#midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

i know i just said that i was on a break, but casino!141 was giving me an itch, so here we are. phone writing, bear with me.

cw: nsfw. slightest dub-con at first? poly!141 is arising. cockwarming. simon talks you through it. f!reader. 3 | more casino!141

your footsteps echoes in the hallway, soundwaves ricocheting on the walls of the far too quiet casino. it's strange being there during the day, accompanied only by the more avid gamblers who need their fix, even when most lights are off.

"come in." John's voice travels from inside the office after your brisk knock and you open the door, quickly stepping in the room and opening your mouth to speak, but your jaw closes shut when you realize you're not alone with him.

he's sitting behind a desk overflowing with papers, cigar long forgotten on the ashtray, but your attention is diverted to the masked individual standing beside it, hazel eyes boring into your skull with an unerving stare. "hello, Ace."

his voice can't be described as tranquilizing, but the tone is a stark contrast from the glare. it's almost tender, alluring, and for a split second you forget what you were going to say. "uhm, Kyle said you wanted to see me?" your head turns back to John, offering him a timid smile.

"yes, that's correct." he leans back on the chair, rolling his tense shoulders and tilting his head in your direction, "Simon and i are working through some documents, you know, bookkeeping, management, the boring stuff behind the slot machines," you nod, attentively listening but not truly following, "and i'm needing some of your assistance."

"i'm sorry? assistance?" your brows knit together, confused by his words. he chuckles, index finger raised in the air motioning for you to come closer, and you swear you hear Simon snorting at the interaction.

you walk to the table and stand on his side, eyes darting between the pile of files and the malicious glint in his blue irises. his hand meets your waist and your sight drops from his face, down to his torso, down to his... bulge. "you see, Ace, you're always so good in helping me concentrate during the games, we might as well try something new, yeah?"

his fingers graze your hips, tracing down your sides and reaching behind your thighs, causing a shiver on your spine. "John, i–" a soft 'shh' comes out of his lips, and he starts unbuckling his belt, raising himself just enough so that his trousers can come to his knees.

heat spreads up your chest, neck, cheeks, and your vision swerves to the ceiling, mind racing with embarrassment and bewilderment. from the corner of your eye you peek into Simon's direction, and to your surprise, he's completely unfazed.

Price drags you closer, hiking up your shirt just enough to expose your belly, pressing long kisses on the flesh while his hands knead your ass. you shouldn’t give in so easy, you have a better judgement than that, but his touch is so enticing, soft, easily mistaken by loving, that you find it hard to define what's right and wrong – or to define if you really want this.

when he pops open the button of your pants, you know you're done for. even if your brain settled for a 'no', he wouldn't care, considering the amount of pre-cum leaking from his throbbing cock. the damp spot between your legs wouldn't care either.

he pulls your bottoms down slowly, trailing pecks from your navel to your mound. you're nervous, dangerously close to a cardiac arrest when he flips you around hastily, slap on your ass cheek making your body jolt forward.

a firm hand guide your hips to his crotch, while the other positions his cock on your entrance, teasingly stroking the folds to gather your slick. "deep breath for me." he's gentle, pressing kisses on your back while you sink into his length, the pain of the sudden stretch being easily overpowered by the wave of pleasure washing over you. "that's it, love." he groans, squeezing your waist when you finally hit the base, "now just sit pretty while i work, hm?"

you nod, pathetically so, biting your bottom lip to swallow back your moans. you imagined it would be big, and maybe you just needed to be prepared, but fuck, you were filled. John started ruffling through the papers again, meticulously skimming the words like his tip wasn't brushing your cervix whenever you dared to adjust yourself.

"you have to stop squirming, Ace."

your head snaps up to the side the sound came from, and you face Simon's piercing glare. he still holds one of the documents, but his focus is solely on you, an underlying desire hidden behind his gaze that makes your stomach flutter.

he chuckles, leaning in front of you, arms almost close enough to cage you over the table. "does it feel that good? having Price's cock stuffing your sweet cunt?" he patronizes, tapping your cheek to get your attention back on his eyes, "i bet it does."

if you had the energy, you'd curse him out, but you're lost in how good you're feeling, even with minimal friction. you look up to him, pitifully doe-eyed as a moan escapes your lips, "go on, pretty girl, feel it. it's pulsing, isn't it? each vein hitting the perfect spots." you grip the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white from the strength, desperately trying to ignore the smallest twitches of his shaft inside of you, "you want him to move, right?"

you hum, writhing on his lap to convince John into forgeting whatever business he has to do at the moment and just fuck you already. "you'll have to wait, Ace." you whine, looking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him. his gaze doesn't shift, but you note the slight blush creeping up his collar and you smirk, content that he seems to be suffering too, even if it's barely.

"if you're lucky, he might reward you later. throw all of that shite on the floor and bend you over the table." your walls immediately clench at the idea, coaxing a grunt out of Price. "and you are a lucky girl, aren't you?" a breathy 'yes' comes out of your mouth, and Simon's thumb brushes your lower lip, smearing the tiny drop of spit on the corner over your pout.

your thighs tremble, clit aching and begging for some stimuli, toes curling at the mere thought of being fully claimed by John. "be patient, okay?" he deigns, and you don't miss the smirk marking the black fabric of his covering. bastard. his hungry expression only makes you wetter, needier, disoriented by lust, and you absentmindedly nod, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves and wait. painfully wait.

but the action ultimately falters the second his low whisper reach your ears, striking you like electricity, "good girl."

ideas for this are always welcomed mwah

#captain john price #john price #price cod #john price x reader #john price x you #simon riley x you #price x reader #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #price x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #casino!141 #captain price smut #price smut #ghost cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #f!reader #fem!reader #casino au #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[teddiesworldd]

here are some wonderfully talented call of duty creators you should check out in my absence! i'll probably continually add to this list so feel free to keep checking for updates

˚✧. writers ˚✧.

@dante-mightdie, @simonzmama, @tacticalprincess, @lovelyghst, @cntloup, @bi-writes, @rowarn, @konigsblog, @stargirlrchive, @miserycanary, @shotmrmiller, @simonrillleyyysss, @ghouljams, @vanillaberrychills, @closets-closet, @thexsilentxwordsmith, @obsessedduh, @euno11a, @victoryverse, @kechiwrites, @callsign-datura, @mrsariariley, @circlebuttons, @qtboni, @violetsareblue24, @warenai, @jackactuallywrites, @merakidoll, @chocolate-pies, @hischokehold, @scribbledghost, @pearlofthesirens, @feralforfrank, @suguann, @notjoelmiller, @boowritess, @nova-amor, @gaysindistress, @deadbranch, @xoxunhinged, @whateveriwant, @lovifie, @mactavishsgfandwife, @writingsonsaturn, @sinkovia, @iliektehhaxs, @glossysoap, @carmischa, @crashtestbunny, @fivechapters, @ellaa-writes, @cordeliawhohung, @i-am-hungry-24-7, @eskeptical, @captainfern, @incorrectcodquotes, @sunsetsimon, @landojpg04, @numberonecodwomenfan, @dashofghost, @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries, @midnightarcheress, @ultravioletrayz, @suimon, @dammn-dean, @iite-cool, @simon-sehs, @indecisivekitty

˚✧. artists ˚✧.

@wombywoo, @ave661, @lettaniko, @elysianvrt, @spiltspit, @valiants, @yooo-lets-go, @bluegiragi, @mindie-arts, @ramvur, @antomatkoen, @cobaltbeam, @al4thea, @tobascoart, @milomossy, @rusticfurnace, @lolsivol, @shkretart, @orbuz228, @lights-on-the-ridge, @lyralein, @eldritchdilf, @eracrow, @tapemouth, @helcef, @gurlidk-slay1, @oceantornadoo, @temeyes, @nachtart, @fludderpy, @eyesofsix, @skvaderpie, @hopefulonion, @stinglesswasp, @mibgl, @gold0kapi, @lilacakey, @mewmosh, @mibgl, @g8se

#teddiesworldd #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #cod modern warfare

[midnightarcheress]

stress-relief

husband!Simon helping his wife!reader with her stress <3 cw: nsfw. mdni. fem reader, masturbation, squirting, a lil overstim.

you shuffle through the bag to find the keys to your home, only to drop it the minute you raise it to unlock the door. great. it’s one of those days where everything goes wrong, and you want nothing more than to shut out the world and curl up in bed, silently praying for the next one to be better. 

you pick up the keys from the doormat and swing open the door of your flat, hoping that the familiar scent flooding your lungs will help you ground yourself back to a more serene state. tossing your coat and bag aside, your gaze falls on the tall man quietly reading on the sofa, sweetly mouthing a “welcome back, love.” that you dismiss with a grunt, stomping your way to the bedroom.

‘uh-oh.’ Simon thinks, siren already buzzing and red light blinking in his brain, making him pull up to his feet at god-speed and quickly follow you to your shared room, being met with your clothes scattered around and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. he promptly puts away your discarded attire and sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for you.

you stay in the shower for some good thirty minutes, allowing the water to wash away your stress as you massage your scalp. the weight finally falls from your shoulders and flows down the drain, leaving you alone with the tiredness that’s been brewing in your tense muscles since you stepped out of the house. with a long, weary sigh, you drape the towel around your body and walk out the bathroom, tiny droplets cascading from your hair to your chest, descending on the swell of your breasts and stirring your husband’s cock in his pants.

“gonna tell me wha’ got you so cranky, dove?” he asks with the slightest of teasing, knowing he’s staggering on the thin line of your temper.

“‘m sorry, jus’ a hard day.” you mutter sheepishly, turning to get some well-deserving comfy clothes on the dresser

“c’mere,” you barely have time to react before Simon pulls you by the wrist onto the bed, positioning your body between his legs as he rests on the headboard, “talk to me, lovie.”

his hands brush your arms delicately, fingers running up and down your skin as you start addressing the misfortunes of your day. how a jerk cut you off in traffic, how a client screamed at you on the phone after you explained it wasn’t possible to fulfill his request, how your long awaited sweet treat after lunch fell straight to the floor, how your mother called just to raise hell at you for not visiting enough, how your boss scolded you for a mistake that wasn’t even your fault.

“hm, she said tha’?” he murmurs, massaging the knots on your shoulders and slowly drifting his hands downwards, opening up the lightly damp towel that’s clinging to your frame as you ramble. his rough, calloused skin finds its way to your soft tits, gently kneading the fat while his lips plant small kisses all over your neck.

“i swear that woman’s out to get me, don't know how i haven’t been fired yet.”

“she knows tha’ place would fall apart without ya, doll. you’re the only one with a brain there,” he coos sweetly in your ear, fingers traveling down your stomach and reaching your mound, making your breath hitch in your throat. Simon smirks at your reaction, feeling your head tipping back to rest on his shoulder and your still wet hair soaking his shirt, “let me help you decompress, eh?”

you, too tired to resist the offer, let him spread your legs with ease, compliant to the touch of your loving husband. his middle finger smears the hasty arousal leaking from your cunt through your slit, softly caressing your folds as you melt into his arms. “so wet f’me, love.” he chuckles, slightly rubbing your clit as you hum.

his moves are tame, gradually pooling the warmth in your belly, taking his time to shape your tension until it’s the right moment to set you free. his finger toys with your entrance before sliding in, feeling the familiar walls of your cunt clenching around it, causing you to breathe heavily at just the beginning.

“you like tha’?” he whispers, introducing another finger on your tight hole as you turn to bury your face on his neck, mewling with pleasure and pain while he stretches you, digits hitting all the right spots. by the time he speeds up the thrusting, your moans are erratic, gasped, barely leaving your throat as you grasp his forearm in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, even with your brain reaching the fucked-out point by a simple touch.

his thumb lazily strokes your swollen nub as he continues to be knuckles-deep inside of your velvety walls, curling his fingers just enough to earn a squeal out of you. the coil on your lower stomach tightens, fibers threatening to snap at any second as Simon murmurs sugary praises in your ears whilst nipping the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, the love bite’s stings only intensifying the pleasure coursing through your bloodstream.

“Simon, ’m gonna-” you don’t even have the energy to complete your sentence before your juices flood on his hand, the god’s nectar gushing from your pussy and dripping from his wrist onto the long forgotten towel, as he bullies your clit to overstimulation. you cry out his name like a prayer, begging whatever higher power out in the universe to let you keep that sensation forever.

��looks like someone really needed tha’,” he laughs and you feel the deep rumbling from his chest on your naked back, only driving you closer to the edge as your legs convulse at the overwhelming thrill of your nervous system. your frantic moans echo in the room when Simon raises his free hand to your nipple, rolling the hardened tip between his thumb and index, painting twinkling stars in the ceiling, the scintillation being too much to keep your vision clear. “think ya got another one f’me, princess?” 

he doesn’t wait for your answer; he knows how to treat his precious wife and can cite by heart the prescription to get you to sleep better than any pill would. tears prickle in the corner of your eyes when he starts again, just barely giving you time to recover from the near out-of-body experience. 

his new rhythm is harsh, pulling your thighs - fully covered in slick and arousal - over his to keep you spread open, and fiercely pounding two digits inside you. you squirm and press yourself harder against his broad chest, babbling incoherently as he pumps his thick and scarred fingers somehow even deeper than before. 

“Si, ‘s too much, i can’t-” you choke out, streams rolling down your cheeks as he builds another orgasm out of you. half-lidded eyes meet his hazel irises in a lustful gaze, pleading in agony for another release before your body gives out.

it doesn’t take much before a jolt of electricity tingle beneath your skin and makes you cum, getting you blissfully drunk by finger-fucking only while your peak ripple through your core. your hands sternly grip on the sheets under your limp body, the frenzy running its way through every corner of your being, clouding your vision and leaving you in a divine peaceful haze.

your limbs twitch slightly as you come down from your high, Simon holding you tight in his burly arms and pressing kisses on your pretty face. “you did so good, lovie,” he praises, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your belly, “could’ve given ya s’much more but your eyes are so droopy already,” his quiet laugh almost lull you to sleep right there and then, “feeling better?”

you nod, eyes tempting to close as the fatigue washes over you, weariness creeping up your mind after a hell of a day and a celestial end to it. “thank you, Si.” you mumble with nothing but affection in your voice, utterly elated by the sight of your devoted husband cradling you. 

“anything for ya, my wife.”

just a little something i thought of while procrastinating my other works lol

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost imagine #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod smut #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

cowgirl

a little bar challenge characters: simon 'ghost' riley, john 'soap' mactavish, kyle 'gaz' garrick, john price cw: nsfw, fem!reader, tf141 lusting for their teammate, idk there's nothing much

"i'm not going on that!" you exclaimed, crossing your arms at the man in front of you.

the buzzing of a bar after a successful mission was a familiar sound for the task force. the glasses clinking, the chatter of old and new friends, the horrible background music, and the abhorrent pick-up lines would, weirdly enough, calm your nerves after days covered in heavy gear and harboring pent-up stress. or maybe the source of your mind's serenity was just the alcohol already flowing on your bloodstream, courtesy of the three tequila shots you were - willingly - forced into drinking.

"come on, bonnie, it will be fun!" Soap said, pointing at the sign propped above the mechanical bull, "besides, ye can win the hat for us."

you scoffed, glancing at the direction the scot referred, right after seeing another contender fall to the bouncy mat under the bull, followed by a string of boo's from the watchful horde. bold red lettering stated 'break the bar's record and win a cowboy hat!', tempting drunk custumers into fooling themselves for a measly prize.

"i bet she's scared," Gaz prompted, adding fuel to Johnny's pleas, "don't wanna be mocked by the crowd."

you rolled your eyes in response, "i'm not scared, Gaz, i just don't see what all the fuss is about. why don't you do it?"

"nuh-uh, don't turn this on me, missy. you're the one being challenged here," he retorted, earning a soundful hum from Soap, "tell you this, if you manage to stay there for a full minute, i'll pay you a twenty. don't even have to stand the whole three minutes of the record."

Ghost and Price stayed quiet during the whole exchange, unimpressed by the trio's shenanigans. they had endured too many drinking competitions, bets, dares, arguments and blatantly stupid ideas coming from the youngsters of the squad over the years, so nothing fazed the two superiors. underneath their apathy, however, lied a real sense of entertainment, illustrated by discreet smirks after particularly dumb comments - usually dropped by Soap's mouth.

"make it a fifty and we have a deal." you smirked, sipping from your beer pint. if you were gonna humiliate yourself in public, it better be for real cash.

"fifty if you break the record, how does that sound?"

after a second of pondering and a few too many glances at the machine's movements, studying it meticulously to engrave how to properly react when the controller jolts the apparatus from side to side, you uttered a hesitant yes, winning a cheerful chant from your friends and some whistles from the audience. 

you stepped on the mat and quickly hopped on the mechanical bull, adjusting your legs around the fake saddle. it shouldn't be that hard, right? the initial movements were easy - just holding on the chord and letting the laws of motion do the work. you didn't want to admit, but it was actually pretty fun.

eventually, the controller decided he was being too gentle and started picking up the pace, making your body rock back and forth on bull, decision that knocked the air out of your lungs for a split second, before you composed yourself and tightened your grip on the handles like your life depended on it. the crowd shouted gleefully, encouraging you to push through, despite a few snarky comments preying on your fall, just the expected.

what you didn't expect - and neither realized - was the way your teammates were reacting.

Gaz stood there with his jaw almost reaching the floor, being impressed not only by your sturdy grip, but mostly by the way your back arched when the machine tilted forward, defining your muscles through the skin-tight fabric of your shirt. even if you didn't endure the whole minute from the initial bet, he was willing to give you his entire wallet, just to watch you ride it again, and definitely not to imagine you bouncing on his lap for a little longer.

Soap, who has always been aware of your beauty, suddenly had to sit down after feeling his pants tighten at the sight of your plump ass jiggling due the repeated impacts on the bull's back, in desperate attempts to grind yourself. in addition, the tiniest bit of your lacy underwear peeking out of the dark jeans that hugged your hips flawlessly wasn't helping with his situation.

the daring smile that painted your lips, juxtaposing the concentrated frown of your eyes as you tried your best to not fall during an exceptionally wild movement, only supplied Ghost's cock with an overflow of blood, twitching at the view of your plush thighs clenching around the bucking machine whenever it defied your determination by leaning too much on the sides, shaking to make you collapse on the mat.

Price, however, acted as gentleman the whole time, just admiring your ability and strength to stay clutched to the unpredictable machinery. that, of course, was only until he got a view of your perfectly round tits, taunting the edges of your low-cut top and threatening to spill out at any given minute, ready to give him a real show. the adrenaline-filled flush that gave your cheeks an innocent pink hue, felt very similar to the sudden rush on his shaft that made your captain almost choke on his scotch.

three minutes and forty-seven seconds.

"that was so much fun!" your giggly shout and stumbling figure getting closer to the group was enough to snap the men out of their trance. they quickly took notice of your wide grin and the brown cowboy hat placed on your head, followed by the loud screaming of the public that just witnessed the bar's record being broken. 

"come on, pay up, Gaz." you said, sticking your palm to receive your well deserved money in a contained victory dance.

the four men glanced at each other, gathering the courage to speak up after your little performance that had them weak on the knees for a colleague. 

"didn't think you had it in ye, bonnie." Soap stated as Gaz reached for the wallet in his back pocket, almost considering giving you a fat tip for the spectacle. the sergeants were certainly doing a poor job in hiding the blush on their cheeks and small beads of sweat on their foreheads, consequence of trying to ignore the tent formed on their trousers.

your superiors, on the contrary, remained quiet and seemingly undisturbed by the previous scene, silently sipping from their glasses but still watching the chatting trio. only now, they wouldn't dare to get up and risk the others - specifically you - noticing their throbbing cocks marking their pants, yearning for the touch of your silky flesh.

after collecting your gains, you rapidly swayed to the bar counter, ordering a new drink with your sweet, sweet money, while the task force members ultimately etched the sight of you riding the mechanical bull in the deepest corner of their brains - saving the images for the great release when you all get back to base.

okay this is my first official thingy i feel so silly. also english is not my first language so...

#cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #tf141 #tf141 x reader #ghost cod #soap cod #gaz cod #fem!reader #cod mw #cod mw2 #oneshot #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

there's a lot of debate about being team civilian x team soldier for ghost's partner but honestly i love both ideas so much. just think of

simon riley with a civilian partner,

who pushed you away in the beginning because you were 'too pure' to be near a hell-sent monster like him.

who got himself lost in your sweet attempts to slip into the cracks of his heart and eventually surrendered on the battle against his own will.

who keeps a picture of your pretty face well hidden in his tac vest, as a reminder of the new purpose of his military service.

who tries to text you at least once a day when he's away, just to assure you about his well-being and to let you know how much he misses you.

who worries too much about your safety whenever he's deployed, so takes his time to teach you everything about self-defense techniques, ways to handle a knife, and how to properly shoot, as much as he hates the thought of you being even near a gun.

who's so scared of you getting hurt and nearly had a heart attack when he saw blood coming out of your finger after a small distraction whilst cutting the veggies for dinner.

who loves the way you view him as a hero, despite knowing how much of a cold-blooded killer he can be - he never told you anything about his missions, but he never needed to, you know.

who never allow you to see him wearing the mask or the balaclava because ghost is for battlefield, in your house he's purely simon.

and

simon riley with a soldier partner,

who was intrigued about your lack of fear when you first met, because everyone else seemed to shit their pants after a simple glare.

who forbid himself of getting close because the military is about following orders and getting the job done, not fraternization.

who nearly passed out after an instant drop in his blood pressure due to a pouring bullet wound - not because your surprisingly soft hands touched his arm.

who thinks you look the prettiest when you're in the field - sweating, panting, grimy with dirt and blood, barking in his comms to get to safety.

who's terrified of losing you during missions but is also completely mesmerized by your dexterity as you stab the throat of the soldier that seconds before had you pinned to the ground.

who communicates with you using his eyes at all times, since you can't see his expressions under the mask, creating a secret language you're the only one fluent in.

who hesitated on showing you his face at first because underneath it all, simon is a soft man, entirely different of the ghost persona you see during work hours.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #simon riley headcanons #ghost headcanons #civilian!reader #soldier!reader #ghost cod #simon riley cod #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

drabble // beach day with the one and only soap mactavish.

"johnny, can't you be quiet for a moment?" you ask, putting dots of sunscreen on your boyfriend's back. you've tried to reason with him multiple times about the importance of being protected against solar radiation, but does he care? not in the slightest.

"cannae do it quicker?" he retorts, feet anxiously tapping the sand as you lather the cream on his shoulders.

you roll your eyes, finishing distributing the remaining white spots of the product and moving to his front. "look up for me," your index tilts his chin upwards, narrowed eyes meeting his eager blue ones, "just a second, love," you say, fingers gently spreading the sunblock on his forehead, nose, cheeks and neck.

he squeezes your waist repeatedly, a childish attempt to urge you to end his torture. with a peck on his lips, you put him out of his misery, "all done," and the man leaps out of his seat, wasting no time to dig in the sand.

"gonnae build a castle for mah princess."

this appeared to me in a tiktok dream

#john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod m3 #soap drabble #soap headcanons #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

woke up wanting to write something with my pretty boy kyle and this was born.

cw: nsfw. f!reader. gaz obsessing over the pretty college girl by his side. implied future stalking ig? unedited. part one | part two

someone catches Kyle’s attention on the plane.

his legs are on the verge of cramping and his breath is ragged, running to board his connection flight at the last call. after falling off a helicopter twice in the last operations, he developed an uneasiness of flying, no matter the aircraft, preferring taking the train over being miles up in the air, even if it triples the travel. but this time, he just wanted to get home the fastest way possible for a much-needed night of sleep in his own bed, instead of the barely cushioned military-issued mattress.

he hopped on the plane and made his way through the corridor, gaze fixed on the numbers under the luggage rack, attentively looking for his spot. he stopped by row thirteen, eyes darting between the number and the woman on the window seat. i could’ve sworn i marked that one when i booked? Kyle checks the boarding ticket again – row 13, seat A. it’s the right seat, why is there someone on it? 

an annoyed sigh escapes his lips, gathering the energy to speak up and reclaim his rightfully bought seat. the problem is, he gets ultimately struck when the seat-thief notices him standing and turns to face him. wide eyes meet his brown ones, immediately softening at the sight of your tempting glossy lips and delicate fingers pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. pretty little thing.

“i’m sorry, is this your seat? it was empty on the first flight,” you say, an apologetic tone in your voice as you frantically close the book on your lap and shove it in a bag, “i’ll move back for you–”

“it’s alright, keep it.” he interrupts, throwing his carry-on in the rack and taking the empty middle spot beside you. he smirks at your appreciative nod and watches you settling again on the backrest, buckling the seatbelt at the shining signal hovering your heads and paying extra attention to the flight attendant announcements, even when no one around seems to care. sweet girl, so considerate to everyone.

the plane starts speeding on the runway, and from his peripheral he views your squeezed eyes and nearly white fingers gripping the armrest, breathing quickening during the gravity push of the take off. it takes a moment for you to release your tight grasp and exhale, making his hand twitch with an urge to soothe you, tell you that you’re safe.

he shakes the sensation and leans his head back, focusing on the one thing he can do to pass the time – sleep. but he can’t keep his gaze out of you, glancing to his left whenever you make a movement, no matter how small. the rapid keyboard tapping guides his irises to your laptop screen, catching a few words in a sea of what for him sounds like an alien language. DNA strand? allele? locus mutation?

he sneaks a look through your figure and his eyes land on the familiar blue logo on your hoodie, the same one he always sees on the walk from the market to his flat. uni a couple blocks from me. do you live on campus? or nearby? that neighborhood is awful at night, full of old blokes searching the pubs for a quick fuck with a naive college girl. but you seem smart, not the type to fall for their tricks, right?

the harder he tries to avoid your presence, the more you make yourself known, almost making him feel like it’s on purpose. the way your plump lips wrap on the water bottle, slight drop scaping on the corner and trailing down your neck, your flowery perfume filling his nostrils when you shift on your seat to remove the top layer of your clothing, exposing the low-cut blouse underneath and the soft roundness of your tits. is that for me, sweet girl? need a break from studying so hard? the sudden tightness of his trousers brings him back to his senses, stirring the thought out of his brain. 

keep it cool, Garrick, he repeats over and over in his mind, ignoring the tent forming on his lap and praying to whatever god is out there that you won’t see it, even while standing up and brushing your legs on his knees to get to the corridor due the cramped space. however, he doesn’t miss how the guy by his side shamelessly ogles your cleavage when you step past him, making his blood boil and his fists clench – like he wasn’t doing the same exact thing minutes before.

while you're away, he glances at your screen again, noticing the constant message notifications from the contact ‘Marcus - DO NOT ANSWER’. already looking bad for you, mate. curiosity takes hold of him and he starts reading the texts, silently chuckling at the guy’s pathetic attempts to get your attention. what did he do to earn a cold shoulder, sweetheart? did he hurt you? didn’t he pay enough attention to you? i bet he couldn’t even fuck you the way you deserve. 

he keeps skimming the messages until the grin tugging on the corners of his mouth fades into a frown when he reads ‘you’re gonna regret leaving me’. now, who’s this prick? think you’ll get away with threatening my girl?

his body stiffens when you come back, eyes darting back to the small telly in front of him when your hand brushes on his thigh while sitting once again. he hears your irritated huff when you skim through the messages, shutting the laptop with near violence. i can take care of him for you, love. you won’t have to deal with that by yourself anymore. 

the pilot’s muffled voice coming through the speakers and announcing the landing shortens his daydreams about getting rid of Marcus. it would be a great way to keep himself busy while on leave, making sure to do it fast and secretly, of course, just to protect his sweet little thing. poor guy wouldn’t even know what hit him.

the pressure change on his ear is the telltale sign of the aircraft lowering its altitude, landing gear out to hit the lane and brake the machine. he turns to the side, watching again your knitted eyebrows and how your nails dig into the seat. this time he doesn’t contain himself and his hand gently lingers over yours, the softness of it sending lightning strikes over his body and almost making him cum instantly. 

your glinting eyes find his face with a grateful gaze, lips mouthing a sugary thank you when the plane finally stops. he helps you take your handbag out of the rack with ease, using the situation to flaunt his muscles. i can even pick you up, darling. would love to feel your pretty thighs around my waist. you wouldn’t have to walk a day in your life. 

his eyes follow the sway of your hips through the airport, heart almost bursting when you wave goodbye and flash him a timid smile. you think that’s the last time you’ll see him, he thinks this is just the beginning. a name and university? he’s used to finding people with even less information. see you soon, sweet girl.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x reader #stalker!gaz #gaz x you #gaz smut #kyle garrick smut #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod x reader #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

thinking of you becoming price's personal lucky charm :)

cw: f!reader. slightly nsfw. very rushed/unedited. idk shit about casinos or card games lol. 1 | more casino!141

when your friend begged you to dress up fancy and go out with them, a casino was not what you had in mind. especially not an underground one, entrance hardly visible in the dimly lit street, where you even needed a password to get in.

despite being far from your definition of a night out, you decide to give one of the games a chance. the roulette seemed the easiest, with seemingly less rules to learn, and to your surprise, you're crushing it. starting with safe outside bets, you make your way to straight bets and stay winning every single one of them. 

at your winning streak, you sense two sets of eyes on you, almost burning your flesh with the heat that crawls to your cheeks. you peek over your shoulder and meet two burly men, one with an icy stare and half-covered face, the other with an adorable boyish smirk and a mohawk. still, both glare at you with an intense puzzled gaze, laced with curiosity and an underlying hunger that makes you shiver. 

suddenly, you feel a rough hand settling on your lower back, nearly making you jump on your seat, “what does the pretty lady think about heading to the vip section?” the man says, pearly smile doing a perfectly good job in luring you in, “all that luck needs to be put to good use.”

you ponder for a second, fearing that once you’re in, all your fortune will slip out your fingers and the beginner’s luck will be gone forever. but his sweet brown eyes are too convincing, and you nod, taking his hand and walking through a mysterious door.

“i– i don’t know how to play poker,” you stutter, brows knitted together at the sight of a round table with piles of chips in the center.

"don't worry, love, you're not here to play," a bearded man says, gruff voice followed by a puff of his cigar. he seems a bit older than the one who brought you inside or the two observers, ocean-blue eyes looking at you tenderly, but the sly smirk on his face doesn't go unnoticed.

he pats his thigh, gesturing for you to sit, "my men say you've been quite lucky out there," a smoke cloud forms in front of him, mingling with the strong scent of his cologne, "let's check."

hesitantly, you comply, plush thighs meeting his firm one. he chuckles at your shyness and pulls you closer to his torso by your waist, positioning your ass right above his growing bulge and you bite back a squeal, "name's John."

the game restarts and you watch the dealer distributing the cards. you glance at his hand and he holds five cards, all hearts, which must be a good sign, given the way he squeezed your hip, certainly hard enough to leave a bruise. not that you minded, considering the damp spot forming between your legs.

"would you look at that, straight flush," he flashes you a grin, cigar dangling from his lips as his laugh echoes amongst the annoyed huffs of other players.

his fingers trace your spine, teasingly edging the waistband of your skirt as you try your best not to squirm, "mighty luck you have, love," he whispers in your ear, beard gently grazing your neck.

he hands you one of his golden chips, "for you, as a thank you," your eyes widen at the number 1000 etched in the back, promptly pushing back the gift. he shakes his head, palm sneaking its way to your inner thigh, "there's way more where that came from."

it's safe to say you might become an avid gambler after tonight.

#captain john price #john price #price cod #john price x reader #john price x you #price smut #casino!141 #ghost cod #gaz cod #soap cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #fem!reader #price x reader #price x you #casino au #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

another casino thingy with john price, bc why not?

cw: nsfw. masturbation, fingering, implicit exhibitionist price?, f!reader. idk shit about poker. 2 | more casino!141

you go to the casino again. not to gamble though.

at first, you were reluctant on showing up. it was nice of John to give you money for your services that night, and you couldn't deny the instant attraction lingering on your brain, but you didn't want to feel like a token, a four-leaved clover he picked out of the grass. also, you were convinced that your luck was a one-time thing, so why bother trying again? he surely found another charm to put in his pocket by now. 

however, those thoughts vanished from your mind when you heard a sharp knock on your door. 

you look through the peephole and immediately recognize the person standing in your hallway – mohawk guy. how did he...? your first instinct is to ignore him, but curiosity wins the fight against logic and you open the door.

"hello, bonnie." he smiles, "Price's waiting for ye," he blurts out before you can even ask anything. he's waiting?

for a minute, you don't think. your body moves on auto-pilot, scouring your closet for a decent outfit and smoothing down your hair to look at least presentable, as a stranger – Johnny, you learned – paces in your living room. 

the next thing you know, you're in the passenger seat of his car, one hand resting on your leg and thumb edging the hem of your skirt, driving downtown. you couldn't help but shudder at the tingling sensation of his fingers on your skin, and he just snorts at your reaction, amused. are they all this touchy?

thankfully for you, Johnny is a talker, so you don't have to do much work to pass the time. he tells you that John is actually the owner of the casino and that every friday night he hosts a poker game with some of his friends. that he and the boys – Simon and Kyle – help Price with the management and with making sure no one creates trouble, and that John hasn't stopped talking about you.

your eyes widen after his last words, earning a chuckle out of the scot and nearly making you forget the question that first popped into your head when you saw him at your door – how in the hell did he know where i live? but at this point, you're not sure you care. 

the light squeeze on your thigh alerts you that you've arrived, hopping out of the car and walking inside. the place is as packed as ever, but he leads you directly to the back, the same door as before. 

"there she is." John grins, already tapping his lap for you to sit, "now we can start." this time, you don't hesitate, happily obliging to his request even when a part of you cringes at your eagerness. you accept the glass of bourbon, neat, that Kyle hands you, and despite being too strong for your liking, you don't bother. probably tastes like John.

the first few rounds were tame, with low bets, but soon enough you see the flying 5000 chips landing on the table and hear the laughs getting louder, as he traces circles on your hip. you don't know if it's the alcohol coursing in your veins, the softness of his touch, or his hot breath on your ear, but warmth starts pooling in your stomach and your legs clump together to ease the tension.

John notices your squirms and devilishly smirks, enjoying your desperate attempts to forgo the desire building in you. "here, kiss it for good luck, Ace." Ace? his left-hand holds a chip up, as the right one sneaks between your thighs and pry them apart again, making you gasp. 

you timidly lean forward to press a quick kiss on the chip and instantly feel the heat creeping up your cheeks when his hand reaches your underwear. "you're so wet, Ace," he whispers, pulling your damp pants to the side. god, what is he... oh.

you try your best to be calm, not let the sensation of his fingers grazing your folds cloud your mind, but it's too much. your head tips back onto his shoulder, and any word that threatens to come out of your mouth and stop him gets caught in your throat. there's people around. everyone can see how much of a mess you are. and they... don't care?

his thumb gently rubs your clit as his middle finger toy with your entrance in an agonizingly slow manner, soft sighs escaping your mouth and eyes embarrassingly glossy focusing on the table. the game is still going, there's at least eight other men in this room, counting the players and the boys, fuck i'm– you bite back moans, gripping his forearm to keep him in place and to stop yourself from writhing in his lap. 

"easy, love," he murmurs, finally pumping his digit inside you, "such a greedy cunt." his tone is low, syrupy, dripping like honey over you and nearly making you cum at the sound of his voice. you nuzzle your face on his neck, muffling your whimpers and drowning in the scent of his cologne. "what's keepin' me from throwin' you on top of this table and takin' you right now, hm?"

"John–" you breathe out, coil on your belly tightening when he inserts another finger, hitting the spongy spot you were never quite able to reach, making you mewl with pleasure. his beard brushes on your neck and his warm lips trace your jaw, leaving an underlying burning on your skin that drops straight to your core. 

through half-lidded eyes you see the dealer finishing distributing the cards and the subtle twitch in John's mouth when he glances at his hand. your mind is too far gone by the point when they place the bets, too lost in the feeling of his frantic thrusts, velvety walls instinctively clenching around him to enhance the bliss.

the knot inside of you snaps and you cry out, limbs trembling in his hold and pure electricity travelling under your surface; it's intense, ripples through your core, heavenly overstimulating every corner of your body and sending your mind to outer space. 

you float back to earth and taste the metallic flavor in your mouth, bottom lip sore from biting too hard to prevent your screams. John nudges you back to reality with a kiss on your temple, "such a good girl, love." he flaunts his cards in front of your eyes, and after a few attempts to refocus your vision, he gloats, wide smile and lustful eyes directed only at you, "just won me thirty grand, Ace."

i'd love to write more of this casino universe but i'm very much lacking in the ideas department lol

#captain john price #john price #price cod #john price x reader #john price x you #casino!141 #captain price smut #price smut #ghost cod #gaz cod #soap cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #fem!reader #price x reader #price x you #casino au #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

Simon has a new assignment.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader 1 | gold rush masterlist.

after years exhausting his body in the military and too many losses to count, Simon decided to retire. goodbye extensive deployments, food and sleep deprivation, constant adrenaline pump in his veins, hours spent washing the blood off of his fingernails. except he didn’t truly retire. life as a civilian again was too strange, too boring. he thrives in following orders and being the best at it. he missed having a purpose, even if it’s far from saving the world.

so, because of that, he agreed on joining a private military company as a contractor. never takes the dirty, mercenary-like jobs though – despite being rusted, his moral compass is still there, so he usually sticks with the security, training, bodyguarding type of work. easy enough to not take a toll on his body, and to not strain his conscience with the worry of ending innocent lives to cover up some bastard’s filth, but demanding enough to keep his mind out of his own life for a while.

the guy on the other side of the line doesn’t tell him much about the new task. bodyguard for an actress, indefinite time, details via e-mail. a few minutes later, the computer screen lights up with the case information and his eyes skim through the text; famous actress, has been receiving threatening letters and who ultimately has a stalker. a seemingly uncapturable one, as the police have not been able to trace them for months. incompetent wankers. in his prime he would locate terrorists with ease; nothing he couldn’t do right now, but his contract was strict – keep her safe and keep to yourself.

he doesn’t recognize the name, but the small picture attached to the message is slightly familiar, maybe from one of the times he spent hours flicking through the channels on the telly while battling a crippling insomnia. his brows knit together when he peers at the set of rules that accompanies the e-mail. no talking, no touching unless extremely necessary, must keep distance at all times.

in the months he’s been working in the company, he never had a job with an actual celebrity – mostly politicians and businesspeople, extremely straightforward and simple to execute, usually for a short period of time. he’s convinced that it will be the longest mission of his life, probably dealing with an entitled rich woman who’s used to having everybody begging at her feet.

dread fills his mind as he watches the trees quickly passing by his window on the car. the drive to the meeting is short enough to contain the rate of the antipathy brewing on his chest, but long enough to make him question accepting the assignment.

he pulls up on the driveway and walks towards a tall, modern building, filled with frantic people walking from side to side. glancing at his phone, he re-reads the details of the reunion; second door on the 23th floor, her manager will be expecting you. his fingers tap on the side of his thigh as the lift raises to the office level, eyes glaring at the mirror in the back of the platform. the image on the glass differs from the one on his past – military buzzcut and skull-printed balaclava replaced by messy blond locks and a neck gaiter, still covering a bit of his face even after all this time. old habits die hard.

the doors pry open right after the number appears on the screen and he walks down the hallway to the office, stopping on his tracks as he notices a feminine voice coming from inside the room. “i’m scared just as much as you, but is this really necessary?” she’s in there too? wasn’t the meeting only with the guy?

“yes, princess, it is necessary. do you want to make the front-page news as a corpse?” another voice can be heard responding, this time, male. must be the manager.  “in case you've forgotten, i’m also your friend, and i’m merely concerned about your safety. we cannot let that stunt from last week happen again.” stunt. he recalls part of the information on the file, depicting how she was almost assaulted by a weirdo that followed her on the street; however, the creepy prick was cleared from being the stalker and left the station on bail. great justice system. 

“we’ve already increased the security on your house, he was just hired to keep you safe on the outside.” he decides to stop eavesdropping and knocks sharply on the door. “must be him.” the man says, and he listens as footsteps approach the entryway.

“well, hello there. please, come in,” he steps aside, allowing Simon to enter the room. the office is fairly average, leather couch on one corner, portraits on the wall of what he assumes are the man’s clients, but all of the attention goes to the large windows showing a perfect view of the city. “so, i’m Daniel, the great manager as you may know," he smugly speaks, "and of course you already know her.” he gestures to the woman on the armchair.

the woman from the picture. the woman from the late night movie he was absentmindedly watching on a late night. you. you look the same as he'd seen before, but somehow entirely different. the warm sunlight coming through the glass shines on your skin when you stand on your feet, golden flecks twinkling in your irises as you offer him your name and extend a hand to greet him, sweetly mouthing “and you are?”

he shakes your hand with a firm grasp, stirring away the sudden void in his brain and swallowing the lump on his throat that hindered his words. “Ghost.” easy detachment. his gruff voice reverberates in the space as he repeats the orders in his head, the sense of doubt starting to cloud his judgement. keep to yourself. maybe the job won’t be as bad as he thought.

been a bit obsessed with this idea so i decided to write it and see how it goes.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #f!reader #fem!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost imagine #ghost fanfiction #bodyguard!ghost #bodyguard!simon #actress!reader #bodyguard au #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #bodyguard!ghost ☾ #gold rush #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

Simon thinks he could live like this.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: nothing he's just down bad 7 | gold rush masterlist.

“are you insane?!” Daniel shouts, slamming the door behind him and stomping his feet towards Simon with a menacing look, “you think you can just move her around like this?”

“she wasn’t safe in that house, this is for her protection,” he answers promptly, crossing his arms and taking a step in front of you, covering your frame from the irate man. if he could, he’d land a punch on his face in no time, not caring that technically he’s his boss.

“yeah? and you simply have to be here with her, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. you watch the scene unfold from behind Simon, brows knitted together and bottom lip nearly bleeding from biting too much. he’d managed to momentarily tranquillize you, bring you back to earth after the terrifying panic state, but the anxiety kept simmering underneath your skin, just waiting for another chance to take over your body.

“the shitty security system you put in her house wasn’t enough to prevent the bastard from intrudin’, the bloody alarm didn’t even go off,” he retorts, eyes shooting daggers straight ahead, “so yeah, i’m gonna stay with her for as long as it’s necessary. contract says to protect her, doesn’t it?” 

the two of them stay quiet, a silent staring competition on Daniel’s side, a mere warning on Simon’s side. he won’t budge, won’t allow you to go back to that house, hand you on a silver platter to the grim reaper hiding behind letters and eerie messages. 

Dan leans on his side to look at you, ignoring the mass of a man in front of him. “are you sure about this?” his tone is strangely soft, like a switch flipped in his mind, all anger vanishing. you nod, offering him a small smile that does a poor job of concealing how nervous you are about the situation. he purses his lips, taking one last glance at Simon’s unwavering posture before sighing in defeat.

it’s been two weeks since the mirror message that led Simon into comforting you, and two weeks since he had to control his own panic, trying his best not to spiral. it had been a while since he shared a living space, so staying with you feels like a dream that he’s constantly afraid of turning into a nightmare by saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, or even thinking about what’s happening. 

the safe house Price arranged is far from the size you’re used to, being at least three times smaller than your own house. but to his surprise, again, your reaction to it contradicts his expectations. it could just be you being a phenomenal actress, covering your resentment behind a beaming smile, but you seemed to have grown accustomed to his presence easily, didn’t protest once, never lamented the loss of luxury and privacy.

he wanted to deny the feeling, shove it deep down in his brain and lock the safe, but it was nice, the domesticity of it all. it was nice learning little details about your routine; how you only get out of bed the second time your alarm rings; how you’re definitely not a morning person, judging by the gruff good morning you mumble when you slide to the counter stool; how you love trying new recipes and quietly dance in the kitchen, freezing when you notice him watching you; or how you’re always carrying something to read, it being a book or a script.

it was nice making you coffee in the morning and seeing you rub your sleepy eyes, nice hearing you humming a song in the shower, nice catching a glimpse of you in lingerie when you forget to lock your bedroom door, nearly making him choke in his own spit by the sight of the small tattoo on your hip. is it a star? a flower?

he felt like he was playing house with you. a game where you’re his loving wife and he’s a devoted husband, where he could feed his delusions, live everything he was convinced he’d never have in this lifetime. inside those walls, he could do it all, except the one thing he longed the most – touch you. kiss the top of your head when you’re baking in the kitchen, run his fingers through your hair when you’re curled up on the couch, feel your soft skin under his fingertips when you lay in bed, bend you over the table when you pass by him in skimpy pyjama shorts.

“do you... wanna watch a movie?” you ask, remote in hand and head leaned back on the sofa, chewing the inside of your cheek and attentively glaring at the television. he tilts to the side, stirring his thoughts away and taking in the view of your features illuminated by the bright lights coming from the screen. it was easy to get lost in how beautiful you were, a magical creature brought to earth to bewitch him. 

your head suddenly shifts to where he’s sitting, and it hits him that you’re still expecting an answer. fuck. “uh, yeah, sure.” he mumbles, snapping back to the telly, swallowing the desires his throat dared to spill.

later that day, Simon steps onto the front porch for a much-needed nicotine fix, dark blues painting the sky as the last rays of sunlight vanish from the horizon. he hates the burning sensation of the smoke in his lungs, but always craves the lightheadedness and dopamine flush in his veins, no matter how many years it takes from his life. 

“god!” you jump, looking behind you and putting a hand over your chest to steady your rapid heartbeat, “you really are a ghost, aren’t you?” a chuckle falls from your lips after the startle, travelling the air like a lullaby, and he ignores the flutter in his chest that happens whenever you laugh.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” you shrug and turn back to your initial position, sitting on the steps and watching the crunchy tree leaves dancing in the breeze. he follows your gaze to the front lawn, bringing a cigarette from the pack to his lips, debating if he should truly smoke with you in there. you never complained, but he’s caught you frowning at the thin cardboard a few times around the house, so he decides not to light it.

“can i ask you something?” you blurt out, lifting your chin to face him, eyes searching for his, and his head dips, irises focusing on yours. one brow raises at your sudden curiosity and he nods, back propped against the column, waiting, “why Ghost?”

his jaw tenses, gaze shifting from you to the carton in his hands. the ever-dreaded question. “dunno. just a nickname.” lie. he couldn’t tell you how everything was taken from him and he faked his death years ago; how he truly became the ghost of man. you don’t deserve to be burdened with that knowledge, so it is just a nickname. 

he looks back to you, gauging if you bought his deflection or not. you’re still focused on him, vision flicking at every crease of his expression, waiting for any falter, but it doesn’t come. “you can call me Simon.”

the thin line of your lips breaks into a smile, cheeks rising and making his heart skip a beat. so much for easy detachment, “okay, Simon.”

the way i still have at least ten parts of this story in my outline but i'm so unmotivated to write it :(

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #f!reader #fem!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost imagine #ghost fanfiction #bodyguard!ghost #bodyguard!simon #actress!reader #bodyguard au #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #gold rush #bodyguard!ghost ☾ #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

and they said speak now

we’re meant to combine. to heat each other up, to become one. pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader cw: angst. no comfort. angry yearning simon. mentions of cheating. reader is part of tf141. no use of y/n. part 1 | part 2

you and Ghost have never been friends.

sure, you are acquaintances, colleagues, teammates. but friends? no. it's more of that weird position where you'd take a bullet for each other if necessary, but would never, ever, stand in the same room without a dense fog of tension circling your bodies, limbs trembling with pent-up unjustified fury.

it's been like this ever since you joined the task force. when Price announced a new member to the group, Ghost silently protested; in his head, four was more than enough people to cover their intricate missions, so making it an odd number would only throw off their balance - in and out of the field.

the first few days were surprisingly easy. being the new member was already hard, so you just kept to yourself, did as you were told, and stood out of everyone's way. but soon enough, you and Ghost started clashing. snarky comments evolved into name-calling, finger-pointing, and complete disregard for decorum. for any poor bystander that got caught in the cross-fire, it'd seem like two petty children throwing tantrums at one another, not two well seasoned soldiers of a special ops task force.

years passed, and it never got better. the hatred between the two of you was intense. palpable. frustrating. arousing. full of unspoken words that could never dream of coming out of your lips. even when you're spitting venom at each other and barking death threats - unfunded, in most cases - there was an undeniable spark underneath it all, simmering its way to the surface at every stolen glance during briefing, a pub visit, or a blood-filled battle ground.

he didn't want to admit it, but you worked well together. the minute you'd step in the field, a switch would flip in your minds and there wouldn't be any traces of hostility left, only a deep connection the transcended the need for talking. you'd understand what he needed just by looking in his eyes. his beautiful brown eyes. usually unreadable, but in action, they were the vessel for an obscure language you were oddly fluent on.

in missions alongside you, despite the constant pump of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he felt peaceful. the emotional turmoil in his brain regarding your existence would quiet down, being overruled by a sense of admiration and a strange vulnerability. he knew the range of your skills, but he couldn't help being amazed by your stance, your swift yet precise moves, your mindset. how could a person be graceful while stabbing another?

it was conflicting. the push and pull, the tiring tango that would go on and on with a song that never reached the end. a dynamic that drained the both of you but a dynamic that neither had the will to change. it was something. something that filled your dull lives, a flesh-eating flame that licked your skin every time your arms brushed, that somehow just kept burning brighter.

Simon could feel it. he felt it when you were stranded in a ruinous safe house during a snowstorm and had to cling into his chest to not freeze to death. he felt it when he saw your eyes sparkling as you gasped for air after hearing one of Soap's terrible jokes. he felt it when your blood stained his hands and your consciousness almost slipped out of his reach forever.

you could feel it too.

that's why the news of your engagement ripped his heart out of his chest. the heart he kept hidden behind a fortified wall, stranded in an island not even the bravest sailors dared to reach. but you, with all your stubbornness, got inside. maneuvered in the labyrinth of cracks of his heart and made yourself a little spot. a spot you were oblivious to.

for some delirious reason, you invited Ghost to the wedding. maybe you wanted all of your trusted teammates with you. maybe you wanted to be a little smug about your happiness. either way, you're a civil person, so handing him the invite was the sensible decision; giving him at least a choice.

he didn't like your fiancé. in fact, he despised the guy. it didn't matter that he was a well-known officer, full of achievements and medals, beloved by many, respected by all. in his eyes, the bloke was no more than a frail bastard looking for a doll to show off. how could you get married to that selfish prick? how could you subject yourself to the wishes of a man who only saw you as a prize? why does he care?

for an even more delirious reason, Simon decided to go. worst fucking idea.

his nerves were through the roof. fighting with the necktie like he was the one about to get married, but ultimately tossing it aside. he didn't want to go, he didn't need to go. but he also didn't want to give you the satisfaction of winning the round, he wanted to be the so-called bigger person and show you how he can put differences aside. celebrate your happiness. so he took a seat on the bench, waiting for the inevitable death march.

it was a small event. a few friends, barely any family. he watched as you floated down the aisle, draped in white satin and bearing the brightest smile he has ever seen. he was so accustumed to seeing the harsh expressions you would make at him, that he couldn't help standing in awe as the final fleckes on sunlight danced on your skin, shining on your face and nearly casting a halo over your head. all for the stupid dumbfuck standing at the altar.

Simon couldn't pay attention to the ceremonialist; his mind was too consumed by the disorientation of seeing you. seeing you as a bride. seeing you as a bride in the altar. seeing you ready to live the rest of your life with someone who's not worth one second of your time. he just sat there, transfixed by the scene and only concentrating on you. your beaming eyes, your plump lips, your soft hair, your fingers intertwined with your fiancé's.

the type of focus that made him not register the involuntary movement of his feet to the corridor after the priest said "...speak now or forever hold your peace."

"don't do it." Simon's gruff voice echoed in the small chapel, reverberating on your eardrum like a violent outburst.

confusion shaped the faces of your loved ones. everywhere you looked you saw grimaces, wide-eyes, and parted lips. the sound gasps followed by murmurs of disbelief, the atmosphere thickening by the second, making it impossible to breathe. but for you the room was quiet. too quiet.

"please, you can't-"

"Ghost." you interrupt, dropping your fiancé's hand and glaring at the man who had the nerve to taint your wedding. your mind was racing with a million thoughts. it must be a cruel joke on his side, creating a spectacle out of this, you think.

before you realize it, your hands are dragging Ghost by the arm to the back of the church, stuffing him inside of what looks like a storage room, full of antique paintings and candles.

"have you lost your mind?"

"i think i have," he answers, taking a deep breath, "i must be batshit crazy, i know. but you can't marry him." your eyes narrow, looking for any indication of it being a bluff. why is your half-colleague-half-enemy objecting at your wedding?

"this isn't you. him," he scoffs, gesturing to the man on the other side of the door, "isn't who you are. you're not the type to be controlled by a man, giving in into his act, calling it love.

"what?" you ask, utterly thunderstruck by his words, "calling it- i'm not being controlled, Ghost. i know you're not familiar with the idea, but people can actually love and respect each other."

he dismisses your comment. "do you truly love him?" Simon knows what love is, knows it a little too much and that's what keeps him distant from people. it never ends well. "can you seriously tell me that this isn't a desperate attempt to fill the void in your heart? you're not happy with him."

"i'm not getting married out of necessity, Ghost. and who are you to say that i'm not happy?"

Simon paces in the room, footsteps creaking the hardwood floor. he knew that he was only digging himself a deeper grave, but he couldn't back down now. he won't allow you to commit such a terrible mistake. "i know you. i've watched you ever since you started dating that mutt," he says, studying your face, "you look different around him. almost small. frail."

his words are sharp, cutting through the air like a scathing blade. you feel the anger in his tone, but there's something else beneath the surface. he's almost... tender?

"you reduce yourself beside him," he adds in a matter-of-fact way, taking a step closer to you, "you're a force of nature, a beast, a goddamn hurricane, not-" he glares you up and down "this."

"i don't reduce myself!" you suddenly shout, eyes boring into his skull, "you think that because i'm getting married i'm throwing myself away? i'm a fucking soldier!"

"i know that!" he shouts back, taking a towering stance over you, "does he know that? you know damn well that the minute you sign those papers he's gonna begin persuading you into retiring, into being a perfect little trophy wife he can parade to his buddies."

you laugh. a dry, dull, hollow laugh. you don't know if it's due the absurdity of his statement or the shocking concern laced in each word escaping his mouth. it's one of those moments you're certain you dipped into a parallel universe, because the reality of it all seems too insane to believe. you stand in front of him with arms crossed, pondering your next move in this godforsaken argument. of course he wouldn't give you a break, not even in your wedding day.

"come on, be serious with me for one moment. he doesn't care about you. the real you," Ghost grits his teeth, "he cares about having your warm body by his side, but he doesn't see the vulnerability hidden behind your eyes. the part you keep a secret, tucked away from the world."

you clench your fists, battling against the desire to punch his gut. you're too proud to ever confess, but his words are slowly getting to you, clouding your brain with doubt. "i'll admit, it's not entirely his fault. he's too shallow for his own good, only knows what you show him. but i see what you try to hide." he says in a quieter tone. luring you in, trying to dissipate the tension.

"it has crossed your mind, hasn't it?" you tilt your head, confused by his question, "us. you've wondered about it."

you scoff, "no, i haven't." lie.

"don't lie now, darling." the pet name should make your skin crawl. but it doesn't. he didn't say it in his usual condescending mode, the one he employs whenever he's mocking you. there's no poison in his tongue, it's... sugary. drips like honey over you.

"you feel the heat between us, the suppressed fire itching to make us combust," he steps closer, still lingering a few inches from your body but too close for comfort, "you know how good we are together. everybody sees our synchrony in the field, how perfect we work," his gaze remains unwavering on your eyes, "tell me truth."

"the truth? the truth is that you're a lunatic-"

his fingertips dig in your skin, burning a hole to your bicep. your breath hitches on your throat, startled by the unexpected use of force. his jaw tightens at the sight, muscle twitching and threatening the remnants of self-control that prevents him from kissing you.

your head spins. his face is close. his scent fills your nostrils to the point of dizziness, intoxicating your lungs and sending shockwaves through your nervous system. "fine!" you blurt, "i might have thought of it, but it doesn't mean anything. just because we work well together it doesn't mean we're made for each other, Ghost."

"but it means something."

the air is full of anticipation, tension, energy. it's the moment before a lightning struck. as the space between you decreases, the shield insulating your opposing charges falters, resulting in a rapid electrical discharge that jolts your heart to life. he pulls you into a kiss, daring you to push him away.

your lips meet with a boiling intensity, the fusion of desire, rage, and something more. time stands still as his tongue finds yours, softly massaging it with both tenderness and passion. his touch is eager yet deliberate, the loud thumping of your heart fades into a ringing on your ear as his hand moves from your arm to your waist, pressing you even closer to his body.

"no, stop!" you push him, catching your breath as he stumbles back into the wall, "what's wrong with you?! what's wrong with me? i have a fiancé waiting as i waste my time here with you!"

"god, you don't get it, do you?!" he yells, "he doesn't deserve you! you put him in a pedestal, and while i'm stuck dreaming about you every fucking night he's out there-" he stops himself, giving you a unfamiliar deer in the headlights look.

"he's what?"

silence.

"Simon, finish your sentence."

"look, i," for the first time in the whole exchange, Simon is stumped. he didn't want to bring up the topic. he curses his mouth for flowing with his anger and talking too much, "i didn't want to tell you, i wanted you to see with your own eyes how much of a dipshit he is, but," he gulps, "he's a fucking cheater. i've seen him at the pub a few times with different girls, hands all over, drunk kisses-"

"you're lying," you retort, holding back the tears that start creeping up the corners of your eyes, "he wouldn't do that."

"i really wish i was lying. i'm so sorry."

you lean back on a chair, trembling as your breathing quickens. you don't wanna believe what he says, he's just letting his jealousy speak. but deep down, you know. all the times he came home with a smudged red mark on his neck, a wrinkled phone number in his pocket he rapidly dismisses. it's so typical, isn't it? no matter how devoted you are to a man, they will always search for more. the insatiable need to desire.

Simon frowns at your quivering figure. his heart aches when the small tears make their way down your cheek, staining your white dress. he crouches in front of you, a hand on your knee trying to convey his support, his guilt for being the bearer of the fact, his love. give me your pain. i can handle it. you're not alone, my darling.

"don't touch me." you hiss, raising your watery eyes to his. the look of hurt in your gaze pierces through him like a sword. he wants to say the right words, to protect you, to give you a new reason to love, but his mind is incapable of forming a remotely comforting phrase.

the tears on your face are hot. the salt streams sting on your skin, but nothing compares to the sorrow that filled your ventricles. you can't stay like this, you can't let him win. you're stronger than this. you're stronger than him.

Ghost jumps when you suddenly stand up. the pain in your irises are now accompanied by the unmistakable wrath he's used to deal. only now, you don't direct it at him; instead, you open the door and stomp your way to the altar again, followed quickly by Simon, worried about what you're going to do.

"it's over."

"babe? what?" the fiancé looks down at you, bearing a disgustingly sly smile, not quite believing your words, "you're kidding, right?"

you don't weaver. despite your tear-stained face and obvious hurt state, your resolve is clear. he truly doesn't care about you. he never even went to check on you after you disappeared in a room with Simon, never felt a ting of threat because he believes the control he has on your soul is enough to keep you tight on the leash. "i said, it's over."

the grin in his face fades when he realizes your certainty. he glances at the tall figure in the back, ready to throw hands if he ever so slightly thinks about laying a finger on you. "of course. you." the man says, rolling his sleeves and making his way to Simon.

only to be stopped by you.

"he has nothing to do with this," you state, blocking his path and pushing his chest with a strength you didn't know you had, "this is between your cheating ass and me. i'm not gonna play into your game anymore. there's no wedding, it's over."

the glare he gives you is bone-chilling, and for a second you see his will to pounce at your throat. without any doubt, Ghost moves you aside and shields your body with his, eyes making all the communication. try me. one step closer and i'll kill you.

even with his conceited persona, he knows better than to actually pick a fight with Ghost. he wouldn't hesitate to snap his spine bare-handed, not even inside a church, so he backs off. it really is over.

in the meantime, you're already halfway out the door, breathing in a deeply needed huff of fresh air. it's the classical movie scene with a runaway bride after the big climax - but in this film, the bride is alone. not with the pining romantic counterpart that just poured his heart out.

your name falling from Simon's lips lead your soul back to your earthly form, the reality dawning on your head one more time.

"leave me alone, Simon."

"but," he stops in his tracks, taking in your scorched-earth appearance, "i don't want you to be alone, please, let me-"

"no," you cut him, "i don't need you near me right now. or ever, for that matter."

straight to the core. a gunshot would hurt less, he thinks. "you don't have to do this on your own. i know that our history prompts you to not trust me," he sighs, pondering for a moment if he should really speak what his spirit desperately long for, "i wanna change that. let me prove how much i love you."

his words find their way to your bleeding heart, contaminating your mind with the possibility of being loved by him. for someone who maintains his feelings at bay, kept under lock and key, he sounds sincere.

"love?" your scoff intercuts the rhetorical question, "the Ghost i met doesn't know love. he knows anger, knows disgust, disdain."

he watches your lips quivering, tears threatening the edges of your waterline once again. he wants nothing more but to reach for you, wrap his burly arms around your body and never let go. whisper comfort into your ears, sweet promises of devotion, and give the solace you yearn for.

"i need... time."

Simon looks up to your eyes, locking his gaze and quietly nodding. he understands. he isn't fond of leaving you in this state, but he knows you won't have a change of heart minutes after a love confession. not when he spent years showing you nothing but hate.

it pains him to see your sorrowful grim. pupils following attentively as each of your steps put more distance between your bodies, planting new cracks in his heart. it's only for a while, he repeats to himself as a mantra, cursing silently for treating you with such a freezing-cold demeanor, when all you did was warm his soul.

it was true. Ghost only knows the bad, dreadful emotions. only served you hate and didn't bother to change.

but the thing is, Simon has never hated you.

it's my first time writing like this so i'm a little self-conscious, but i'm also proud of myself <3 hope you like it! i wanna make a part 2, but idk.

little note - i had to edit it on my phone so it was kinda awful lol sorry for any mistakes

#cod #simon ghost riley #cod angst #simon riley #hurt/no comfort #tf141 #ghost angst #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #enemies to lovers #fem!reader #ghost cod #cod mw2 #ghost x you #oneshot #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

it wasn't my initial plan but let's go stalker!gaz again <3

cw: nsfw. stalking. obsessive gaz. perv gaz in denial lol. f!reader. part one | part two

Kyle sees you again. it's totally coincidental, of course.

the first time was in the market. he had postponed a grocery run for far too long, and a man can’t live solely on takeout, so he headed to the nearest store. walking down the pavement, he sees the familiar blue logo across the street, the same one from your hoodie, and the image of your pearly smile comes fully into his mind for the first time after the encounter.

he had been too obsessive that day, and a part of him felt disgusted by his behaviour. he’s a good man, a good soldier, not one of the creeps in white vans studying women like a hunter waiting to attack their prey. so he shoved the temptation to search for you in the back of his brain, tucked away in a corner with the rest of his dysfunctional urges.

but the other side, the one he maintains caged when he’s home, kept calling for him, itching for the surface, almost slipping his fingers to his cell phone so he could engage in the pursuit of the sweet little thing that invaded his lustful dreams. a side that he managed to hide until his gaze laid on your form on the frozen food aisle.

you looked just as stunning as he remembered. glossy lips, pretty plush thighs, delicate fingers pushing the shopping cart around. your hair was in a ponytail, easy grab, sports bra neatly holding your soft tits, could be my hands, a small drop of sweat sneaking down your exposed lower back, the mere sight making his cock twitch in his trousers. of course you go to the gym. i can train with you. how about some hip thrusts with you on– no. he can’t be thinking like that again.

he bites back the urge to follow you. or even spark a conversation, to test if you’re good with faces. it would be weird. but then he gets lost in the movements of your hips, in how gorgeous you look slightly bent down at the waist, reaching for a lower shelf and prancing your ass up, in how easy it would be to cause you any harm in that position. wouldn’t even hear me sneaking up with those headphones on. 

the second time was outside of a cafe. he had just ordered a coffee and was waiting by the counter, aimlessly looking out the front window when he saw you, walking out of a bookstore with a big bag. hi, sweetheart. he promptly steps out the door, the barista calling his name fading in the background as he rushes to you. or at least, rushes to a safe distance from you. 

he wishes nothing more than to take the heavy bag from you, interlock his fingers with yours and stroll back to his flat like a perfectly happy couple. he’d even build bookshelves for you. buy you an entire library, if you wanted. make you tea while you read, caress your hair, lazily eat you out for hours, hearing your muffled moans as you try to remain focused– fuck, quit it, Garrick.

but he doesn’t quit. he can’t. not when you’re so beautiful, so easy, so soft. such a good girl. not when he notices some guys eyeing you up on the street and he silently curses the lack of a weapon on his hand. not when you look over your shoulder and don't see him as a threat. do you recognize me, love? not when he finally looks at his surroundings and realises that he’s in his street and that you’re entering the building across from his. 

he takes that discovery as a sign from the universe. it must be fate that you’re so close to me, right? it’s a blessing, a sign from god that his thoughts are justified. the green light he was waiting to reveal the worst part of him, to unleash the demon gnawing at his self-control.

with a few clicks, he finds all of your socials. too easy. some were restricted, some were open, and some barely had content, but he doesn’t mind, the few pictures on your instagram are enough. at another time, he’d teach you about online safety – how there are bad people out in the world who yearn for an easy catch, and how a smart girl like you shouldn’t allow it.

his dick aches in his boxers as he studies every pixel of your photos. he feels it throbbing, leaking, painfully craving for any kind of friction, but he refuses to provide. he knows that once he starts, he would never stop, and the idea of spending his cum on anywhere that isn’t you – your cute little mouth, displayed on your tummy, your warm cunt – is not worthy.

the third time was in a pub. he had finally caught you on your kitchen window, looking a little too dressed up to be staying at home and downing what seemed like a shot of vodka. so, when you stepped on the sidewalk, he knew he had to follow you. pretty girl going out at night? alone? not on my watch.

the bar is a couple blocks from where you live, known for being filled with college students. very different from his crowd, but he doesn’t care, watching you from afar acts like a remedy for the headache caused by the loud noise of the place. just a peek at your sheer blouse, exposing the lacy bra underneath was sufficient to clear his heart of any cracks. 

but, not everything is perfect, and he immediately tags the face making its way to you. Marcus. just as ugly as in the tiny contact picture he saw. fuck, is she back with him? 

he gets his answer quickly – you push him aside and go back to your friends, chugging the rest of your pint like a lifeline. good girl. the man's left with an open mouth and shocked expression, and Kyle doesn't miss the flash of anger in his eyes. 

the next few minutes are a blur. Marcus stepped out in the back for some fresh air after nearly throwing up due too many drinks, and he didn't notice the guy following him. stupid prick, should've used your brain. 

Kyle re-enters the bar in no time, thumb brushing the edge of the switchblade in his pocket. he admires you in your booth – lips parted in a laugh, locks of hair cascading on your face, and a hazy aura pairing over you. well, aren't we tipsy, sweetheart? good thing i'm here to look over you.

he heads to the counter to get a drink, and he almost jumps when you appear by his side, finishing your tab for the night. your eyes shine when they land on his, brightness shared by your wide grin, “hey, i know you! you're the plane guy!” 

you do recognize me. fate. he gives you a once over, feigning that he doesn't instantly recall your face to hide the excitement bubbling in his chest. like he hasn’t been dreaming about stuffing your pussy with his thick cock and hearing your mewls every night. “yup, that's me.”

“nice seeing you again– oh, are you alright? you got some,” you motion to his forearm, “blood on you.” 

shit. he forgot he needed to clean up after his last activity. his mind scrambles to find an excuse, but a thought pops in his brain and he can't contain the growing bulge in his pants. look at you worried about me, love. such a sweet girl. “it's nothing, i was just a little clumsy,” he brushes off, watching the concern on your face evolve into a timid smile, “you leaving already?” 

“yeah, got an early day tomorrow. shouldn't drink too much,” you answer, putting your jacket back on. he stays glaring at you, mind too blank to form a coherent sentence. alone? this late? drunk? do you even know how many men are lurking outside, waiting for a minor slip-up to rip you open? “so... goodnight, then.” you say, giving the counter one last tap and heading to the door. think fast.

“wait!” he calls out, “you shouldn't go alone, it isn't safe.” your head tilts to the side, and his eyes trail down your pretty neck, just begging to be bitten. focus, Garrick.

“it's just a couple blocks from here, it's alright.” no. no it isn't. don't be stubborn, sweetheart. do you want me to throw you over my shoulder for being a brat? give your pretty ass a slap?

his eyes narrow, but the soft smile on his lips does a damn good job of luring you in – a trick he learned over the years. “may i walk you home then? i'd hate to see something bad happen to a sweet girl like you.”

you ponder for a moment. you shouldn’t accept, he’s still a stranger, and if the alcohol wasn’t fuzzing your brain, you would say no. but his smile is so convincing, the dog tags around his neck are so reassuring of his good intentions that you don’t even notice when you nod. 

he smirks, and the tent between his legs gets even bigger. he’s such a good man. won’t let anything stain your soft, pure flesh. i’ll protect you, sweet girl.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x reader #gaz x you #stalker!gaz #gaz smut #kyle garrick smut #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod x reader #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

GOLD RUSH MASTERLIST read on ao3

the woman from the picture. the woman from the late night movie he was absentmindedly watching on a late night. you. or: you have a stalker. Ghost is your bodyguard.

PAIRING: BODYGUARD!GHOST x ACTRESS!READER CW: MENTIONS OF STALKING/THREATS. PINING, OBLIVIOUS & PROTECTIVE SIMON. IMPLIED PTSD. PANIC ATTACK. HURT/COMFORT. FLUFF. adding info as i write!

1. Simon has a new assignment. 2. Simon lives up to the nickname. 3. Simon travels with you. 4. Simon takes you to the museum. 5. you're going out. 6. you panic. 7. Simon thinks he could live like this.

#gold rush #bodyguard!ghost ☾ #bodyguard au #bodyguard!ghost #bodyguard!simon #actress!reader #fic masterpost #fic masterlist #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

you panic.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: reader's pov. panic attack, simon in protective mode, hurt/comfort ig? 6 | gold rush masterlist.

you couldn’t breathe. the room seemed small, walls closing in and trapping your limp figure inside of an endless nightmare, compressing your lungs until no air reached your alveolus. the mirror reflected the terror stamped on your face, bloodshot eyes staring at the terrifying warning that froze your blood flow and the trembling hands clutching to your arms, wrapping your torso like a straightjacket, desperately trying to pressure your body into disappearing from that reality.

up to this point, you’ve managed to control your fear. shove your worries aside, trust that nothing would trespass your walls and infinite security measures, promise yourself that it would never infest your brain, but that was the last straw. it was your home. you weren’t safe anywhere and it was just a matter of time until you’d be ripped to shreds in your own garden, crimson painting the destroyed flower beds and a golden crown placed on your head like a perfect corpse-bride.

your knees dropped to the frigid floor with a thud, dreadful mist clouding your vision as tears rolled down your cheeks. you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, and the alcohol in your veins only managed to heighten the panic. your soul was floating out of your form, knocking on the bars of the prison, looking for a way out of the ordeal and hoping that it was just a hallucination. the loud thumps of your heart ringed in your ears, muffling Ghost’s attempts to get your attention.

the knot in your throat kept tightening, constricting your vocal cords until the only sounds that could be heard were your strained sobs. being in your own skin was overwhelming and you’d give it all to escape the well you were stranded in, but the water was rising quickly, covering your head and drowning any attempt at tranquillity.

“hey, i’m here,” Ghost said, trying to coax you back to the present, “just focus on my voice, can you take a deep breath for me?” 

your dilated pupils take the sight of him crouched on the floor and follow the movement of his chest, letting his low timbre pierce your eardrum and soothe your heartbeat. you mimic him, feeling the crisp air cursing through your nostrils, down your trachea and bronchi, finally having enough oxygen in your system. 

“can i touch you?” he asks, and you notice the concern behind his hazel irises. you can’t ignore the shame that came with your panicked state, breaking down in front of someone you barely know and who must’ve endured so much worse in his life. you hate feeling weak, frail, like you’d crumble by just one look, but you need comfort. need it so badly that you nod, allowing him to take your quivering hand in his.

his grip is firm, and despite the roughness of his palm, the touch is delicate, tender, enveloping you in gentle heat. you melt in his arms, pitiful sobs leaving your lips when you turn in nothing more than putty in that moment. “shh, i got you, everything will be alright,” he coos, doing his best to calm you, but you couldn’t believe him.

how could everything be alright? the last ounce of safety you had was just taken from you. “it’s my– it’s my home, Ghost,” you stutter, lifting your head to look at him, “i’m not safe in my own home anymore, i can’t–” another wave of tears flood your waterline, and you stop before finishing your sentence. the anxiety was still bubbling in your stomach, it was still too much to handle at once. 

“i know, love, i’ll get you out of here, trust me. nothing will harm you. now just breathe, okay? slow and steady.” his tone is light, almost ethereal, but unmistakably determined. it sounded more than just a phrase to pacify you. it was a promise. a vow. one made with his whole heart and he wouldn’t die before making sure you’re safe.

it takes a while before your brain settles back, slipping out of the hysteria. Ghost lifts you to your feet, taking a step back to give you some space. you sense him studying your expressions, wanting a hint of how to proceed. “what do you need?” he questions softly.

what do i need? the query lingers on your mind while he gazes at you. you're not sure. you never had an attack like this, never had an emotional collapse, never needed so much comfort. “i... don't know,” you gulp, glancing around the room and viewing the bathroom door, “i guess i could go for, uhm, a bath? it might help, right?”

he nods, pacing past you and walking through the door. you faintly hear the running water filling the bathtub and you strip off your heels, your clothes, let your hair fall down and your skin feel the cool air of the room. you shiver, but the tingling of the cold reminds you that you’re still alive, so there’s still a flimsy hope of peace in your future. 

you put on a robe and head to the bathroom, tip-toeing on the chilling tiles. Ghost moves to the exit, allowing you privacy in your vulnerable state, but your meek request makes him freeze on the spot. “can you... stay?” you sigh, “i’m scared of being alone right now.”

he pauses, not knowing how to answer, and you shift your weight from one leg to another, fingers fidgeting with the fluffy belt that holds your covering in place, regretting even asking for such a thing. “sure.” he clears his throat, taking a seat in the tiny wooden ottoman in the corner. the image is quite comical, the bulky man slowly leaning down to the stool as if one glance from him would crack the material, and a timid chuckle escapes your mouth.

his face turns to the side when you undo the knot of your robe and you feel the heat coming to your cheeks when you come to your senses. what the fuck did i ask? you’re bare, slipping into the warm water that was supposed to relieve your anxious mood, but that mainly swells your chest with embarrassment. 

you don’t know if you should be grateful that he’s not making a big deal of it, or sink in the tub due to the quiet – too quiet – atmosphere. Ghost is nothing but a gentleman at that moment, maintaining his head down and eyes away from your blurred naked body, so different from every man you’ve been near. they all seem to think that because you’re known, famous, whatever, you’re merely a doll on display for public use. it’s nice to not feel like an object.

after a long hour of letting the water purge your anguishes, you find yourself draped on a blanket on the sofa, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea that he, so heartily, prepared. he’s on the phone in the next room, and you don’t want to pry, but your ears unconsciously perk up to catch some of his words. he’s talking to someone named Price? something about a safe house? 

a few minutes later, he’s back, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “so, we’re gonna move,” your brows raised, confused by his statement, “talked to an old friend and i got you a safe place, you can stay there as long as you need, the bastard won’t find you. and i’ll be there with you all the time, okay?” he’s gonna stay with me?

rationally, you know it’s a good idea. you don’t feel protected in your house anymore, and having him constantly by your side would probably give your heart a rest and unburden your shoulders. but moving is a big thing for a life so regulated. “Dan–” 

“i’ll talk to him tomorrow, don’t worry,” he assures, putting a hand on your knee and giving you a small smile. your vision was so hazy before that you didn’t even notice that he had his mask down, and you find yourself musing on the curve of his lips. 

“thank you, Ghost.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #f!reader #fem!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost imagine #ghost fanfiction #bodyguard!ghost #bodyguard!simon #hurt/comfort #ghost angst #actress!reader #bodyguard au #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #gold rush #bodyguard!ghost ☾ #nyx writes ☾ #midnightarcheress

[midnightarcheress]

you’re going out.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: pining simon denying till his grave 5 | gold rush masterlist.

Simon was sitting in your living room, hands in the pockets of his jacket and boot anxiously tapping on the wood floor as he waited for you to get ready. you hadn’t seen each other since the trip to France, still too scared to leave your house after that last note, so he wasn’t expecting your rushed text about going out tonight.

“i’m so sorry for calling you last minute,” you say, closing the loop of your earring as you walk out of your bedroom, trying your best not to be late, “a friend invited me for dinner, and i’m not exactly allowed to leave the house without you, so–”

“‘s alright” he mumbles, cutting your rambling and turning to see you, his heart nearly stopping at the view. you’re stunningly standing by the couch, one hand propped on the armrest for support as you lean down to strap your heels, struggling to maintain your balance. in a swift motion, Simon pulls you closer, gently lifting your calf so he could clasp it for you, not noticing your small gasp at his touch and how intimate the gesture must look to anyone else.

he doesn’t mind accompanying you or, in this case, guarding you. it’s nice to have you near, even if it’s just for a few hours and out of arm's reach, it's enough to save him from the dullness of his own life. but tonight is different, new, nerve-inducing. you’re going out with someone. he only ever had to be with you when you’re alone roaming the city or in event-related situations. what the fuck is the etiquette for chaperoning a dinner with a friend?

on the way to the restaurant, he learned that your company is an ex-co-star from one of your movies, who just happened to be your romantic interest. of course. he couldn't help the slight frown that appeared on his face and the small discomfort building in his stomach at the thought of watching you charming some guy for heaven knows how long. the text that gave him hope suddenly turned into a modern-time curse from the gods in a matter of seconds.

the soft piano playing in the background did nothing to steady his heartbeat when the hostess led you to the guy waiting by the window, twenty-thousand-pound watch on his wrist and a smug grin on his face, placing a hand dangerously close to your hip when you greeted him. Simon was placed near the bar, easy path to the exit and a clear view of you, but no liberty to drink away the misery of not being the one making you beam so widely.

it felt like torture, containing the venomous jealousy coursing through his veins, festering his flesh and rotting his brain with gruesome schemes of how he could end this in the blink of an eye. if he had a throwing knife, the guy’s blood would already be pooling under the table and you’d be long one, out of the shackles of your restricting life, far from sycophants and parasites, just safe from whatever threat that wants to maim you.

but he couldn't do that. saving you it’s not on his job description, no matter how badly he wishes to. so he had to endure observing you from afar, watch the soft locks of hair cascading on your face, see your lips take in your third glass of wine, and faintly hear the easy laughter escaping from you after one of the terrible jokes being spit on the table, probably as a consequence of the alcohol, while envy gnawed at the confines of his ribcage and begged to a way out. 

it made no sense for him to feel that way towards you. he was on duty. he was there for a horrible reason, so he felt sorry for you, but how much of it is pity and not true affection? why did the green demon eating his insides subdue when he saw how happy you were? why was his heart nearly skipping a beat whenever you glanced in his direction? certainly, it was just a way to reassure yourself that nothing would happen, but what if it was more? what if he was the reason you retracted your hand when the man in front of you reached for it?

the clock hands moved in a dangerously slow pace, minutes dragging like hours and slipping his mind into a parallel universe where he never left his house, but the sight of the check put on top of the beige cloth of your table was the solace lulling him back to peace. he could finally let out the breath he held since you stepped inside, lungs exhaling and expunging the poison from his system, and drive you back, without a single scratch on your skin.

the ride to your house was quiet, neither speaking more than needed. it wasn’t strange, the communication between the two of you happened mostly out of necessity, but the tension was palpable in the car. his grip on the steering wheel was tight, almost as if he was afraid that if he let go, his hand would rip out every strand of hair standing on his scalp. it was too much. he was relieved to be out of there, confused with the turmoil inside his chest, and angry at himself for getting lost in daydreams about you. 

“can you walk?” Simon asks, holding the passenger door open after stopping at your gate.

“of course i can walk–” your hand finds his arm before your face falls directly into the cobblestones that pave the path to your front door, “okay, maybe i’m a little tipsy.” Simon rolls his eyes after your blithe chuckle and snakes a hand around your waist, helping you head inside.

once in the warmth of your home and after making sure you weren’t too drunk to take care of yourself, he walked out, stomach churning as he tried to ignore the distress of the night and get ready to melt his troubles with a bourbon. but before he could press the code of the alarm and relax his stiff shoulders, your harrowing scream made his heart drop and his legs sprint back to you, fast as lightning strikes, images of the worst possible scenarios already flooding his vision.

his laboured breath meets you pressed against the wall, wide tear-rimmed eyes glaring at the mirror of your bedroom, and his blood pressure rises with concern. he turns to gaze at the mirror, assessing what made you so frightened, and his own eyes widen, ‘i don’t appreciate you entertaining other men, darling. don’t forget who you belong to.’

how i love inner struggle

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