ugly fuckin' face of yours."

You felt a cold shudder go through your spine when footsteps came louder.

"That would've been a hell of a sight to see, because I'd say I'm not ugly." he spoke in a deep, sultry voice.

"A good hell doesn't exist." you replied.

"Bullshit." he breathed out, jamming boxes on the floor again, "You can be mad for all I care, because I don't."

You could feel his black stained eyes once more, although not visible, it was all the more apparent when you heard his footsteps getting closer behind you.

"That's a shitty response, boo, Simon."

"You're shitty."

"Fuck you."

Veins popped on his forehead, his balaclava sweaty from the lack of ventilation inside the basement,

"Be mad at me all you want, yeah? Not my fault some dumbass fuck is on my squad."

Now was not the time to be discussing about your personal endeavours, it was a time to follow Price's orders, not to waste the precious hours.

Silence devoured the void that kept his distance from you. Simon never really liked you, favored you, or even talked to you that much, you think you really fucked up and outdid yourself the moment you messed around during a mission and let an enemy loose.

He always looked away from you.

Johnny would say he'd go silent whenever you were mentioned or whenever you were around, for some reason that even he didn't know.

And you thought that maybe, just maybe, this would've resolved your issues with eachother.

Wrong. He's still the fuckin' asshole he is, always shoving it in your face that you're incorrect, telling you how to do this and that. You'd stare deep into his dark and sullen eyes, when the nights were just right that he would be angry-fucking you right before or after a mission. Nonetheless, it didn't change his view about you.

Simon couldn't see anything, yet, he wanted to go over to your spot. You gasped when you felt a clothed hand on your butt, breaking the trance of thoughts you were in. You heard a small grunt with it, too.

You could barely see anything, but who else was there except for Ghost?

"Simon. Get your fucking hands off my ass." you commanded, grabbing his hand and pushing it away from you.

Ghost emitted a groan, surprised by the sudden movement.

"What hands?" his accent was thicker than the dark, a shudder entering your spine again when his breath hits your neck from afar. "That is not my hand, sweetheart."

The knots in your stomach tightened. He grunted again, and you felt the warmth of his breath tilt to the side, "Sergeant. Get your goddamn hands off my pants." he spoke slowly and firmly at every word.

"Don't need to fuckin' grab it like that—just ask nicely." he sighed at that last part, dark and threatening was his tone, though his eyes had seemed to tell a different story, which again, wasn't visible to your sight.

His words left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, your body warm from the burning tension. And also from the anger that flushed in the tips of your ears, you didn't know of a single bit where this was going, yet you let it happen.

You could feel the strong presence of a stiff vest on your back, your legs rubbed against his muscular thighs. The low ponytail on your head was coming loose,

"You know what?"

"Yes?" your response sounded more like a breathy noise than a word, the heat emerging from inside you. There was nothing to be denied, no matter how upset, disappointed, or irritated you were.. you'd always come back for him.

"You're a fucking slut, that is—Your anger towards me is no match for that filthy cunt of yours."

You whined, involuntarily, every breath he took shattered itself on your neck, "God. I fucking hate you."

"Really? Those hands and that pussy of yours say otherwise. Every fuckin' time."

A soft grunt escaped your lips, and this was only from his words.. How? It was indescribable, what you felt. The rim of your cargo pants were tugged by gloved hands, you sighed lightly,

"Turn around."

You followed his orders like a lost puppy in search for its owner, his sentences were like hymns to your ears, frankly, hypnotizing you and leaving all common sense behind.

Ghost lifted his skull mask and took it off, setting it aside on the makeshift table that had been sitting in the basement for a long time. He'd also taken his balaclava off, his cold lips exposed to the air, a huge part of you wanted to see whatever glorious sight was behind the dark.

Your soft fingers traced and tried to visualize what you were feeling. He had long eyelashes, a pointed nose, and a sharp jaw. It made you all the more eager, that's for sure.

A startled gasp left you as his forearms brushed against your hands, lifting you up and using his leg to support you like a seat, he had his chest pressed against you, your back pressed against the wall. You could feel his eyes on you, your mouth hung slightly open to support your heavy breathing.

You lowered your hand to be placed under his thigh, his expression wistful, hot breath trickling down your neck.

You can recognize his chest moving up and down slightly, breathing in and out, and it makes your inside tingle and your heart race. The smell of clean clothes and cologne filled the room.

Then there's more silence. Like a weird and unnerving silence, like the world had stopped spinning for the two of you.

"Simon?" you inhale the small essence of his cologne, the scent brushing and bouncing against your nostrils.

"What about me, Sergeant?" His voice is soft, almost a whisper, while he gently touches your chin with a finger. He tilts your head, turning you to face his eyes through the dimly lit room.

And then, finally, the silence is broken by the hungry breath that escapes his lips, he kisses you passionately, his grip on your hand tightens as he slowly but surely pulls you towards him. He wraps his arm around your waist as he holds you close to him, his cheek pressed against yours. His lips are rough, starving. Like this moment was supposed to happen, and it did. In the back of his mind.

The warmth of his hand seeps through the outer of his glove, before he pulls away from the kiss and bites on the corner of his glove so he can take it off.

His mind is fuzzy, "Do you even have panties on?"

"No, Lieutenant." you words dragged like a sigh.

You could hear him chuckling lowly, "I figured, since you're such a little slut."

Your mind was cloudy, it was agonizingly taking so long. You couldn't take it anymore, you tightened your grip on his pants, he groaned, muffling his moan with his hand that still had a glove on.

"Mmh— fuck. Can't take it anymore, Sergeant?"

You nodded instantly, his hand felt the rush of your nod as it was still on your chin.

"Words. I want words."

"Please, Simon. What do you want?" you hurried to reply, your mind in shambles.

"Me? What do I want?"

He teased you, the lump in your throat larger. The warmth in your belly forming a larger pool for you to endure.

"I don't fucking know—Just tell me!" you craved at the thought of him commanding you, asking you to do what he wanted, the thought of him whining and moaning as he asks you to go faster on him, pumping him dry 'til the walls are white.

Ghost huffed in pleasure, "Gotta finish what you started on me, no?"

He lets go of you, using only his thigh and leg to support you for the time being. He coaxed his chin up, unbuckling his belt. You tried to hold yourself up with your own arms, but the myriad of lust, pleasure and somewhat— anger and annoyance trailed along your brain.

It took all of his strength not to let his head fall back, he felt the cold air touch his shaft, he shivers, your other hand travelling by itself from his thigh to the head of his cock.

He absolutely dissolves in your touch—getting off to your soft hands instead of his big, calloused hands that assist him almost every other night that you pop up in his mind.

His hands slipped up your shirt, feeling your back. The sudden touch making you squirm and arch your back, pressing yourself even further against him.

"Mmpfh— wish I could—" he cuts himself off with a groan, "—wish I could fucking see that pretty fucking face right now."

You gasped, his hand even further up your clothing, causing you to grow your hand's pace on his cock, he moaned lowly, "You ever get off to the thought of my cock in your hands?" he was eager for a reply, probably, to validate his own thoughts about you,

Your breathy sentence responds to him, "Yes."

He chuckles, seemingly content with your answer, he can't stand the silence anymore, apart from the slow slopping of your hands that barely manage to wrap themselves over his thick cock. He crashes onto your lips again, your noses touching, he opens his mouth lightly, inviting your tongue to go down on him.

When you enter his mouth, it's full of a flavor indescribable to man, your hand pounced on him, touching his stomach with every stroke, his bleary eyes rolled back, parting away from the kiss to release a moan.

"You sure no one can hear us down here?" you asked in between the crazy shit you guys were already doing, audible from outside or not, there was no taking back what was happening in this moment. You were fully aware.

"Never said so," he huffed, "fuck, fuck—go faster—mmh—"

The pleasure he was feeling was indescribable, though you could say it was a bit selfish of him to cum first, you'd think he deserved it, and—not to lie, you were getting off of this, too.

He let out a low groan as your pace quickened, beads of sweat smudging on his black stained eyes, he thrusted himself in and out of the "O" shape your hands had formed, though his cock was too thick that the "O" would form into a "C" every time he went through it. He shuddered, feeling his climax getting nearer and nearer,

"Fuck—I'm so fucking close—don't you dare stop—" he let out a breathy and low pitched moan every time, each pound of your hands on him getting wetter and wetter.

You grinned like the cheshire cat, your eyes low and heavy as you wait for him to reach his high, your balance on his thigh getting weaker as he shudders, his hands placed roughly on the sides of your hips, rocking you back and forth to force your hands further down his length.

You moved faster and faster, moving frantically at him, he lowered his head and mumbled into your hair, "Fuck, mmph—Jesus..—I'm gonna fucking cum." every word he pressed onto your head vibrated throughout your skull, his low and growly voice rang through your ears, his moans were melodious to you.

Your breathing was heavy, as he rode out the last of his climax on you, his thighs squeezed against your leg, shaking as he releases all the pent up anger he previously had on you.

He sighed loudly, drops of milky white fluid dripping over his cock, he picked it up from the slit of his dick, an airy whine leaving his lips.

The cloud in his mind was getting clearer bit by bit, although, the pleasure would never escape his mind, not ever.

He entered his coated fingers into your mouth, laced with his own cum, the saltiness lingered in your mouth, before he rammed his digits farther down your throat, causing you to whine and gag, he stabilized his breath for a minute or more.. but you couldn't tell how long it took, your mind was in a haze.

"Fuck, your turn." he cooed as his fingers slid out of your mouth, making you gasp for air in delight. He swiftly unbuttons your pants, sliding them down in a fast motion and throwing them to the ground, "You can worry about finding your clothes later."

He started by lifting your thigh up, gripping it like there was no tomorrow, "Leg. On my shoulder. Now." he commanded, sliding your panties off your legs as you willingly let his cock get a better view of your now unclothed cunt.

"I can't fucking—oh God!—" your sentence was cut abruptly by the thick and wet head of his cock entering the gateway of your soaked pussy, it wasn't fully in, yet you were beginning to go crazy. He moaned, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, muffling the loud noise to prevent it from bouncing against the basement walls, "You fucking—" his moan reached his mouth faster than his words, "Shit—your pussy is so fucking tight!" he cursed.

Your lower body was completely naked, your head tilted enough just for you to be able to breathe properly, a sharp sensation enters you as he goes further down in your pussy, his huge size making it difficult for him to enter fully, "Sorry, sweetheart." he apologized, a grin evident in his tone.

You can feel his hands travel from your waist to your ass, cupping them for support so you don't fall and make him slip out of you.

Nothing could've prepared you for the moment he slips fully into you, causing to to babble and cry words that were pure gibberish, the sounds of him pounding against you harmonizing with your moans, "Oh my—fuck!—" every thrust he lets out on you sends a jolt of electricity up to your spine, you bring your hand to grab a fistful of his hair, making him push against you even more.

"Feels better than your hands." he breathily shakes, he goes in and out of you, grinding against you as you continue to lose yourself, your pussy sucked and groped his cock in.

You swallowed hard as your ass was clenched by his rough hands, low grunts escaping his mouth as you let out sweet little cries of pleasure, "Fuck!—Simon—That's it—Mmmfh!—" your tender voice was like a song composed and played out just for him. His ego growing bigger and bigger with every moan that escapes your lips.

You heave, struggling to breath. His movements grew frantic and impatient, your walls contracting on him, he enjoyed every single bit.

"Greedy fucking pussy." he commented, savoring every moment you were inside and outside of him, your sensitive cluster of nerves waiting for their release any time soon, he leaned further on you, forcing his breath to trail along your neck. You cried, nothing on your mind but pleasure.

Your blood roared in your ears, buzzing with every second you were thrusted on, both you and Ghost drowning in pleasure. You bit back a moan, trying not to erupt the whole world, the center of pleasure circulating all around you.

Your moans start getting louder as Simon starts to quicken up his pace, recognizing your incoming orgasm bundling up around the sensation of ravaging pleasure in him.

Your mind went into a cloud, accompanied by the sloppy noises that came along, you felt your whole soul go into an extraterrestrial world—another dimension, you cried and mumbled his name all over, soaking you all over him.

He pounded into you one last time, before you came within him, your fluids melting in themselves, he let out a breathy and hitched moan and pulled his cock out of you, pumping the last bits of his semen out of the head of his dick and slurring his words, taking his time to put a finger around your cunt and swirling it around gently, taking it up to his mouth and sucking on his own fingers, tasting all off your precious juices and humming to himself, "Pretty girl.. best thing I've ever fucking had."

Simon felt content with what happened between the two of you that night in the basement, and although he never dared speaking about it again.. But he wishes it would happen just one more time. Maybe, even two.

#simon ghost riley #cod #simon riley #simon riley x reader #smut #simon riley smut #oneshot #call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #simon ghost x reader

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soapskitten · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐌 !

fem anatomy used.

simon “ghost” riley likes to finish on your thighs and watch his cum drip down your legs. don’t expect him to clean his mess anytime soon, he’s going to savor the moment for as long as he wants.

john “soap” mactavish is obsessed with your ass, which is where he usually cums. but if you let him finish inside your cunt once, he’ll refuse to cum anywhere else.

phillip graves loves nothing more than giving you a facial and seeing cum dripping from your cockdrunk face. after long missions, he’ll finish all over your face to relieve some of his stress.

alejandro vargas is a man who appreciates ass and thighs. he likes to bend you over and fuck doggy style so he’ll be able to finish on both.

kyle “gaz” garrick prefers to finish down your throat after vigorously fucking it like a fleshlight. sure, he loves giving you oral, but it feels so much better when you give it to him.

john price has a heavy breeding kink. he loves stuffing you full with his cum until your aching cunt can’t take it anymore. you can be taking a shower hours later, and notice there’s still cum inside you.

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sweet-as-an-angel · 11 months

Text

Two Ghosts One Stone [Ghost x Reader x Ghost]

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration, Binding/Restraining, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Stomach Bulging, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Name Calling, Degradation (Slut-Shaming), Fem! Reader, Mentioned/Implied Aftercare, The Masks Stay On, etc.

Simon watched, his eyes dark and intentions darker, his pants drawn down his thighs. Behind you, Ghost gripped you by your hips, pulled you back so you could feel something prodding you. You gasped.

“Come on,” said Simon, a drawl in his voice; haste. “Hurry up and take her already – we ain’t got all night.” And, the demand hanging in the air, both Ghosts laughed, a joke between the two of them – one you understood all too well. As if Simon’s impatience rubbed off on him, Ghost’s fingers dug into the skin of your sides, making you wince. And, before you could breathe, you felt him – his girth, his weight – his tip had been at your centre, and now, he was halfway inside. You yelped.

“God !” he strained. You felt his stomach to your back – he was leaning against you, as if for support. His breathing, heavy, gave the illusion of exhaustion; of relent. “Fuck, you’re tight, Princess,” he rasped. Leaning forward now, his lips came to your ear. Even through the mask, you could feel his breath, scorching, against your shell.

“Let’s see how loose I can get you by the end of the night.”

Now, rubbing circles into your hips, he erected to his full height, his front no longer to your back, and pulled out. Time was but a pinprick between then and now as he slammed himself inside you – all of him, all at once. And, just as before, you let out a noise of surprise, though this one was subdued – steeped in the beginnings of euphoria. And, just as before, he was heavy. Thick and veiny, you could feel the veins along his cock, bulging and wide as he took you, his breath shuttering, his head thrown back as he let out a yell, short and sweet, a shriek.

And Simon watched. Watched you grip the bed sheets, trying to catch your breath; watched as your head rose to face him, lips parted. The image of his cum drooling from your mouth, you thoroughly used and enjoyed flashed in his mind. He pumped himself once. Twice. He’d coated himself in saliva; a makeshift solution to his aching problem.

His chest fluttered with every breath, chest heaving as he watched you, pumping himself faster once Ghost took to a rhythm. Ghost wouldn’t let you fall far; his grip on your hips kept you glued to him, his praises of “Good girl, keep taking me,” enough motivation to at least try and remain at your spot on the bed. And to send electric euphoria between your legs. You whined, and Simon, still at the wall, gave a minute gasp.

To begin with, with his founding strokes, Ghost made this task somewhat possible, the force of his hips against yours enough to knock you forward, his strength pulling you back. But, as the seconds turned into minutes and Ghost began to lose himself, his thrusts became…stronger. Insatiable.

“That’s it,” he told you through breathless praises, the feeling of his thighs against your backside becoming more frequent, bruising. “Such a good girl–” He pulled out, almost all the way. You scarcely had the time to scream as he slammed himself – all of himself – back inside, sending a stab of pain through your middle. You choked, your breath catching in your throat, and fell forward, your chest to the bed sheets, Ghost’s grip no longer able to hold you. He was gone. Truly and utterly. You could tell in the way he moaned, low and loud and filling the air with dark electricity – a call to arms. He didn’t even reassure you as you tried to regain your breath, tears burning your throat, warned off by the building euphoria in your centre.

“Fuckin’ Hell, Ghost – be gentle,” came Simon, whose voice, gruff as usual, was sharp with territory. His breathing, though hitched as his hand stroked himself, particularly close to his agitated, reddening, weeping tip. Pre-cum beaded from his slit, collecting on his palm as he slid it down his shaft.

“There’ll be nothin’ left of her the way you’re pummelin’ her.”

Even though he was behind you, you could feel Ghost’s smile beneath his mask, felt a weighted darkness pressing on you.

“That’s the goal.” He pulled out all the way and tore his way back inside. You shrieked, moaned, your mouth pressed to the sheets, muffled by the mattress. As little as you wanted to admit it, you wanted them to destroy you, to fill you so utterly and entirely that nothing else existed except them. And it seemed they wanted that, too. Especially with the blackened gleam in Simon’s eye as he picked up the pace, fisting himself with an almost voracious sentiment, his eyes narrowing as he refrained from succumbing to the tidal euphoria building within.

You felt that the ecstasy building between your legs mirrored Simon’s, exceptionally so when Ghost, still slamming into you, forcing you deeper and deeper into the pillows, ceased, pulled you close to him by your hips, and continued, hitting a hidden, wanton angle. Electricity spasmed through you, and you gasped, letting out a breathy moan. Ghost laughed, sly and slender, his hand sliding up your thighs, straying between your legs, drawing ornate patterns into your skin. You shivered, the feeling of his incongruously gentle touch with his harsh, biting thrusts almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself clenching down on him, lips mouthing his cock as if choking on his girth.

His hand, large, rough, warm, slid from between your legs. His palm rested on your stomach while he rolled slow circles against your clit. The static building in your core spasmed, a phantom tendril lashing out. By reflex, your legs tried to close, but Ghost was having none of it. His other hand gripped your thigh, hooked around it and forced it apart. You wailed, unable to shield yourself from his attack. Not like you actually wanted to.

“Oh no, Princess,” Ghost said, his voice a low purr. Simon’s breath quickened, the slick sounds of his solo excursion the vocals to the symphony of ghost ploughing into you. “I want to see all of you,”

And see you, he did. In fact, he watched, observed you – like an experiment. Not that you could see it, rather felt its palpable presence – Ghost’s stare was sharp, razor. He took in the red, sodden, aching mess you’d become, friction marks from where his thighs met yours in a slapping, thumping manner, crescents where his nails had dug into your skin and kept you tethered to him, to the outcome he was forcing you closer and closer to. You could tell you were soaked; the brief chill hitting your backside and thighs whenever Ghost pulled away gave you a horrendously honest look at how desperate you were for the two men. That, and the collation of fluids collecting and rolling down from between your thighs.

“‘F only you could see her, SImon,” came Ghost. His breath shuttered, wavered as he worked to keep his pace, his skin slapping against yours, his hand becoming drenched between your thighs. “If only you could feel her,” he pressed his palm into the bottom of your stomach. And you wailed. Of course, you’d felt Ghost’s dick weighted inside you, but to have you feel him more, pressing your stomach so you could feel his cock against your skin, felt unreal.

“Bet you couldn’t fill her like this.”

Had your euphoria not built to a point where everything was muffled to you, you may have seen the room darken, the atmosphere grow heavy. But alas, you were past the point of oblivion, innocent to the pointed, glaring, fiery stare Simon gave Ghost, and the immediate ceasing of his strokes. Even Ghost seemed to slow, though kept pumping into you, rubbing you, agonising you.

You didn’t hear Simon’s footsteps, the heft of his boots against the floor as he approached the end of the bed, and, with his free hand, grabbed you by your hair. He yanked your head up to meet his, and while you gasped, a shriek died in your throat as Simon shoved his cock into it, stifling you, choking you. You let out a yelp, tried to retract, but Ghost’s frame behind you and Simon’s painful grip on your follicles made such a manoeuvre an impossibility.

“Suck it up, cum slut,” said Simon. Now, looking up at him through bleary eyes, you saw the steel in his stare. He didn’t let you accustom yourself to his intrusion before he pulled out and slipped back in, protruding deeper into your mouth, the taste of salt smattered against your tongue.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want Ghosty here to get upset,” came a voice from behind. You almost turned around, flashed a pleading look to him, asked him if he were intentionally trying to invoke Simon’s wrath on your behalf. But an ache formed in your jaw as Simon used you as he had his hand prior. And, just like Ghost, he was anything but gentle.

The longer he had you wrapped around his shaft, the more potent the taste and viscosity of a foreign substance coated the insides of your mouth, painted it white, drooled and dripped down your chin like saliva. And all the while, you couldn’t stifle or help the moans Ghost drew from you, the vibrations of which seemed to reach Simon as his mouth dropped open he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he breathed, his Adam’s apple thick and protruding just beneath the lip of his mask. Ghost smiled, lips drawn thin beneath his mask. “Looks like Simon’s close,” he said. You could say nothing in response, to which Ghost gave a short, stark laugh – a scoff. A hand reached up to your jaw, gripped you by the cheeks. And squeezed. You could feel Simon’s cock slick against your gums. And so could he.

Before you could accustomed yourself to this feeling, Ghost’s crushing grip about your cheeks, Simon’s pounding, unrelenting rhythm, Simon twitched in your mouth and, with a lasting, gruff cry, became blinded by ecstasy. The after-effects of which you felt fill and drip from your mouth and down your throat.

As if like clockwork, Ghost, his breathing remaining laboured, began to feel loose behind you. His killing pace remained but there was a softness to it there had not been before – a bluntness. With Simon panting above you, his release dripping down your throat, making your chest sticky, and Ghost’s increasingly rhythmless strokes bringing you both closer and closer to your end, your body scorched, ached where you had been used – where you were being used. You’d have cried for a moment’s respite had it not been for how Ghost’s hand slipped to your breasts, held them, squeezed them to his palms. The way he held you had stray electricity shock between your legs, tipped you ever closer to the edge.

“Go on, Princess,” Ghost rasped. His voice was deeper now, serrated – as if his throat was seared with…something. “Cum for me,”

Not that you’d been holding out for Ghost, but something about the authority in his voice, the fact that you had warranted his permission, sent you spiralling. Still gasping around Simon’s girth, he finally looked down at you, and, instead of pulling out, gripped you by the hair again.

“I wanna feel your screams, angel,” he said, eyes half-lidded yet still piercing. And you couldn’t hold it anymore.

White-hot euphoria took your senses, had you hostage to the whims of the two men before and behind you. You clenched, gripped Ghost, to which he made a strangled noise that not even his mask could contain, filling the dense, moist air with a primal growl. You practically shrieked, the reverberations of your staining voice stimulating his softening, sensitive appendage. He grunted, glowered, sucked breath in between gritted teeth.

“God, Darlin’ – fuck – you’re so tight,” panted Ghost, his strokes becoming slower, almost stilled by the force with which you held him.

The fireworks within evolved, dimming with each wave that flowed from your core outwards, leaving you limp. Simon took the liberty of removing himself from your mouth, stroked your bottom, puffed lip with his thumb. You scarcely made out his praise, him calling you his “Good girl,” between Ghost’s panting, his low moaning, and the static in your head.

“(Y/N) – I-I’m–”

Ghost didn’t have chance to finish his sentence for his climax tearing through him, reaching into his soul and withdrawing from him a deep, guttural moan, breathy yet weighted at its centre. You felt warmth filling you from within, felt Ghost still, his pounding no longer stoking your fire, letting you ride the wave with your cheek in Simon’s hand, eyes glazed and lips parted as you tried to regain your breath.

A stillness settled, rearing its head.

At some interval of this quietude, Ghost pulled out, the only indication being the sound of liquid friction and his weight falling back onto the pillows behind. You’d felt little of this – merely a blunted retraction, your lower half growing numb with every second that passed.

“Almost milked me dry,” said Ghost, and while there was a distinguishable whine to his tone, he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” came Simon, taking a step towards the bed. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to hack it, Love.”

You did little in reply save for a smile, reserved and quiet, but a response all the same.

You hadn’t realised yet, but your body was much weaker than before, being that Ghost had thoroughly enjoyed and used you; Simon, too. But somehow, you knew that wouldn’t let you off the hook, warrant an ‘early night’. No, not if the feeling of Ghost all but sneaking up on you from behind, his arms enclosing your waist and pulling you into his chest was anything to go by.

You whined. Ghost growled, gripped you by your jaw and forced your chin to point heavenward, making swallowing very difficult and making some form of eye contact with him facile.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he drawled. “We’re not done with you yet,”

“He’s right,” Simon said. The same Simon whose belt now lay wrapped around his wrist like a serpent, one knee on the mattress, his chest puffed with newfound vigour. “He might’ve had his fill of you,” his eyes flickered down to your stomach, a bump having formed there, the culmination of Ghost’s thick load still oozing from between your legs. “We can’t stop ‘til I’ve had you, too.”

Everything happened so fast it may as well have been a technicolour show of memories, time skips and jumps, for during the scuffle (which was really just Ghost forcing your wrists together, Simon tying them, and you whining when Simon forced your legs apart, exposing your already sensitive parts to more punishment) you were bound, restrained and defenceless.

Ghost had finished what Simon had started, prying and keeping your legs apart by digging his ankles between yours, spreading your legs as far as you could allow. Simon slid your bound wrists over the back of his neck, keeping your front open. The look he gave you – veiled almost entirely by his mask – was visible in his eyes; a rabid determination seen only in those with nothing left to lose.

Between the numbness between your thighs and the newfound proofing feeling at your back, Simon edged closer, held himself in his hand, stroked once. He almost twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“Now, Angel,” he said. He leaned closer, his nose an inch from yours. You felt his tip against your lips. “I don’t wanna what any complainin’ or cryin’ unless it’s because your pathetic little cunt can’t take any more of me,” a hand came to your throat, stroked the ridges – your Eve’s apple – still stretched by Ghost’s grip.

You said nothing, but a look of hazy resolve in your eyes told Simon all he needed to hear. He looked past you, to the man behind you, who, when Simon nodded, released your jaw. You almost wanted to celebrate. In unison, they lifted you, Ghost by your waist and Simon by your thighs. The next thing you knew, you were full – painfully so – pressed between two walls of men.

You let out a winded cry, jostled between the idea of leaning against Ghost or taking to Simon’s chest for comfort. The former made the decision for you, taking his hands from your thighs and bringing them to your waist. He shushed you, gently, voice free from condescension and irritation. It was an imitation of comfort, a gesture.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he whispered in your ear. He massaged slow, calm circles into your sides, his hands coming to rest upon your stomach. “It’s alright, breathe for me – there’s a good girl.”

Simon’s expression seemed to mirror Ghost’s, for a softness possessed his gaze, one which encouraged a hand to trail to your cheek, holding it. He wiped a lone tear. “I know, Sweetheart,” he said. “It won’t hurt for much longer, promise.”

Perhaps their altruism was only a show. Perhaps they were true in their comforts, purveyors of their reassurances, for the pain did pass in the minute that followed. And, when you nodded, told them they could continue, the air changed.

Simon and Ghost brought you up and slammed you back down on their lengths, following a rhythm to which, accustomed now, but no longer numb, you tried desperately not to get lost in. Not again.

The embers of your last orgasm ebbed within as the two took you, Ghost’s hands resting on your waist, feeling him and Simon inside you, your stomach swollen. You hadn’t even noticed until you felt Ghost give a short laugh in your ear, and spoke over you.

“God, Simon – have you felt her ?” he said. Simon, looking to where Ghost’s gaze rested, gave a groan. He could see perfectly well what Ghost was talking about; having two men inside you at the same time, two particularly well-endowed men, no less, was bound to have some physical effects on your body, but Simon hadn’t anticipated them to be so immediate, rather assuming them to be an aching between your legs the next day or the inability to walk properly.

You couldn’t help but pay attention to their conversation, one which, while about you, did not include you. Or so you thought.

Simon’s hand came to lay upon your front, and, while he ploughed into you, he felt himself inside you. “God, (Y/N) – ‘m surprised you ain’t burstin’ from the seams,” he said, a deep drawl in his voice. You wanted to retaliate, say that you were, but the vigour with which he slammed you onto him now knocked the air out of you, made arguing pointless. And, as if in competition, Ghost followed suit.

“Seein’ as you’re so eager to get ahead,” said Ghost. “How’s about we see who can ruin her first.”

It wasn’t a proposition.

Simon smiled.

He pulled out, entirely, and threw himself back in. You let out a moan, something between a scream and a whimper. Whatever hopes you’d had of holding out for the whole night were dashed in that instant.

And you couldn’t be happier.

The coil in your centre tightened, the telltale sign that you wouldn’t last another ten minutes if you were lucky. And, given your track record of the evening, you weren’t going to place any bets.

Simon and Ghost’s breathing was deep, heaving, and you had no doubt the masks and the physical excursion did little to help things. Though, the sounds which poured from them – micro-whimpers and whispered moans – existing within the crevices of these pants were too enticing for you to care.

Simon’s hands came to rest on your thighs, where he squeezed your skin, grabbed any conjuration of muscle, meat and fat he could, and uttered more praise to you. “My girl,” he said. “You’ll always be my girl – no one else’s,”

Ghost did nothing to dispute Simon, but the squeeze to your sides suggested he wasn’t agreeing. Or going down without a fight.

A mere ten minutes into this fresh Hell and you already could feel yourself going numb again, the electricity at your centre having grown, your nerves burning with a need for release. You’d have conjured the words if you’d known them, but you feared your mind had been turned to jelly under the competition of the two military men.

You could tell they were close to finishing, what with their breathing growing deeper and more uneven by the second, their thrusts becoming uncoordinated, desperate, seeking any and all solace they could glean from burying themselves within you. And, of course, the praises.

“Doin’ so well, Angel,” one would rasp, while the other would show you their gratitude, moulding your breast in his hand and sucking his mark into your throat.

There came a point where you weren’t even sure you were human anymore, with you still remaining conscious yet limp amidst this exchange. Save for the need to let go, to have the energy inside you now burst free, you felt a mere toy to these men. And you loved every second of it.

“I c-can’t–” you managed to choke out. Simon and Ghost kept at their attack, their pursuit of that which they coveted most; your pleasure. The room, heavy with everything you’d done, was filled corner to corner with your gasping moans, Simon’s guttural growls and Ghost’s grunting. All the orchestra of a dream come true.

“Cum for me, Princess,” heaved Simon. A desperation lay in his voice – one which sought the same release as you, and that only through your climax could he achieve his.

“Yeah, Darlin’,” came Ghost, thick and hot behind you. “Show us how we make you feel.”

And that was the last straw.

You moaned, long and hard, and you came. Your body scorched with fire and electricity, a storm you could hardly keep to yourself as you threw your head back against Ghost’s shoulder, your stomach arching into Simon’s. Your coil snapped, combusted, and you were left a heaving, panting, near-crying mess.

You gripped Simon’s shoulders while Ghost’s front pressed to your back. Within quick succession, one finished after the other, their growled moans carrying through the room and into your mind as, still impaled and overcome with a euphoric exhaustion, you rested against the two men.

You knew they’d take care of you – run you a bath and tend to your every need in the minutes following. But right now, you just wanted to be here with them, feeling their hearts thunder like drums against your skin.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

Taglist: @montenegroisr @projectdreamwalker @animarix @konigsblog @sweetirilly @crystaljade22 [will not be adding ageless blogs]

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bunny-extract · 1 year

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[excerpt from a ghost/reader oneshot i'm working on. Pining Ghost is just so complicated I can't stop thinking about the ways he deals with wanting ugh]

"Once the lot finds out, they won't be able to keep themselves from getting thick around you." Ghost watches your eyes drift to the side, imagining it. "Be at your feet like dogs, begging for it."

“Is this your way of asking to watch?”

“Nah. Maybe,” Simon corrects. You laugh, pitchy and pretty: water to a seed Ghost didn’t realize he’s been incubating.

Who would treat you better than them? Simon can already see the way you’d preen under their full attention — not the diluted, polite version they typically reserve for you. Solitary, excusable touches kept to equipment; Praise that only ever precedes a stiff and deliberate exchange of rank.

Didn’t you know if you said 'jump' they wouldn't even need to ask how high?

If you said 'have me'—

Simon has to stop himself from giving in to the thought, already half mast in his trousers.

The thing has got bloody roots, tangled up in his already corroded ideas of sex. Comfort. Possession. Control.

It leaves him expectant when your attention finds him, heavy with newfound inspiration. You cross your legs, tight.

“Just to watch?”

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #141 x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #drabble #bunnywriting #ask me about the intricate dynamics of a group bound to suffer and die living on for and inside of each other.........#actually dont.#WHY HAVE ONE BOYFRIEND WHEN YOU CAN HAVE FIVE #ghost

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feralforfrank · 1 year

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NOTHING'S GONNA HURT YOU, BABY.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

summary reader gets injured while looking out for the team and simon riley worries.

cw descriptive scenes of reader getting injured, cod canon violence, stab wounds & blood loss, worried!simon riley. angst!!!!! hurt with tiny bit of comfort (from simon to reader) NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. tell me if i missed anything!

a/n is this deserving of a part two? does it feel rushed? is THIS really how i want to enter the cod mw2 fandom!?!! so many questions.

masterlist | taglist

"Ghost," you spoke his name in a hushed tone, mainly to hide from the enemy but also to hide the shake in your voice.

"I'm here, Owl. I'm coming to get ya." You could hear Ghost running, and you tried to focus on the sounds he made instead of the stinging pain on your thigh and side.

It was your fault. All of it. You were supposed to be on the roof, not on the goddamn ground. You're a sniper, for fuck's sake. But being above ground, you spotted two men making their way to where the team's getaway car was. You weren't allowing them to steal your vehicle, but if you shot at them, it would alert the others, and your position would've been compromised.

You knew how to fight. Although you never liked engaging the enemy face to face and your eyes were better used above ground, thus why you were a sniper and why they called you Owl, Ghost and Soap trained you to take down men as big as them.

The first man went down quickly, he was skinny, and you surprised him. He was gurgling on his one blood in seconds. The second guy pinned you to the wall. You took your second knife from your right thigh strap and pierced his stomach twice. He was slipping from your grasp when you felt the knife you'd used on him puncture your thigh.

You screamed. A shriek left your mouth before you could stop it. Your thigh throbbed as you landed a final blow on the side of the man's neck. You stumbled off the wall, blinking the tears and black dots away. You heard someone call your name through comms, but you didn't have time to answer.

The third man came behind you. He must've heard you scream. He circled his buff biceps around your throat and squeezed. Fight and flight kicked in. Andrenaline was pumping in your bloodstream, and, without thinking twice, you bit his bicep. Hard.

He cursed and moved away from you for a split second, and you got a chance to suck in a breath. You stumbled forward, but he caught you, spinning you around and pulling you so impossibly close.

At first, you didn't feel it. A shot rang out, and his body slumped forward, distracting you. The man was dead in your arms, and his blood had splattered on your face and continued spilling on your shoulder. Your head shot up to your station—that's where the gunshot had come from. Gaz asked you if you were okay. You tried to nod, and that's when you felt it.

Your ears started ringing. You stepped back, the man falling completely from your grasp and onto the ground. You choked on your breath. Your hand instinctively fell to your side and then rose in front of your face. You were bleeding from two places now.

Gaz called for you again, but you didn't answer. You felt dizzy, and as much as you tried blinking those black spots away, they just wouldn't go. You leaned against the wall. Ghost ordered your whereabouts, and Gaz answered him hurriedly, adding that he could see you losing consciousness. So, that's who shot from your position. Ghost confirmed that he was coming your way.

And that's how you ended up in this position.

"Please, hurry." Your cry of pain made the lieutenant's pace pick up.

Ghost always had some sort of a soft spot for you. Your kind-hearted, friendly nature and bubbly personality didn't help his growing infatuation. You were too sweet for your own good, and he swore your sarcastic comments directed mostly at Soap always managed to melt his heart.

The guys weren't oblivious—they could see how Ghost always stared at you. His hard eyes seemed to soften when looking at you. Actually, his whole posture changed when you were around. Ghost was always near you, a soft hand placed on your lower back and guiding you when you were in the dark during missions, and glances were thrown at you when you were too quiet to make sure you were doing okay.

Soap and Gaz had joked about his fascination with you, asking him why he never made a move. He'd shut them down and called them inappropriate before lowering his head to hide how flustered he felt. He thought burying those teenage sentiments at the very back of his mind would be the best. He's never been good at expressing his feelings, and for fuck's sake, he was your superior.

But as he heard your breath come out in gasps and Gaz telling him to hurry up through comms, he felt panic inside him. His steps became more urgent, and his grip on the gun tightened. He was almost there.

"Don't move. I'm coming to get you." Ghost's voice was filled with utter panic and anxiety, and he took a breath to get rid of the shake in his tone. "I'm almost there, darlin'."

Fuck.

He hadn't meant for that to slip out. He heard your breath hitch. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He turned the corner, and there you were, slumped on the wall, holding your side with your palm and breathing heavily. He placed his gun in its holster and ran toward you. You collapsed with a groan, your forehead touching his vest.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I'm so sorry. They were—They were trying to escape with our c-car, and I couldn't let—I couldn't let them—" You gasped for breath as Ghost looked around at the dead bodies.

It was dark, but he could make out three silhouettes, definitely larger frames than yours, and they all lay dead in a puddle of their own blood.

"It's okay, it's alright, love. I'm here now. I'm not goin' anywhere." A soft whimper escaped your lips, and he felt your body give in to the fatigue caused by the blood loss.

Ghost picked you up, requesting the rest of the team to meet him at his location. The car was unlocked and untouched, and his heart swole with pride. You'd taken out three soldiers to protect the team and secure their getaway transportation.

You mumbled his name as he placed you in the backseat. He quickly got in, and pulled you in his arms again, one palm pressing on your wounded side and the other on your bleeding thigh.

Soap slipped in the driver's seat, Gaz following right behind him. "How's she doing, Lt.?" The former asked, glancing behind him once.

"She'll be fine if you move this goddamn car!" Ghost's tone was sharp, but Soap didn't take it personally.

"Where to, Ghost?" John asked.

"The safe house. Make sure no one follows us. As soon as we're in the clear, Gaz, you call Price. Tell 'im to send evac." Gaz nods curtly, followed by a yes, sir.

"Simon." You shift, snuggling closer to his body.

The frown on your face deepens. Simon looks down at you. His heart hasn't stopped its rapid beating, and worry mixed with panic is still swirling in his blood. He wants to tell John to hurry the fuck up, but he knows the soldier is going as fast as possible.

You whine in distress, your eyes blinking ever so slowly. Your ears ring, your gaze is unfocused, and your eyes are glassy with tears ready to fall.

"Shh, it's alright, love," Simon whispers. "You're goin' be okay."

"Am I dying?" You speak in hushed panic.

Simon shakes his head quickly from side to side as if your words burned him. "No, you're fine. Nothing that can't be fixed, okay? I can fix it." He's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince you.

"Are they after us?" He shakes his head again. "So, we're safe? I'm safe?"

"Nothing's gonna hurt you. As long as I'm here, no one's hurting you again, ya hear me?" The finality in his voice is the reassurance you need to soothe you.

You feel your eyes drooping again, and the ringing in your ears finally fades out. "Thank you, Simon."

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lunarw0rks · 8 months

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Too Old For You // Part Two

Summary: You've been crushing on him for a while now, even going as far as taking a stab for him. But it isn't enough for him to notice you; you're too young, too nice for someone like him.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), strong language, age gap [reader is early twenties, ghost is mid/late thirties], mild injury/blood, sexual harassment, hurt/comfort, smut, oral sex, face sitting, p in v sex, unsafe sex, oral fixation, medic!reader, fem!reader

Word Count: 5.5k ˖⁺‧₊˚ A/N: This took FOREVER, but I think it's worth it. Not Proofread! ₊‧⁺˖

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX | AO3 VER | PART ONE .ˎˊ˗

To be honest, you were making your best effort to forget about yesterday. Sure, it was a loss of your dignity to be rejected — but you hadn’t done anything truly wrong. What could he do to publicly embarrass you? Tell everyone he walked out on the person who took a knife wound for him? What a prick he would be, then.

Plus, Simon was never the type to air out his dramas. Especially involving you, who deserved to move on and find someone better. If only it were that simple.

There was little time to dwell — a trauma was coming in.

The second you were focused on a patient; any other life problem was pushed to the back burner. After the other day, that was a blessing. Sure enough, seconds after you got the comm, the infirmary doors swung open. It was a typical sight; the wounded soldier fighting the aid of the medics, on the verge of being sedated to ensure his care was given without mistake. You sterilized your hands briefly, finding the nearest box of disposable gloves and slipping them on. Whatever happened to the man, it sounded agonizing.

However, the grunting and complaining sounded familiar, too familiar. It was Simon.

That sentiment about forgetting about your problems when tending to a patient? It vanished at the speed of light when you peeled back the curtain, seeing that it indeed was him bleeding out on the table. He didn’t want the help, but he needed it.

Maybe he really didn’t want to see you — to the level of finding hemorrhaging more preferable than letting you tend to him, let alone speak to him. Though, it seemed more likely he could not show weakness, even when he had a bullet in him.

You peeled back the privacy curtain, greeted with a well-acquainted scowl of distaste. He didn’t want you here, to see him like this. Unlike him, you could separate personal feelings from your work. Simon should know how to do that by now, but it’s clear he doesn’t.

“You need to relax and let me help you.” He rejected you — doesn’t mean you’re going to take pleasure in watching him writhe. It was your sworn duty to treat everyone, unfortunately.

Simon wanted to argue. It was obvious with the way the fabric of his mask moved, failing to conceal the clench of his jaw. You sat across from him, wheeling one of the trauma case carts beside you, “I need you to relax.” His heavy breaths weren’t from pain, he was cursing himself for catching a bullet and ending up here. He was more enraged at himself for forcing you into tending to him. He was the last person you wanted to see right now… right?

Oh, how he despised being vulnerable, even when there was no other way. With a sigh, he removed the hand putting pressure on his shoulder. He was extremely fortunate — it had missed his arteries, and from what you could see, had an exit wound.

By the time you had your eyes on the hole, you had inserted a local anesthetic to keep the area numb. Strangely enough, Ghost flinched more when you leaned in to inject the needle than when you touched the tender area. He recoiled but wasn’t going to decline medicated relief.

“Can you feel that?” You asked, pressing the pad of your gloved fingers to the outer edge of the wound. It seemed that even if he did, you wouldn’t have gotten an answer. With a shake of your head, you merely began the routine of disinfecting the wound to start. Though you were careful, you wanted this ordeal to be over.

Once you moved on from dabbing at it with swabs, you met his gaze again, finally reciprocating the stare that hadn’t broken. “You’ll be fine.” You said, moving with haste as you got a suture kit ready. Any other day, the stare would send chills up your spine. Not today.

“Not why I was looking,” Simon grumbled, now instead watching the needle thread through his flesh. You didn’t even try to hide your eye roll at the sudden mood change. It wasn’t endearing anymore; it was irksome. Your sutures were about halfway done on the entrance wound, and you couldn’t have been more thankful for that.

The med bay went silent again, except for the occasional hiss from his clothed lips, or the creaking on the stool you were sitting on. The area around the wound was pinkish and inflamed, but not a tear, luckily. If he took his antibiotics, you wouldn’t have to see him much after this. You eventually found yourself behind him to examine the exit wound, a rinse and repeat of disinfecting and then stitching.

Only, this time, the infirmary wasn’t silent for long.

His words came after the last stitch when you placed a bandage over the now-healing wound, “look, ‘m sorry for yesterday, alright?”

Simon watched your scowl intently. It wasn’t one of distaste, not even irritation — it was loathing for yourself. You didn’t deserve to feel that way, especially at his expense. But no apologizing would make the initial sting of rejection go away. You weren’t a child, nor were you a fool; you wouldn’t have pursued him if you weren’t sure of what you wanted.

With a small ‘hm’ in response, you finished the last of his dressings, ripping the disposable gloves off your hands and tossing them into the trash. Your feet darted across the tile floors as you disposed of the contaminated linen and instruments, merely moving around the Lieutenant like he was an object. An inconvenience, for making you want him so badly. You voicelessly went over to the counter in the infirmary, resuming the charting you were occupied with before he was rushed into your care. Still, with your back turned to him, his eyes were boring holes into you. He didn’t need to be there; he was free to go. But he didn’t, and it was aggravating.

One minute you were beaming for the exit, the next his hand clamped around your arm, preventing you from making your exit. “Just… stop. For a minute.” He says, releasing the hand when you look down at how tightly he was gripping you.

“Hold this against me all you want, alright? Hate me, I don’t care.” Simon sighed, rolling his injured shoulder slightly from the strain of getting up too quickly. His feet dragged slightly as he made his way toward the door, standing by the exit of the med bay.

“One day you’ll wise up and realize I’m not what you need, Kid. Think about it, at least.” The door to the infirmary came to a slow close behind him, a disheartening contrast to the slam he left you with yesterday.

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

Weeks passed and the initial sting of the Simon situation had begun to dilute itself.

You spent most evenings passing up a night out; instead, you were working on the piles of charts that needed filling out, or something as mundane as taking inventory for the infirmary. Tasks that are mind-numbing enough to keep your mind on work, and only work. If your goal was to forget your feelings, you failed. If it was to spend enough time alone to truly know what you wanted, you won that one.

For the first time in a while, you were caught up on the workload. The bliss of free time wouldn’t last long, so perhaps that’s why you decided to go out for drinks. Maybe you just wanted to wallow in self-pity; the root explanation didn’t matter.

It was the least they could do — considering how often you’d kept an artery from spurting blood or the number of times you’d had to fight their squirming while attempting delicate sutures. Sergeant MacTavish especially, if you were being honest. He was the worst of your patients, except for the obvious masked brooding one.

Now, you found yourself perched on a bar stool, where you’d remained stoic for about two hours now. So deep in focus, you didn’t even recognize the drink in your hands. One of the guys had asked if you wanted one, you nodded, and now here you were. On your third one. The third time you merely took what was slid across the bar top and sipped on it, no matter how much the bitter taste made your taste buds cringe.

“Can I top you off?” The bartender made his rounds again, using a rag to wipe off the surrounding countertops. Your eyes looked off to the side, observing different levels of intoxication from both the 141 and the other rowdy patrons.

The night was coming to a close, another drink wouldn’t be wise. You weren’t here to get hammered; you were here to be somewhere other than a sterile room. “No, thank you,” you slid your empty glass in his direction, then a healthy tip for the good service. He didn’t once ask why you weren’t interacting with the party you came with, or why your eyes barely looked up from the varnish on the bar. To explain to him why would be downright mortifying, and you were never good at coming up with believable excuses. Therefore, he’d earned the cash tip and then some.

Price and Gaz were the first to leave, after neatly stacking all the empty glasses that covered their booth, of course. Next, the very drunk Sergeant stumbled out of there, making the short walk to his flat to sleep off the intoxication. Surely, he’s going to require a banana bag at the base tomorrow. Around them, the servers had begun stacking the chairs and collecting the tickets to finalize the rest of the unpaid tabs. The perfect time to slip away — right when the mob of drunks huddled around the front door. No questions, no awkward conversations about carpooling; no chance of being in a cab with him again.

The universe must’ve been on your side because there was no sign of Simon currently. Not that you two would have interacted, but it was much easier to walk by an empty seat rather than one occupied by him. The warm lighting dimmed slightly as the lights in the pub were shut off one by one, prompting you to scoot off your stool and get going finally.

Behind you, the door to the men’s room closed with a small squeak, and there he was. His frame cast a large shadow over the dim light the dated sconces produced, as the two of you made brief eye contact. It wasn’t a returned gaze of unnerve or upset, just… nothing. That’s what prompted your final exit from the bar, pushing open the glass door and starting down the pavement. You didn’t mind the walk, either, not after nearly an hour and a half of sitting motionless on an uncomfortable stool.

The streetlights were faulty and had a constant dim flicker. Your only guide was the lights of the few businesses still open and the cool-hued moonlight casting feeble rays on the damp streets.

Your coat was wrapped around you tightly, yet it did little against the chill in the air. So bitter, it felt like it was seeping into your bones. Paired with the unsavory anticipation of walking these streets at night, no amount of warmth could reduce the unease.

From the depths of the darkness, came an unwelcome sound — the crude whistle of a passing car. Your heart skipped a beat, the pace of your steps quickening involuntarily. The eyes on you were that of a malevolent force, one that quite literally came from the shadowy roads around you. As the car crept with wheels at a crawl to remain alongside you, you dared a glance.

A trio of jeering faces with smirks plastered across their lips like badges of dominance. One in the backseat with his upper body hanging out, the man in the passenger seat the worst of them all. Every remark, every innuendo reduces your already fragile sense of security. Your arms folded across your chest as you kept your head down, watching your legs carry you in any direction to get you out of this, no matter what road you ended up on by the end of it.

The harsh glare of the car’s headlights felt like a spotlight, illuminating your vulnerability. In a matter of seconds, you had been reduced to an object. Merely an unwilling participant in their twisted game.

Click—click.

The distinct sound of someone racking the slide of a pistol immediately behind you. “Piss off.”

His familiar voice rang stern and commanding. Your head turned to face Simon, seeing his gun indeed unholstered and held at his side, paired with his puffed chest and furrowed brows. The car's windows rolled up immediately, followed by the whiz of it speeding down the street. Simon watched until the headlights were no longer visible, yet you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

One minute, the echo of words and phrases you never wanted to be repeated. And now, nothing but the woosh of the wind and his heavy labored breathing against his balaclava. For just a moment, nothing that happened between the two of you mattered.

It was just you, astounded and allayed, and him — the savior who wouldn’t have hesitated to crack skulls against the pavement.

“You alright?” He asks, though his eyes remain glued to the sketchy streets around him, searching for any sign of threats. You merely nod, following the motion of his fingers as he flicks the safety back on, placing the piece back into his jacket holster. Nothing sobers you up like the sight of a loaded gun, that was obvious.

It wasn’t exactly your first ordeal with predatory men, but this instance was particularly bleak. Perhaps it was your buzz, perhaps it was the sight of Simon with his pistol at the ready, perhaps it was your adrenaline.

That was just a series of questions better left unanswered.

Silence was the best conversation for someone like Simon, especially given the circumstances. Neither of you was going to complain, nor were you going to force the clichés of fussing over the other. His hand found the small of your back, steering you in the direction of his hotel. He didn't have a flat in town, his only homes were the base or moderately priced suites.

Tonight, it was the latter — the room he booked in anticipation of a night of heavy drinking, even a hookup if the events of this evening were less grim. Though, he hadn’t drunk much of anything, which was rare for him.

The light buzz was the only component you two seemed to have in common, at least from what you could take note of.

His shadow was a looming one; large and overtaking yours as he took meaningful strides down each street, still a guiding hand either hovering or clamping down when you crossed the street. You could protest and insist that you stick to your original plan of walking back to the base. But it was a futile argument to have with Simon, not after the sickening degradation you made it through.

Those men were nothing but large shadows emitted from small men. They would’ve driven away, most likely. However… something happening to you while you’re in his sights? That’s not a gamble the Lieutenant had to consider for long. The only reason he hadn’t stepped in sooner was because you had made it so far down the street in an attempt to avoid him. But when he heard the engine slow to a hum, observing how it matched your speed, those were his brief moments of thought.

Seconds following, the echo of their voices dripping with violent, impure implications — he had unholstered his pistol and power-walked down the street before his mind could catch up. There wasn’t a moment of it he’d do differently.

Not even now, as he’s approaching the door to his room. Not as he’s ushering you inside, espying as you shiver from both the cold and the unease of it all. There wasn’t a chance in hell you were walking that distance.

“The bed’s yours,” Simon mutters, slipping his jacket off his broad shoulders. Though, you’ve made no effort to respond. You’re too lost in focus, palming the icy zipper of your coat and slowly splitting it open, until the weight of it is off you. It’s tossed onto the floor, a defeated crumble — as if even your wardrobe is mocking your numbness.

Your head finally perks up at the sound of Simon sliding the keycard along the oak entry table, followed by the sudden realization that he had said something to you. “I’m sorry, what did you say before?” You sigh, eyes squinted in forced attention.

His head nods in the direction of the bed; plush white sheets that were still fresh and untouched. “I can take the pull-out.” It wasn’t a suggestion, either. Though his tone is as blunt as ever, his gaze is uncharacteristically amicable.

“It’s your room, Ghost. I’m not taking the bed.” You let out a scoff, pulling off your shoes next. The pity wasn’t necessary, nor was it going to be accepted with eagerness.

He let out a lengthy sigh, cringing when you used his callsign. Mainly at himself for being so sharp with you weeks prior and insisting you refrain from using his name. “Don’t argue with me. Take the bed.” He shuffled over to the nightstand, collecting the few belongings that were resting there, then placing them on the entry table.

Well, you had your orders, and you knew by now it was easier to follow them.

Your eyes scanned the suite in front of you; beige walls throughout, a small kitchenette in the corner, one bed and couch, a dated box TV posed in front of the space, and of course, a bathroom. It was clean, which was good enough for both of you. Especially you, right now. “I’m gonna wash up first,” you set down your bag and trudged to the washroom, letting out a defeated exhale when you were finally faced with the reflection in the mirror.

Eyes glossy and foggy with melancholy, hair askew from the unforgiving breeze outside, fingers still shaking as they grip the faux-marble counter.

After wetting a cloth and running some cold tap water along your skin, it was the spark your senses needed to realign. With a deep inhale and exhale, you exited the bathroom, wearing the hotel robe as your nightwear.

“How’s the shoulder?” The question came suddenly, but there were very few topics to discuss with Simon. You stood in between the bed and the pullout couch, the one he had yet to make with the spare sheets. And he, who was in the kitchenette pouring himself a glass of whatever from the fridge's pitcher.

Within the time you were washing up, he had changed into his version of nightwear — sweatpants and a charcoal athletic tee. “Healed just fine. You did well.” Simon makes a show of it, rolling and stretching the shoulder that was once tender and inflamed.

His praises fell short when masked with his scowl. No matter his bluntness, you still felt like an intruder in his evening. He was never one for company, especially in his private space, but here the two of you were. It was a toss-up; should you mention the obvious? Could things get much worse between you and him, by this point?

You leaned against the closest wall. “I’m not a child, you know that right?” Though it sounded confrontational, it was merely a nonchalant utterance. All frustrations spilled out nearly as a defeated mutter.

Simon scoffed heavily; eyes hooded as he blinked a few times to ensure he would articulate himself properly. He lifts his mask and takes a sip of his water, shaking his head as you continue to stare him down. You were persistent, that was apparent.

“You’re right,” he set down his glass, taking a few steps closer. “But you’re a good person. A good doctor.” His hands cupped your cheeks tightly to shake some sense into you. His last-ditch effort to convince you to move on from your feelings. You felt a rush of emotions pumping through you at once, watching intently as he spoke with such vigor. A potent mix of tenderness and firmness — all embodied into one man.

“You can find so much better than me, than this place.” Your lips slumped into a frown as his words persisted as if letting them bounce right off of you. There were so many parts of you that he saw in himself, so violently he couldn’t stay frustrated. “Quit getting in your own way, and you might see it.” His thumbs gave a small caress, and then his eyes glanced you up and down with softness. The irony of it was striking, considering Simon was his own worst enemy, especially right now.

His calloused fingers were like your own personal rush, palpable enough to make your hair stand up. “There’s nobody else I want, Simon.” You replied with a match of firmness, yet your expression was anything but frustrated.

The close proximity was saccharine and keenly awaited by both of you, though only one party was making an effort to show it.

Simon shuddered slightly, his hands running from your cheeks to the base of your neck, then back up once more. “That want is going to be the death of both of us, love.” He said softly as if he was finally accepting the reality of his feelings.

The wise decision to break it off wasn’t weighing on him anymore, not even a little bit.

You stared at him through your lashes, a hint of a smile on your lips, “I’m used to death, Lieutenant, aren’t you?”

This generated a small snicker from him, this time one you could actually see. There had been plenty concealed by his mask over the months. Every bit of you was screaming to lean in, but the longer this banter went on, the better for him. There was no sense in rushing an act that didn’t need to be rushed, especially if it was doomed to happen at some point.

“I wouldn’t even know how to… You— you haven’t done half the things—” His fingers tightened around the base of your neck slightly, head tilted as he made his best attempt at retorting. For someone with such conviction every other time, he was noticeably beating around the bush. It was amusing, to say the least.

He mutters something under his breath, something of an expression of defeat, then leans in until his parted lips are an inch from yours.

“Then teach me.” You breathed, finally allowing your hands to hold onto his wrists as he cupped your face. Simon’s eyes blazed as they met yours — smoky with the intense burn of lust.

Within seconds, his lips found yours with brazen desire. It was everything you pictured it to be and more; every last bit of ego-driven pettiness fizzled out at once. The scent of his last cigarette, his aftershave from that morning, the faint stench of bourbon on his breath — all surrounding you like an enslaving cloud. His fingers roamed again, this time from your shoulders down to your waist until he could fumble with the tie of the robe.

Simon’s feet gave yours a nudge in the direction of the bed behind you, a silent guide until the backs of your knees finally found the edge of it. An arm snaked downward until he could lift one of your legs around his waist, settling his weight on the bed so you were on top of him. Every action was mended with a prolonged, calculated kiss on his end.

The robe had opened entirely, revealing you in nothing but your panties underneath. With more movement, it drooped down your arms until it was eventually thrown off in haste, the same quickness when you slid your undergarments down. But Simon was in no rush, at least not while he was savoring the foreplay. “Scoot up for me,” he mutters, nodding his head upwards subtly. His request is met with a look of confusion, but you do as he says, shifting upwards until you’re straddling his upper torso.

“No. Up.” Simon clamps a hand around your hip, maintaining eye contact as he readjusts you further until your bare cunt is hovering over his face. Now, the realization of his idea strikes you like a bolt of lightning.

There was nothing to be embarrassed about, but that didn’t make the request less daunting. “No one’s ever…” You whisper it as if attempting to admit it without him actually hearing you. But he did, and it made your face head up. Especially now, seeing the mouth to match his eyes — even the tip of his nose, squished slightly from the fold of the fabric.

“Ever what, sweetheart?” He bites down on his bottom lip lightly, rubbing circles on your thighs. Though his eyes are darting from yours to your heat, back and forth as you feel a desperate shiver consume you.

You gave up on answering him, which was only met with a playful scoff. “Relax, and sit.” Once again, instead of letting you move, he’s taken matters into his own hands. There would be no debate about his airflow or whether he could handle your weight on his head. Simon pushed you down until you had successfully straddled his face, slick pooling against his tongue.

Your breathing hitches as he so suddenly thrusts you upon him, wasting no time to lap at your sex. He begins by circling your clit slowly, eyes fluttering shut in focus so he can maintain a pattern. Second by second, you’ve produced more than enough slick for an audible squelch with every plunge of his skilled mouth. It’s a new feeling to get used to — plagued by pleasure and reliant on every flick, yet you’re in the position of power. Bucking your hips against his tongue, using the headboard to brace yourself the longer this goes on.

By the time your breaths have gotten heavier and the moans have escaped you, Simon began delving his tongue inside you for a few turns, before devouring your nub once more. It was methodical, every switch of his pace, every roaming digit heightening your pleasure. He cupped your breast, thumbing your hardened nipple with every grind. The other hand maintained its tight grip on your thigh, merely to keep your trembles under control — which were only increasing as your climax approached.

Your nails scraped against the wooden headboard, until your tensed fingers finally found his ashy blond locks, gripping his scalp for dear life. When he hummed against you, there was an involuntary spasm of your hips, unleashing the minutes of swirling in your abdomen.

His tongue bullied you through your climax, and then some. His slobbers turned into minute licks, merely playing with the wetness coating his chin and reddened lips. When you recuperated enough for the grinds of your hips to slow, you ascended your weight off his mouth — ogling a string of spit and arousal still connecting the two organs, until it eventually snapped and soaked into his shirt.

Simon pants for a moment as his lungs take in the air again, and then his fingers start circling your hips. “What did we learn, love?” He asks with a hint of bluster, both in his oral skills and his callback to you saying ‘teach me’ while eye-fucking him. Just like before, he wasted little time answering his own questions, only this time your excuse for lull was bouncing back from the orgasm of a lifetime.

“Next time I tell you to sit,” he flips the position so you’re flat on your stomach, “you’re going to sit, right?” Simon whispers into your ear wantonly, all while his fingers find the waistband of his sweats and briefs at once, rolling them down to his mid-thigh.

You turn your head to the side against the mattress, letting out a slight chuckle. “I’ll never make the same mistake twice.”

He chuckles dryly, taking note of your coy attempt at humor. “So you’re sayin’... we’ll be doing this again?” He’s leaned closer now, warm breath tickling your earlobe. In your blind spot, he’s lined up with your entrance and palming himself. The prospect of getting together again wasn’t one he was going to refuse, perhaps even after he was done thinking with his dick. It was apparent even this early on that it wouldn’t be a series of dispassionate hookups, not with you.

“Maybe,” you retorted, nibbling on your lip, “think I should be the judge of that?”

“You’re right,” Simon replies, slowly inching his way inside of you with little verbal warning. But, judging by your mouth agape in rapture, he has done something right so far. He lets out a guttural moan, bending one of your legs slightly to get better access. His whole weight is practically pressing on you, containing your urge to twitch as his thrusts become mindful and calculated.

His hands haven’t left you once; whether they’re gripping your hips, your shoulders, or the nape of your neck. “Oh, fuck.” He quakes, slowly rolling his head to the side as your walls tense around him with each deep grind. By now, he’s bottomed out inside you — a sinful, tight compress of your pussy that almost restricts him.

He’s not rushing now, either, but every rock of his hips does gain some intensity. They’re well-spaced enough to keep you on your toes, yet quick enough to make your eyes roll. By now, the sensitivity of the first orgasm is spilling over onto your second like a violent riptide jostling your senses around. Every urge to savor this moment, to let your body take its time, is utterly abandoned.

Simon leans forward and begins nipping and licking along your shoulder blades, making a pattern of it. Jawline, to nape, to the blades — coated with a line of his saliva and teeth marks. It’s the only humane way he can keep himself contained.

Your walls are clenching around him rapidly now, once he’s teased that gratifying spot deep within you, “gonna cum for me again, sweetheart? Keep takin’ me so well?” His words are nearly more addicting than his cock; the British rasp that gets thicker the closer he is to finishing.

The nod you supply is pathetic, at best. It earns you a few fingers in your mouth; hollowing your cheeks and slobbering as you sob around them from your fast-approaching climax. The pace is agonizing, but enough when he uses his other hand to thrust your body onto his length, angling your cunt in a way that finally hits a bullseye on that spot.

Your throat clenches, as does the rest of your muscles when you dissolve into pleasure. What was once a tight coil of tension in your abdomen, was now waves of ecstasy coursing through you — prolonged by his now sloppy thrusts. You go limp against the mattress as he rides out the rest of his, your ears feasting on the curses Simon’s muttering.

With a halt, the fingers in your mouth are withdrawn. Both of his hands reside on your hips, holding you in place as he drains every last drop of his orgasm within you. For a few seconds, all you hear are his quivers and the shuffle of the skin-to-skin.

Then, every ounce of his restraint shatters once the climax passes. About half his weight lands on you as he slumps forward, pulling his length from you and wilting against the creased sheets. “Was that a yes?” He asks, snaking an arm around your shoulders until you roll over to face him.

“To what?” You huff a few times whilst running your fingertips along his arm scars. To say you were in shock, was an understatement. He was everything you were expecting—and more—in the sack. All the pandering, all the ‘getting in your own way’ on both sides erupted into a climax. Or multiple, for that matter.

“Doin’ this again?” Simon replies, pushing your head against his peck.

“Hm, I think I might need a few more test drives before I come to a final decision.” You say, raising your brows to match your playful tone. It was a stark contrast to the weeks prior, even if the events leading up to sharing a hotel room with him were less than pleasant.

And to him; he lost all sense of control when you took a stab for him. He just had a way of hiding it—the keyword being; had.

At the thought of it, his thumb finds the now healed scar where the knife penetrated, reflecting in his mind about all the events that led up to this. Two different bodies, two different ages, two different persons, yet both are thinking about history.

“I think that can be arranged, Doc.”

TAGLIST: @hyperfixationwhore @starlettemoony @sapientiia @igotmajordaddyissues @kyuupidwrites @ansaturn @bb-ss-ll @delilah-grimes @ajordan2020 @certified-lana-del-rey-lover (it won't let me tag some of you properly)

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daisygirlwrites · 1 year

Text

Behind the Wheel

Summary: Times when Ghost's driving (& piloting) gets the team in trouble.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, injuries and drinking (but not really). Mentions of death. Mentions of throwing up.

Pairing(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader (Platonic), Task Force 141 x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1,642

Note: No use of (Y/N)

a/n: hey hey! so sorry that this is late! school just started for me and i've been doing job interviews as well. finally got some time tonight to finish this. sorry if the ending felt rushed, my brain didn't know how to word. might post another fic/headcanons this week though! also, thank you so much for 100 followers! and another thanks to @thoughtfullyhauntedchild for inspiration :3

taglist: @bobfloydsgf

Las Almas

Seeing the truck almost brought tears to your eyes. You were exhausted to say the least, also pissed off with Graves and Shepard and even more that you got shot. It was not your day. But during the darkest hour, that running truck was the ray of light you needed.

After exchanging shots with the remaining Shadows in the area, Ghost rams through the blockade without warning. Still sitting up from covering the men in the front, the forward momentum launches you out of the backseat, body moving towards the already broken windshield.

If it weren’t for Soap's quick reflexes, it would have been the second time you’ve been thrown out the window during a mission. Thankfully he grabs the back of your vest to slow you down. But instead of glass, your face hits the dashboard. The pain was blinding white, tears threaten to spill as Soap pulls you back and you cradle your face in your hands.

You missed Ghost’s eyes widened with shock (and slight amusement) as yours was still closed to stop the tears from leaking out. Soap’s eyebrows furrow with concern as he gently tilts your chin up and carefully slides the balaclava down your face, a chain of "owies" leaving your lips.

“Sorry Lass, I’m just gonna feel if it’s broken, okay?”

“As long as you let me whine about it.”

Using his pointer finger and his thumb, Soap makes small squeezes down your nose. You mutter curses as he does so. “Fuck, dammit! Oh Jesus Christ, shit!” Soap mumbles back apologies, keeping his hand steady as the truck drives through the uneven ground. He pulls back, giving your face another inspection.

“Definitely swelling but nothing feels broken to me.” You give him the okay sign. Moving back to your seat, you gently maneuver your mask back on.

Ghost can feel your eyes burning holes on the back of his head. Maybe he did feel a little bad but it really wasn’t his fault that you slammed your face on the dashboard. He just hopes your nose isn’t broken or else he won’t hear the end of it. But still, he kind of apologizes.

Giving you a glance through the rearview mirror, he acknowledges you. “My bad, Sargent.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes and feeling like this is the most he’s going to say, you let out an audible sigh.

“It’s cool, LT."

Moscow

Whenever the team goes out after missions, you were almost, if not always the designated driver of the group. It started as a “rookie responsibility” but honestly, you liked taking care of others. It reminded you of your college days, dragging your friends back to the dorm building, feeding them goldfish and water before tucking them in bed and leaving them some painkillers for when they wake up. Now, you do the exact same things but with taller military guys that claim to have high tolerance.

However, tonight’s a little different. Nikolai piloted the team to safety and as a thank you, Price promised to buy everyone's drinks. You initially declined the offer but Soap’s question made you reconsider.

“Don’t you wanna try real Russian Vodka?” He grins at you. He watches you open your mouth before closing it, eyes deep in thought. Sensing your hesitation, Soap looks over to their Lieutenant that was in the back of the group.

“Hey LT, can you drive us back tonight?” Soap shouts at him. Ghost narrows his eyes. “Please? Crash has always driven us back!”

Ghost doesn’t respond but you do instead. “Don’t worry about it LT! I won’t drink tonight, I’ll drive everyone to the hotel.”

Soap lets out a whine, disappointed and even Gaz looked a little bummed. Clearly annoyed, mostly with himself for giving into peer pressure (and not wanting to deal with Soap’s bitching for the rest of the night), Ghost lets out a sigh, “Oi, Crash.”

Watching your head turn back at him, he opens his hand. “Keys,” He demanded. You raise an eyebrow at him, silently asking “Are you sure?” He just nods. Fishing the keys out of your pocket, you toss it towards him.

A few hours and many shots later, the group piles back into the SUV. Nikolai sits up in the front passenger seat, giving Ghost slurred directions back to the hotel, while Soap and Gaz laying passed out in the back row. You and Price are in the middle, him telling you a story from his past and you, not really comprehending, nodding along.

The car makes a slight jump when hitting a bump on the road, the movement not helping your stomach. It’s becoming more frequent now, along with the addition of the sharp turns. Looking away from Price and to the driver in front of you, your brain was slow to process what was going on. The bumps continue, eventually waking the two men in the back seat. Even with your hazy mind, you notice a pattern during the beginning chaos. Slide, bump, slide, bump. Glancing out the window to confirm your suspicions, you watch the tires going over every curb you see.

Ghost was annoyed again. Nikolai’s instructions were sudden, therefore making his movements jerky. The safer option is to slow down but Ghost wanted everyone in bed.

“Jesus, Si. The fuck you haulin’ ass for?” He hears your voice call out. "Fuckin' driving like a teenager, hitting curbs and shit."

“The girl is right. Wouldn’t want the police to show up,” Nikolai comments. As if he had been blessed with the gift of prophecy by Apollo himself, Ghost catches the sight of red and blue lights flashing behind him.

“Oh fuckin’ hell."

Swiss Alps

One of the pilots is dead, the other was putting pressure on their arm that was sporting a gunshot wound, the aircraft itself was spinning out of control and you were panicking. Honestly, everyone was panicking but you’re the only one showing it.

“Oh man, why am I forgetting my training for this?” You questioned, mostly to yourself. Price keeps a tight grip on your shoulders, trying to calm you down from your ramblings. Constant beepings and warnings are heard throughout the helicopter. Gaz, already bracing himself while Soap frantically looks around for anything useful.

Ghost, looking unbothered, shoves the body aside and takes a seat. He glances over at the injured pilot. “You’re going to instruct me to land this thing.”

“Crash landing to be more accurate. Look for big snow piles,” They yell out. Ghost nods, grabbing hold of the cyclic and quickly scans for snow mounds. Finding one that looks big enough, he leads the helicopter towards it. It was supposed to be simple, just crash on the fluffy snow and call it a day. However, trying to stabilize a malfunctioning aircraft wasn’t as easy as he thought. Though, upon seeing the pile of safety, he gives out a breath of relief.

Ghost on and off the field is a machine. So when he completely misses the snow mound, he lets out an audible gasp. Along with the loud beeping, Soap and Gaz join’s your screaming.

“HOW DID YOU MISS?! HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MISS THE-” Your yelling was the last thing he heard before blacking out.

141 Task Force Base

Waking up in the med bay was something he wasn’t expecting, along with being alive in general. The lights were dim, his eyes adjusting his surroundings quicker. Wiggling his fingers, he was relieved to feel them touch the cotton sheets. Unsure of what injuries he had, Ghost slowly lifts his hand up to his face. He lets out a quiet sigh when he feels the familiar fabric of his balaclava. Suddenly his mind races to his team, to Soap, to you.

The last thing he recalls was blurs of trees and everyone screaming.

“Hey! LT’s awake!” A familiar Scotts voice rings out, followed by someone shushing him and what sounds like a slap on the head.

The lights turn a smidge brighter, as if to not hurt Ghost’s eyes. He watches the team walk into the room, looking a little more rough than usual. His gaze lingers on the shortest member of the group. A couple bandages cover her face, along with a frown. Arms crossed and eyes refusing to meet him.

Price explains to him that after the collision, he, Gaz and Soap had to drag you, him and the other pilot out. And also the helicopter exploded. They watch him run a hand down his masked face.

He looks at you again, “You’re pissed.”

You meet his gaze this time, “No shit.”

Sensing some tension, the team spreads out through the room, not wanting to get in the way but also wanting to see you go off on the Lieutenant.

“Your driving sucks ass, LT! Like Cher from Clueless! Hitting curbs like a teenage girl. Holy fuck, my guy.” You start. All Ghost could do was stare at you, more amused than angry. “You almost broke my nose in Mexico with a freaking break check, I threw up in front of police officers- wasting eighty dollars worth of good vodka! And now this!” You point at your face. “My face is all jacked up!”

That last comment made him chuckle, out of all the things you were concerned about, it was your appearance that mattered. He inspects your face, besides having new scars, everything else looks the same. All he could do was shake his head in disbelief.

“Crash, you are such a girl.” He gives you a smile. You couldn’t see his mouth but his eyes expressed it. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

That comment caught you off guard, feeling heat coming up to your cheeks. You were speechless.

"Also, it really wasn't my fault."

"YES IT IS!"

#daisygirlwrites #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #soap mactavish

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