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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Man-sized Part 1/9 Dance For You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC Tags: Explicit content, only for +18 audiences. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics). CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters. Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He was always there, every night for a week, and then disappeared for months.

He was there a few moments before she began her show, and left right after it ended. He never watched the other girls, the ones who she only warmed up for, the ones who actually stripped and were professionals. He never had a lap dance, a private show, nothing. He just ordered one scotch, watched her little pole dance show, and left.

She used to pick someone from the audience, just one single guy who looked more or less harmless. She was performing to that one guy only — it was more comfortable that way. She could concentrate better, and it was easier to try and be seductive. To be in control.

But he wasn't harmless. And she wasn't in control.

But ever since he started to visit the place, she always picked him, and it required no effort whatsoever to appear seductive. She was wet after every show she performed for him.

When she danced for him, she could feel his gaze on her, as goosebumps and flames that licked her skin. He didn't look at her like she was a goddess. Or a whore. He looked at her like she was a woman, like she was his woman, and they were the only ones in that club. She knew she was being nonsensical — after all, he was just another guy who came to watch an exotic dancer.

But she wasn't one of the stars, she didn't even strip.

At some point, she realized she started to do choreographies just for him. She started to check the calendar, count the days, because he was usually gone only a month, maybe one and a half. Then he came back, every night, for a week or so. She could see that he liked it when she did inversions and shoulder mounts on the pole. Perhaps he could tell that it demanded a huge amount of strength. She liked it that someone admired that — her strength and agility, not her outfit, not even the way she arched her back or threw her hair around.

He was looking at her like she was an artist and an athlete.

She could tell he was an athlete too, but what kind, remained a mystery. He was a big fellow, a muscled fellow, and she always tried to catch what it was that he had tattooed on his forearm.

In the darkness, his eyes were like burning coals, even if the rest of him was pale and blonde, almost like a color that was worn and washed out. He was the most tired, exhausted man she had ever seen, especially on the first nights of his week in town. But that didn't take away an ounce of his power. The whole club could've been full of big, dangerous-looking men, and he would've still been the most intriguing person in her eyes.

At some point, the heated gazes and the tension built up to such heights that she walked to the bar after her show. She rarely did that — she was here to dance and that was all. Get some money so she could study. Some of the girls liked to hustle, but she only wanted to go home after her show, which was draining, especially when he wasn't there to watch her.

She knew he was going to leave again soon. This was one of the last nights if she had her calculations right, if not the last. She already knew she would miss him and copy-paste his image to the audience every night until he would finally materialize on one of those chairs again.

She saw he saw her approaching him. He raised his chin, drew his shoulders back, and turned slightly on the chair, angled his body towards her. She slowed her walk as she reached him, enjoying the way he was forced to look up at her from where he was sitting.

"Are you gonna buy me a drink?"

A smile rose to his face, just a tiny one, one that didn't even bare teeth. It was simply an acknowledgment.

He rose from the chair, took his coat, and left.

---

The next time she saw him was only half a month later.

She climbed the pole, and he watched, had that tiny smile playing in the corner of his lips through the whole show. Her choreography had started to resemble something she would've chosen to perform in a pole dance competition rather than in this kind of place. She had ditched the heels, and danced like she was both Tarzan and Jane; flexible, strong as fuck, showing off what she could do with just one stiff vertical object. He didn't look as tired as before, and when she came to the bar like a bitch in heat, sniffing around a strong, virile male, she saw he had two drinks in front of him.

Perhaps she was making a fool of herself… But she walked toward him again, almost walked past him, then got stopped by an outstretched hand that held a Long Island iced tea.

"Took your time," she said as she grabbed the offered drink.

The man didn't answer. Her heart was thumping faster than when she was exerting herself up on that pole, now occupied by the first true star of the evening.

"May I sit?"

He nodded, and she could feel her palms get sweaty. She didn't usually do this kind of stuff... but when she did, it certainly did not go like this. Like she was the one trying to woo the man.

"So, what do you do?"

He still didn't say a word, and she was beginning to think that the man was actually a mute.

"Are you a professional boxer?"

Finally, a chuckle came. Dark, and husky...

"No."

He had a hoarse, gravelly voice, a voice she could listen to for forever if he only would speak.

"MMA?"

A shake of the head. She peeked at the forearm placed on the table between their drinks, and she saw the inked skull, a helmet, some kind of a bomb…

"You in the army?"

"Somethin' like that."

She barely caught the Manchester accent. Shit… This man was just… He was sexy as hell. Probably picked up ladies like berries wherever he went. She took a sip of that Long Island — why would he buy her a drink with so much hard alcohol in it? It was a bit suspicious. She hadn't seen him buy it, hadn't seen if he had put something in it…

"Oh, I get it. You're James Bond."

He was amused, but something in his eyes told her that she had hit a bit too close to home this time.

"What's your name?"

She was starting to get tired of listening to her own voice, tired of prying for information. But her heart rate spiked as she saw how his interest seemed to die immediately after her latest question. He looked away, his eyes swept the club, and she had a feeling that she had just played poker against an actual Bond and lost it all. Had been a good player until she blew it by asking his name.

"Simon." He rose, reached for his coat, and was leaving again…

"Are you gonna ask my name?"

Fuck, stop speaking.

"It was a nice talk, Sarah."

---

He came back the next day. This for sure was the last time she would see him before he vanished again. But it was impossible for her to go to the bar because she suddenly felt like she had to put on a whole other show after the pole dance performance.

A show of playing hard to get.

So after the lights on the stage died, she went straight to the backstage and got herself ready for a walk home.

"Sarah… there's some guy out there asking for you."

But the show worked. She took her stuff, glanced at the mirror to see that everything was like it should be, then went to get her shoes.

"You got a fan?"

She didn't answer, because it was suddenly hard to pay attention to anything else than the guy named Simon, the guy who had watched her dance for months and was now waiting for her at the back door, the one used by the staff.

A fucking spy, indeed..

"Just be careful, ok?"

"Yeah."

As if she needed a reminder that the brooding James Bond looked like death and danger.

"Hi."

He looked her up and down, didn't say hi back, but gave her a few dark red carnations.

"Oh. Thanks."

The fact that a guy like him was giving her flowers at the back door of a strip club shouldn't have affected her the way it did. Should definitely not make her weak in the knees like he was a high school crush asking her out. Well, he was good at what he did, she had to give him that. Perhaps not the most original move, but still… to her, original enough. She had never received flowers from anyone.

"How long are you stayin' here?" His voice was both smooth and rough, and she wondered if he was as stoic off his feet as he was on them.

"Actually, I was just leaving."

"I can walk you home."

Yet again, it shouldn't have been this way. She was accustomed to pulling the strings, calling out the shots. It wasn't that she didn't feel safe with him… It was just that she didn't feel in control. At all.

They had walked only a few blocks when he lit a cigarette. So much for not hooking up with smokers… And somehow that cancer stick managed to make this man even sexier. Manly.

It was stupid — he had all the traits of a modern cowboy, and she should feel repulsed, not hooked.

"So, how's the James Bond thing going?"

"It's tiring."

"Yeah, you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Not what I had in mind for you tonight, but still…

He really was a man of few words, but she had a hunch that he wasn't shy. Perhaps Simon only spoke when he had something groundbreaking to say.

"Why do you watch my shows?"

He inhaled the smoke deep and long before giving his answer.

"You move well. Strong 'n' sharp, trained… Could be a fighter."

His compliments made her blush in the cool night air, but she wasn't surprised. He admired and respected toughness, just like she had suspected.

By the time they reached her apartment, she was almost shaking with excitement, and he had filled himself with that smoke.

What the hell… It couldn't taste that bad.

"You wanna come inside?"

The amber eyes looked at her with a flash of amusement instead of hunger.

"Sure."

He suddenly seized her, pinned her against her front door with his body, and kissed her. The flowers dropped to the ground as her hands shot out to clasp his neck; to feel the raw muscle there.

He didn't taste bad at all.

He could've taken her right then and there, in the middle of that sleepy, quiet, dark street, and she wouldn't have said no. Her last time with a man had been everything but mysterious and exciting, months and months ago, and Simon felt like a perfect match right now, a perfect, tall, dark stranger. He was just the kind of man she had always found nothing short of disgusting: an overconfident heartbreaker who couldn't commit.

But this evening was different. Her morals were deep asleep, and she was ovulating, and, well, it was a first time for everything…

He broke the kiss only to pant a question, his second ever, in her mouth.

"You accept credit or cash?"

The slap was way harder than she had meant it to be. Her palm lashed out in pure, hot rage; for having thought that a man like him was nothing but another chauvinistic jerk.

But what he'd implied wasn't even the worst thing. It was the laugh that followed her.

She heard it even after she had shut the door, brushed her teeth; after she climbed into her lonely bed to get some sleep. The tears that emerged were born of shame, not disappointment.

---

He came back after a month.

She knew she shouldn't go down there, to roam among the filth and give him the satisfaction and the mercy.

But those eyes drew her to him like a snare, beckoned her to have another round in the ring with him.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Come on, dove. Don't back away when it just got interesting."

He gave her a full smile this time. She had a feeling that this man didn't smile often, and that flash of pure, bold contentment charmed her right off her feet. Simon wasn't a mystery or a puzzle, he was a whole Rubik's cube.

"I could show you how to do a proper right hook instead of that bitch slap you gave me."

"Wasn't painful enough for you?"

He laughed, darkly, and it went straight between her legs.

"Slept on my right side for a week."

She found herself smiling against her will.

He had thought of her for an entire week when going to bed and was now back for more.

Fuck… The way he just spun her around his finger in mere minutes was despicable. She turned around to leave so that she would win at least one round, but that gruff, dark voice stopped her.

"It was a test. Apologies."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned.

"A test?"

"Yeah. A test." He downed his scotch, and she found herself thinking whether Simon had an addiction to the taste of smoke instead of tobacco per se.

"You got more tests for me?" She tried to appear mocking but only ended up sounding like she was asking for it, asking for more tests and humiliation and… whatever they called it these days. Toxic relationships.

"I was thinking about asking you out."

"We are out."

"Suit yourself."

That fucking accent… It was responsible for this, at least for the most part — that Manchester gruffness was why she was so wet and weak for him. As was the tattoo and his ominous strength, his height and that lone wolf mentality… But why the hell was he harassing her when he could get some pussy even more easily? Why stalk her for months and months and deliberately insult her just when he was about to get laid?

"You know... You're not the first guy who's tried this tactic. And I'm telling you now that it won't work."

The smile turned into a slight smirk. "I doubt you've ever met a guy like me."

Jesus Christ, this man was annoying.

"Wow, you really are a Bond…"

"Dangerous and good-looking?"

"A womanizer who's full of himself."

That fucking laugh. She should leave now when she still had the chance.

But she didn't.

She didn't sit down… But she didn't leave either. He looked at her with those infuriating dark eyes, slightly bloodshot, like he was not only having a rough week at work but a whole rough life as well.

"And you got all the characteristics of a Bond girl."

She didn't take the bait of asking what exactly did he mean by that.

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Bond?"

He licked his lips, narrowed his eyes, and all in all, looked like he was estimating whether she could handle what he was about to tell her.

"I kill people."

Well fuck me…

Ok. Fuck.

"Oh, okay. So you're in Hells Angels or something?"

He smiled and shook his head slowly.

"You're a merc?"

He gave him a vague nod of the head, a shrug of the shoulder, a gesture that said: "Kind of".

"Why would you want to take me on a date?"

Why don't you just say it how it is, that you only want to fuck me?

"'Cause there's something here. You feel it, I feel it."

"You're looking for a relationship in a titty bar?"

He laughed again, and even she had to smile. He matched her boldness, her unapologetic straightforwardness. It couldn't kill her to live a little. Even if it meant tumbling into bed with a cowboy. Even if it meant living a little with a killer.

"You never know," he offered.

"You're a bit too cocky for my taste."

"You've barely even tasted me yet."

Fuck, this man would soon make her drip all over the floor. The tall, dark stranger tilted his head and left her with no choice.

"Shouldn't you at least give it a try before you say no?"

PART 2:

#ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x original character #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #cod fanfic #ghost smut #simon riley smut

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vintageaesthetic20 · 1 year

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Be honest. He's hot isn't he?

P.s. i just love the gloves and has anyone listened to wasabi by little mix

#simon riley smut #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost riley #wasabi #little mix #call of duty #mw2 headcanons #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x original character #ghost riley x reader

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thoughtsandbones · 7 months

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The flesh you thread between my blood and bones slows down the pendulum of death

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!MedicDoc OC (codename: Blue) 💀💙

WARNINGS: Mention of profanity, scars, fluff, anxiety, medical inaccuracies, surgery, blood, gore and just getting the POV of our friendly neighbourhood masked menace.

Plot: Doctor Ruhari Hari Kaur (OC is South Asian ☺️) joins the 141 again, but this time as their doctor. After the betrayal of Shepherd and Graves, Task Force 141 begins their hunt on his whereabouts and locating Makarov.

PLEASE reblog and like! Hope folks are enjoying the series, I am building up characters and plots, cos I have a lot ideas and just been enjoying writing :D

Song inspo: Don't Fear the Reaper - Tom Jones, American Idiot - Green Day, After Dark - Mr.Kitty, 1973 - James Blunt

I grew up with the OG MW2 game, so there are some references to the old one, so kind of a mix of both the OG and the new timeline... (Also I'm ignoring the OG Shepherd betrayal and keeping in line the one with the new timeline..)

spelling and some grammar mistakes as I am bad at times... :/

(FYI: bold sentences... that are like this... are supposed to describe redacted data/info to the plot... ;] .. )

Please do let me know how you all are finding this fanfic! :D

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14 and PART 15 I

Part 15 II

Ghost stared at the yellow sign reading in black NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT on the white double doors that led to the operating room where Soap had been wheeled in by both doctors, surrounded by other medical staff.

As he walked behind them when they rushed ahead he heard them shouting all sorts of medical jargon. You were so calmly ordering for mLs of drugs with too many Zs. He looked down at his skeletal gloves, the fake bones once white now stained red with Johnny's blood.

Looking up again at the sign he thought of you. How your hands would also be bloodied, pouring deep into Soap's body, mending him.

You gotta save him he pleaded in his head. He couldn't lose Soap, not now. Not after what they had been through together in Mexico, Chicago... now this.

'C'mon Lt!' Soap's words rang through his skull. Guilt flooded his chest as he remembered moments of how blunt he had been to Soap...

Squeezing his fist tight, Ghost sighed and then walked down the corridor until he found himself a chair in an empty room and plopped the chair right outside those double doors. Sitting down, Ghost winced with pain, the cut sobbed as he sat down and moved his torso.

"Fuuuck" He growled quietly.

Leaning back, he shut his eyes letting the darkness wash over him.

...

Soap was lifted onto the surgical bed. As you and Peyton scrubbed in, the nurses dressed him. Through the window of the scrub room you watched as he was intubated, his bloodied clothes discarded in the yellow hazard bin.

Once scrubbed and prepped, you assume the lead role in the surgery. Neuro was your speciality, this was a spinal injury. This is your arena. Closing your eyes, you breathe in.

"It's a beautiful night to save lives" You say, opening your eyes. Peyton eyes crinkle, a sign she was smiling under her medical mask.

"10 blade" You say and the nurse gives your instrument. You place the edge of the blade two inches above the bullet wound, applying pressure with your index finger you slide the blade across the skin unveiling the flesh beneath.

"Suction" Peyton says and she moves in with the machine that gargles up the blood from the exposed muscle

Peeling back the muscular layers you clamp down areas needing support. Soap's lumbar was one display. No major damage could be seen.

"Bullet must've missed the lumbar" Peyton says

"L1 clear" You say inspecting the upper lumbar region, with your blade you move down

"L2 clear"

"Suction" Peyton says

"L3 clear" you say and then move down

"Suction"

As you looked around L4, there was a sudden gush of blood and the monitors started beeping rapidly

"Found the bullet" You say "Clarissa, Kerrison rongeur" holding your left hand up whilst holding the area with your blade as Peyton continued suction. The beeping subdued.

"Need another pair of hands for this" You say

Peyton gave the suction pipe to the nurse on her right and then took hold of a clamp and forceps.

Cutting away at the connective tissue and muscle you peel the layer as Peyton grabs the shrapnel

"Hard part now.." She said after depositing the shrapnel in dish

Rapid beeping started again. You and Peyton both move together, suction, cutting, threading and assessing any damage to the surrounding nerves.

"Pulse at 120" Clarissa said as she took hold of the forceps from Peyton

"Shit" You say as more blood gushed from the wound which was quickly slurped away from the suction pipe.

"Sutures" Peyton said and she began to sew up the first damaged nerve.

There was a increase in beeping

"Pulse 150"

"Let me do it" You say and Clarissa swiftly gives you a new set of sutures.

After adjusting yourself you look down "Surgical microscope please" And the microscope was brought down to your level and adjusted to your eyeline.

Focusing your eyes through the lense you begin to graft the a new nerve from the damaged nerve, cutting the damaged part and sewing the ends.

This was your element. Fixing the broken. Mending the hurt.

After 5 hours of intense surgery, you and Peyton were nearly finished. The beat of song playing off the speaker was echoing across the walls of the OR. Nodding your head along to the drum of Green Day's American Idiot as you finished suturing the final layer of Soap's skin.

"Nice finish" Peyton said as she cleaned the area "Stats are good" she added looking at the various monitors that beeped rhythmically along with the music.

"Pause music please" You said, one of the nurses pauses.

You cut the last suture and place the forceps onto the tray held by Clarissa.

"Good job Dr Kaur" She said nodding at you. You nod back and return to admire the handiwork which was being dressed by Peyton and another nurse.

"He is stable and stats are looking great" Clarissa says as you eye the monitor. You turn to her and smile, putting more effort to crinkle as your mouth was hidden behind the mask.

"We will take him back to the ICU just for observation" Peyton said as she moved over from Soap to you and Clarissa.

"I'll help take him" Clarissa said "Well done"

"No thank you" You say "Thank you everyone" You say loudly to the rest of the medical team all who respond with a cheerful thanks back.

"I'm gonna head back" You say

"I'll keep you updated, and let you know when the team can see him" Peyton says taking her gloves off as they left the OR, she tapped you on the shoulder and walked off.

Taking off your surgical cover, masks and gloves you wash the grimy sweat off your hands. The smell of strong disinfectant soap filled your nose.

Leaving the scrub room you walk off back towards the double doors where you had rolled Soap in. He was okay now. Had to wait until he was awake to see if there is any nerve damage to his legs...

Checking one of the clocks on the hallway you realise it was 11:49am, you longed for a hot shower and then the comfort of your bed. Walking through the double doors, midway through yawning you were met with a giant man sat in the middle of the hallway. The skull face gave you a jump. It took a few moments to register that it was Ghost.

"Lieut-"

Ghost leapt up from his chair and nearly toppled you over as he confronted you

"Is he alright? Did he make it?" He blurted, his eyes widening at you.

You stare back into his eyes, only just able to make out the blue iris.

"He's okay." You say, reaching your right hand up to to his shoulder.

"His legs, said somethin' abou' his legs" Ghost huffed at you

"Ghost, he is stable and in the ICU, regarding his legs, we will have to wait until he wakes up to assess any damage." You to him calmly

He takes in this information, your calm demeanor. Of course you know what you are doing he thought to himself

"Are you okay sir? You ask

"I'm okay" Ghost said quickly.

You look at him curiously, there was something off about him.

"Okay then.." You say moving away from him.

Ghost moves towards the chair and picked it up with his left arm, the sudden weight made him wince and groan as his unattended wound stretched and weep as he moved.

"Fuuck" He whispered to himself as he set the chair back down and placing his right hand over his wound on the left side of his waist.

"Lieutenant what happened?" You say rushing over to him

"Nothin'" He said trying to push you away. You scoff at him and roll your eyes.

"Ghost, I'm in no mood for bullshit" You say sharply at him. Ghost looked at you, eyebrows narrowed, your eyes slightly red and clearly tired.

He was being rude again.

"I got a nick" He said motioning to his wound looking at your stern face, eyes narrowed. Clearly annoyed. "Can you patch me up?" He asks, your stern face relaxed, softened.

"Right, come with me" You say letting out a big sigh and head out of the RAMC building and then back to the infirmary in Building 2.

Turning the light on you spritz the med bed and give it a quick wipe.

"Get your vest off" You say plainly to Ghost who follows your command. He unties the straps and then sets his vest aside. Attempting to take his hoodie off but he couldn't as the wound caused him to wince further.

"Need some help?" You say as you look over to Ghost who was clearly struggling.

"Alrigh' then" He said and braced himself as you walk closer to him, bringing your hands to his body, rolling the hem of his hoodie slowly and carefully.

Ghost winced again as you went near his waist.

"Might have to cut it off" You suggest looking up at him.

"Go on then" He mumbled, the edge of his mouth curved slightly under his mask.

Grabbing a pair of clothing shears, you cut the hoodie off Ghost, revealing a damp black shirt underneath, his bare muscular arms on unveiled. You look at his waist, and see a patch of dried up blood, parts of his shirt clung to his skin dried and wrinkled.

"Sit on the med bed please" You motioning to the bed and then you walk off to the bathroom to wash your hands. Sleep eludes you. Drying your hands you head back to where Ghost was, who was now sitting crouched on the edge of med bed.

Putting on a pair of gloves and grabbing a stool with your foot you slide close to Ghost, and lift the t-shirt. As suspected the parts that clung to the skin where dried stuck to the wound. An impromptu weak bandage.

"Gonna also have to cut your shirt around the wound, it's dried to the gash"

Ghost looked down at you.

"Can't you bandage it?" He asks and the expression your face held clearly showed he asked a stupid question.

Your look of disbelief subdued, and grabbed the scissors. Ghost's heart quickened. He didn't mind being shirtless. But not when he has been in the field with limited availability to shower, smelt like shit and especially in front of a woman he was interested in...

"Wai-" Ghost began but he was too late, you began to cut his shirt off him, exposing his sticky sweaty scarred skin.

As you cut away at the fabric you notice various deep pink and white scars adorned on his chest and abdomen. Dirt had built up in areas, but it was expected. A shower is the last thing you need in the field.

Grabbing some saline water and a towel, you wash away dirt surrounding the remaining cloth covering his wound. Gently, with your gloved fingers you peel the cloth away revealing the gammy wound. Inflamed and dirty.

"Lift your arm" You ask and Ghost does so and watches as your pour more saline to the wound, his eyes focused on the precision placement of your fingers on his waist, not ogling him.

He slightly winces as your fingers graze over a sensitive area. As you examine the area, you notice it was bumpy, sand had gotten into the wound.

"This area is very inflamed. Lie down, it'll sting as I clean it" You say gently

Ghost shuffled back and then. laid down and then turned his head to watch as you focused on cleaning his wound, your concentration unwavering as you focused on the task at hand. He noticed the lack of talking, just blunt and no joy. But then, you did just finish a 6 hour surgery.

He gazed at your tired eyes, noticed how you rapidly blink every now and then, your mouth pursed, no smile on show. You grabbed some small gauze and wiped the wound.

"This is going to need stitches" You say

"Hmm" Ghost mumbled "I'll let you get to work, I'll just be here" He adds

You laugh slightly and then finish cleaning the area before starting to suture the two layers of fatty tissue and muscle, pulling the flesh together again, wiping away any blood with clean gauze.

Ghost felt himself slip into the bed beneath him as you got to work, focusing on his breathing; in for four, hold, then out slowly for four. Drifting away, away from the chaos of the last 24 hours. Away from the chaos that still looms ahead of him.

<CUE FLASHBACK> 23rd August 2010 Ashfield Base, mess hall "Sergeant Riley" You said as you plopped down opposite your superior in the mess hall with your lunch, the hall was mostly empty, the radio played on the speaker overhead. "Cadet" Sergeant Riley said not looking up from his cup of tea and half-eaten sausage roll. "C'mon sir, you know my name" You quipp at him as you take a bite of your pizza. Simon looks up from his cup and stars at you, your eyes widened and the grin appeared on your face. "Cadet Ruhari" He sighed looking back at his sausage roll. "Cadet maybe no more" You say cheerfully Simon looked up quickly "What do you mean?" He asked "Captain asked if I wanted to come join full time, commit proper into the army." You said "Ah" Simon said quietly "Ain't you got some good brains for uni?" He added and looked at you as you shrugged "Maybe can do it later, but I do enjoy this" You say motioning the space around you. "Nothin' enjoyable about war" He said sharply You were taken aback "Of course not sir, I just meant as in discipline, camaraderie and the protection of one's country" "Hmm" Simon mumbles giving you a slight cold stare with his sharp blue eyes. In that moment of silence, the radio station at base start playing 1973 by James Blunt. The echoes of the piano filled your body and you began to twiddle your fingers to the beat of the drum. Looking at Simon you start to grin, he looks up at you as you begin to mouth the lyrics: Simona.. you're getting older Your journey's been etched on your skin... "Simonaaaa" You sing quietly and giggle Simon gazed at your joyous smile as you continued to mouth the lyrics of the stupid song that made a twist of his name. He watched on as you exaggerated the 'mona' part of Simona and laughed along with you. Simon knew the Captain was going to offer you a place in the army, but he had hoped you would decline. Going out in the field changes people. Changes the best of people. Turns them into someone else. Would you still be the same after you see the horrors of war? Simon wondered as he watched you finally finish the now cold slice of pizza. He would hate to see that beautiful smile disappear.

#modern warfare fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x doctor #simon riley x reader #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x medic #cod mw soap #fan fic ideas #angst #modern warfare ghost #x oc #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x original character #modern warfare fluff #cod fluff #cod mw2

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http-paprika · 8 months

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Together, Inhospitable | Simon Riley 1 Bug Like an Angel

masterlist / next

summery the rest of the 141 had gone out to celebrate, except for simon who shed his mask for the night. unbeknownst to him, christina was still there.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x christina "red" perez / wc 1087 / warnings mentions of death, alcoholism, and swearing

note today is my actual birthday, and nothing is more of a gift than sad, mitski induced angst. enjoy.

"amateur mistake, you can take it from me" mitski

The sun had dipped below the horizon and daggered mountains, leaving the sky navy with too much light for the stars to shine, but too dark to be daytime. Simon sat back in his plastic chair, a single brown glass bottle of beer looking back at him from the outdoor table, he watched a bug fly around the rim, catching flight before he could move and catch it in his calloused hands. His gaze rose with the bug, following it to the outdoor light where the small insect rested with other winged bugs. Still watching, he grasped the bottle and raised it to his mouth, resting on sun-dried lips and allowing the sour liquid to scorch his throat as Simon swallowed.

He was alone tonight, the rest of his team had gone out drinking and celebrating but with a migraine and bitter mood, Simon chose to stay back. Allowing himself a drink and shedding the mask, for the few hours he had to himself, he let the warm summer air touch his skin. A sudden gust of wind sliced through the porch, causing the blond hair to stand on his neck. Simon rested a hand on his chin, feeling the growing stubble of facial hair that he’d have to shave soon, he hated the way it made him look, cursing as it reminded him of his father.

Suddenly the glass bottle in his hand stung, like a phantom cut against his rough palms. It dropped out of his grasp, shattering on the tiled floor as the door behind him clicked open. Out of instinct, he snatched the neck of the broken bottle as he turned to the sudden intruder, Simon’s shoulders falling when he realized it was his teammate.

“Jesus, Red. I thought you left with the others to go celebrate.” He gruffly says, bending down to try and clean up the dark glass, the remaining liquid seeping into his shoe.

“I don’t drink.” She was surprised to see him on the porch, thinking she’d been alone in the house. Christina was also surprised to see him without his skull mask, only having seen him without it once after she accidentally entered his office uninvited. “I’ll grab a bag and towel.”

Simon wanted to disappear, he didn’t like the way Christina looked at him before she stepped back inside to grab supplies to clean the mess he’d made. He wasn’t as comfortable as Simon around his team, safety was in the caricature that was Ghost. Where he was just a man behind a mask.

“Here.” She hands him an old dishcloth and begins to carefully pick up the glass shards, not questioning the mess at all. It was his luck that Red had been the one to stay at the base as opposed to Soap or any of the others, she was quiet and didn’t question why Simon hadn’t joined the team. Only speaking when she saw a good reason too.

“Thanks, Red.” They quickly clean up the mess, before Simon returns to his chair and she stays standing, picking at her lips.

“Do you want me to leave?” Christina finally asks, breaking their silence.

“No, you can stay.” She takes the seat across from him, pulling her knees to her chest. Simon studied her, remembering that she was a decade younger than him. Yet they’d always had some unspoken understanding, a knowing look behind their eyes. Some part of their hidden pasts that tethered them together. “I thought you used to drink.”

“No, I’ve been sober since basic training.” She tells him, allowing him to briefly pick at her brain. In return, she asks why he stayed home from the celebration their teammates were participating in. “You’ve never stayed back before.”

“Massive fuckin’ headache.” Simon grumbles, had she always looked so tired? Were her shoulders always so bony under her shirt? On the field, she’d always been intimidating enough, coming across as a good soldier who never seemed to be afraid. But here, she seemed so timid and faltering under Simon’s gaze. “Can I ask why you don’t drink?”

“You can ask, I might not answer,” Christina responds, looking up at the light as if she were one of the insects searching for the sun. Aching to fly away, fly into the bright sun, and disappear in its warmth.

“So why don’t you?” He asks, unsure if Simon actually wanted to know the truth. If finding the reason behind the haunting look in her eyes was worth it, but he couldn’t imagine it was any worse than anything else he’d experienced. But Simon knew it could still come as a shock, whatever the reason.

“My father drank himself to death. His liver gave out, he died at his favorite bar.” She closed her eyes, the lids stained a purple color begging for rest she’ll never receive. Heavy bags underneath resulting from a line of work a woman like her shouldn’t have been in, Simon decided. “And I wouldn’t be like him.”

“Ah.” Simon thought of his own father, who as a child he wished would drink himself away. Now, he tried not to even think of the man, trying to ignore his father was like trying to ignore a sore in Simon’s mouth. It always came back and ruined his mind and mood. “Well, I’m not sure how much it’s worth. But from what I’ve seen, you’re a better woman than most people I’ve known.”

Her eyes roll open, looking at him with an almost distant crystalized gaze. Where their eyes met, that invisible string was tugged, pulling at Simon’s throat as he stared at Christina, almost longingly, wanting to say her name. Simon’s hands almost ached to reach out and hold hers. To speak and comfort her as Red’s eyes grew watery. But he withheld the urge and thankfully so as they could hear the rest of their team returning, with Soap drunkenly singing some song he’d heard at the bar. The moment died as Simon pulled his balaclava back on, falling back into the comfort of being Ghost. Christina uncurled herself, stretching out her shoulders and back to give her added height and hardening her face.

There was a cold distance set up between them as drunken Soap stumbled into the light propped up by Gaz and Price who were evidently tipsy as they loudly exchanged greetings with their two sober teammates. Soap in particular was loud, looking between Res and Ghost before announcing his opinion. “Oh, so that’s why you stayed home, Ghost. Had a fucking date planned.”

ending note this has been edited from the original to fit the Together, Inhospitable series. only minor changes though, nothing major.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty mw2 #ghost #cod mw22 #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #fanfiction #f!reader #angst #angst fanfic #mitski #mitski inspired #bug like an angel #im sad theyre sad #simon ghost riley x original character #oc #simon ghost riley x oc

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obi-wansorrow · 28 days

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Songs the COD fandom should listen to:

Scotty Doesn't Know - Lustra

Self Esteem - The Offspring

Old Ghost - Beatnik Bandits

Santa Monica - Everclear

Lose Control - Teddy Swims

#cod #call of duty #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x original character #captain john price x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley

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darkeraurora · 6 months

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Admissions - Chapter 9

Very mild NSFW this time.

Chapter 9 of ??

Status: ON GOING

The ever-present whir of the heaters kept the silent Brit company. Simon sat on a weight bench in the gym, alone with nothing but his thoughts in the twilight’s quiet stillness. Sunrise wasn’t for another few hours and only a small handful of people around base would be awake at this hour. Perimeter wall guards mostly.

He’d woken up quite early, even by military standards, and slipped out of bed once he detangled himself from the warm clutches of his little one, leaving Sereza to continue sleeping. While he’d slept fine last night, his mind wouldn’t fucking shut up about what might potentially happen later today.

Last night he’d told Sereza he’d found his bandana.

Consequently, his anxieties and insecurities were all in overdrive. Even if she had agreed – or rather, offered – to allow him to blindfold her so he felt more at ease, Simon still felt off. Considering what he would be doing to her – or might end up doing, since he wasn’t particularly confident that he’d be able to actually go through with it – it would terrify him if the roles were reversed and he was the one unable to see. What if he scared her? What if she was secretly feeling apprehensive about being blindfolded but was forcing herself to go through with it because of him? God that would kill him.

And also…

Even if she wasn’t able to see him, she would still be able to feel his skin.

What if it repulsed her? His physique was impressive, he knew. Fucking ought to be after the innumerable hours he spent in the gym burning through nightmare-fueled adrenaline rushes. But his body was covered in evidence of things best left forgotten. And he fucking hated it. Every fucking time he saw a glimpse of his skin or his reflection the urge to carve those reminders out himself was overpowering.

The worst ones were under his shirt. So far Sereza hadn’t seen or touched them, but she would when Simon made love to her; or feel them if she were blindfolded. How would she react?

But on the flip side… if Ghost didn’t take her…

What if she grew tired of waiting for him to be ready? He was pushing himself already as it was, and though he’d done more with her than he had with anyone else in what felt like an eternity... what if it wasn’t enough? She had been nothing but patient, understanding, and helpful. Always ensuring he felt safe and in control, but what if she decided he was too much trouble? Simon could certainly see that being a possibility. He was well aware he wasn’t an easy partner to have, not by any means. Or what if she grew tired of waiting on him and she moved on with someone else? Someone less complicated? All because he took too long to fuck her?

Ghost immediately felt horrible for thinking of his girlfriend that way. Complete shit. The one good thing that had happened in his rotten fucking life and this is what he was thinking about her? Bloody hell he was an arse.

Perhaps he should just force himself. Maybe once it was over his mind would decide it wasn’t so bad. An involuntary shiver made him wince. Simon was not at all sure he could do that. Plus, if he didn’t already feel like shit for thinking of Sereza the way he had, he definitely would if her first time ended up being a disaster or something he rushed through. Damn him and his issues.

Oh shit.

That’s right… it would be her first time with a man. Ghost would hurt her when…

Fucking shit; another thing for his mind to obsess over.

Trying to redirect his thoughts – force that mental-emotional pendulum to swing the opposite way for a fucking change – he thought back over the past several months. It had been maybe four months now since he first met Sereza and Simon ate better, was learning to trust touch again, slept peacefully almost all of the time, and felt less anxious… well, generally.

Looking back, Ghost was truly amazed at just how much she had already helped heal him.

No one, aside from his mother, had ever meant as much to him as she did. The rest of the 141 was important to him also, of course, but that was different. They were his family but Sereza… Simon simply couldn’t conceive of a future that didn’t include her in it.

But, his thoughts circling back around, would he lose his chance at that future once she saw all of him?

Ghost paused, blinked then sighed irritably upon realizing he’d long since lost count of his reps. Dammit, he’d have to start over. Veiny forearms flexed as he readjusted his grip on the kettlebell and began again. What a troublesome little one he had. Not even in the room and still she was distracting him. Such a naughty girl, Love. What am I going to do with you?

“Taken to haunting the gym mi amor?”

Ah, speaking of naughty… His beauty was out of bed. Her sleepy voice echoed across the cavernous space, coming from the doors behind him. He could tell by the sound she hadn’t been awake very long. The sleepiness made her voice sound so unbearably precious he couldn’t help smiling under the mask, despite her being the current source of much of his consternation. His free hand rolled the balaclava up to the bridge of his nose as he angled his head backward in her direction in a silent request for a kiss. “Bloody hell your lips are sweet, Love,” he complimented, picking up her hand from his shoulder to kiss her wrist. He looked up into deep hazel eyes, waves of honey tumbled around their faces and obscured the light. An image he tucked away to cherish when they had to be apart. Even from upside-down like this, she was the cutest thing.

Sereza grinned at his words. “Want another taste?” she offered, cocking her head to the side and sliding her palms over Simon’s pecs down toward his sternum. An affirmative groan rumbled through her ghost’s chest. His little one leaned down again and offered her lips.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked once they finally parted, coming around to sit near the opposite end of the bench from him so he’d have space to continue his set.

The half-masked Lieutenant poked her side, a place he’d recently found out was ticklish. “Quit that worrying, Gorgeous,” he reassured her, “I slept fine, just woke up is all.”

She was not at all convinced her ghost was telling her the full story, but let it go for now. Ghost seemed to be handling whatever bothered him well enough so she’d leave him to it, not wanting to nag or hassle him. There would be time to check in with him later if need be. “Mind if I sit and watch you?”

“Don’t mind at all, Sweetheart.”

The windows lightened from pitch black to sapphire to pale blue as dawn came to the Arctic sky. Simon and Sereza chatted about this and that. Simple small talk and making each other laugh with dumb jokes, just enjoying each other’s presence.

“Hey Si, a fish swims into a wall – what does he say?”

“Hm?” he paused, dangling from the grips he was training on.

“Dam.”

The Brit laughed hard at that one. “Not bad,” he chuckled. He’d have to remember it for the next mission with Soap. “Not bad at all, Love.”

XXXXX

Ghost’s shot cracked the stillness of the tundra. Perfect bullseye.

He fired his final shot, splitting the frozen silence and sending birds fluttering. Once more hitting the target dead-center with surgical precision. His little one sat just behind him and kept watch on their surroundings. It was time for Simon to qualify again, which meant a visit to the range outside the protective walls of the base. Which meant polar bears, so Sereza was on guard duty. That left Ghost free to focus on what he needed to.

While he trusted her – she had been out here for years whereas it hadn’t even been six months yet for the lieutenant – he still preferred to finish quickly and take over the role of Polar Bear Guard himself. He knew it might sound chauvinistic and insufferably alpha male-ish of him, but dammit he couldn’t help it. The urge to protect the woman he loved at any and all costs was ferocious.

Naturally Ghost qualified without issue. Not that he had any doubts – as arrogant as that might sound, but his little love being there this time did provide a hint of nervous jitters.

The range cleared not long after, leaving only the petite female and her towering ghost alone with the snow. Simon decided to take the opportunity to see how well his girlfriend could shoot. He had only his M4 with him, which should be fine, and he doubted with her small form she could use a shotgun or some such without risking injury to her shoulder. Sereza was tiny, but she wasn’t some fragile female. However, as the surgeon on base, neither she nor anyone else could risk her being injured.

But to his bewilderment, as soon as the Brit suggested a bit of shooting practice, she began to argue with him.

“I really don’t need to Si,” she refused, waving as stood and made ready to head back to the base. Why did it sound like she was trying to hurry off? “Let’s get back, I’m freezing anyway.”

Ghost knew that wasn’t true. The way she dressed and layered for the cold was impeccable; there was no way she was freezing. Chilly possibly, but not freezing. “You telling me stories, Little one? I think you forgot that I watched you do your layers this morning,” the Brit chuckled from behind his mask, “Come on now. Two shots left in this mag and they’re both yours.”

Sereza shuffled on her feet. “Nooo I’m pretty positive they’re yours actually.”

“Saved ‘em for you because you’re just so damned cute.” Simon took hold of her wrist.

“I-I don’t want to…” she continued protesting, trying to back away further, but the iron grip around her wrist gently pulled her back toward the firing line.

“One shot then,” he attempted to compromise. “Show me what you got, Love.” Ghost held the rifle out for her to take.

“NO!” Sereza shouted, pushing roughly away from him.

Ghost’s strength could, of course, have held her in place but he immediately let go of her wrist at her vehement refusal. She continued taking tiny steps backward from him, hands shaking, eyes wide, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Her behavior stunned him. “Sereza…?” he whispered in concern. She had always been the calm one but right now she looked positively panic-stricken.

Frosty clouds of her breath puffed out rapidly, fearful eyes fixed upon the snow, seeing someplace far from where they both stood as she fought back tears. “I-I don’t, I don’t…” she whimpered incoherently, shaking from head to toe.

Simon hurriedly set the rifle down behind him, out of her line of sight. He held his hands out to her, showing the weapon was gone. “It’s alright Love, it’s gone, and you don’t have to shoot.”

Ghost slowly stepped closer to his love until she blinked, as if only just realizing he was in front of her, then lunged into his chest and clung to him. Strong arms picked her up, smoothing down honeyed curls while he shushed her, sitting them both down on a nearby log and guiding her tiny form into his lap.

As much as he hated to see her cry, seeing her this scared was worse.

What the hell had set her off? Was it the gun? Sure a lot of people were afraid of guns, but it didn’t seem that the cause of her behavior was as simple as that. Everything had appeared perfectly fine and she was acting normally up until the moment he tried to get her to shoot. There was something else she was afraid of. Not the weapon itself.

Ghost slipped her beanie off and kissed her forehead. Once her breathing calmed, he pulled back to see her face.

Instead of the fear from earlier, Sereza now looked self-conscious. Embarrassed. Shoulders slumped, she turned away from him and hid her face in the soft fleece of his jacket. “I-I’m sorry,” his little one dolefully apologized while refusing to meet Simon’s eyes.

His gloved thumb wiped icy tear streaks from her pink cheeks. “Nothing to be sorry for, Love. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Uh… I-n-…”

Simon waited as she uncharacteristically fumbled with her words, never taking his hands from her. It was odd seeing her like this, and it spoke to how scared she’d been since normally Sereza was quite articulate, but whatever had spooked his little one had evidently rattled her enough that she wasn’t able to get her thoughts in order.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, adjusting her so he could see her face better. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. Look at me, Sereza.” Uncertain hazel eyes jumped to his at the command and Ghost ran his hands over her arms consolingly. “That’s my girl. Can you listen to me? You are here, with me, and I will not let anything harm you. You know that, right?” He smiled at her small nod. “Good. Please Love, try to tell me what happened. Was it the gun?”

She shook her head.

Ghost inwardly puzzled over her nonverbal response. Looked like he’d have to fish for answers.

“Me holding the gun?”

“No.” A single small word but a step in the right direction. Ghost found the stronger reaction encouraging; maybe they were getting somewhere.

“Is a rifle too much for you?”

“I-I…” Her voice came out in a pitifully small quiver that tore at his heart.

“You can tell me Little one, it’s okay.”

“I… can’t shoot.”

Well yeah - Ghost gathered that much by the way she reacted but it didn’t answer his question. It was clear to him that something had happened to his love just a moment ago, but what? And why? He could almost swear it looked like a flashback, but she never…

That was when it hit him.

It was a flashback. Something had happened that left her with her own scars. Not that he’d believed her life had been all sunshine and rainbows up until now. The lieutenant knew perfectly well very few had such privilege. But he now understood the reason why Sereza could handle him and his laundry list of issues so well. Because she had survived her own personal hell.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she continued, “When I try-” She had to pause when her voice cracked. Ghost wrapped her in his arms as if he was shielding his love from whatever distressed her. “My father… when I was very little… he’d shoot at me. Sometimes he’d sneak up behind me or he’d make me stand still and shoot the ground around me. Just centimeters from hitting me. One time he did graze me,” Sereza paused as she sniffled, “I don’t think he’d intended to; he was just very drunk. He’d laugh as he did it. It was fun for him.”

The lieutenant was beyond enraged. “Where?” his deep baritone rumbled. Sereza gestured at her left shin, about halfway between her knee and ankle. “Your mother didn’t stop him?”

“…my mother was worse,” she faintly admitted. Quietly as though something bad would happen if she spoke any louder.

Sereza's body beginning to tremble again told Simon just how much worse.

He wanted, with everything in him, to know what had been done to his little one so he could arrange a bit of… retribution. But that would have to wait. Now was not the time. Plus he supposed his girlfriend might not want that, and what she wanted was ultimately what mattered most to him.

Still though… it’d make him feel a bit better.

But his vengeance-plotting would have to wait. Right now his little one needed him. Ghost pressed her close, cradling her head to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Sereza. I should have listened the first time you said you didn’t want to. I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t recognize what was happening until I pushed too far, and I’m sorry for that as well. I just hadn’t seen that happen when you’ve been at the ranges with us before.”

Small hands squeezed his arm wrapped around the front of her, trying to convey her appreciation as well as forgiveness. “Not your fault, and you can’t notice things you haven’t seen,” she reassured, wringing her gloved hands in her lap. "I should have told you sooner."

Simon lifted the petite body, moving her until she straddled his lap so he could see her properly. “Why do you seem embarrassed about it?” A finger hooked under her chin. “It’s just one skill out of many. You have a lot of other valuable skills.”

She chuckled half-heartedly. “Someone in the military that can’t shoot?” she replied emotionlessly.

“I see where you’re coming from, but you aren’t actually in the military though Love,” Ghost tried to reason, “You’re contracted, and for very different work. It’s quite normal to be afraid of guns. That’s a healthy fear. I think… that you being the surgeon here, putting us back together again after a mission, is a far more important skill.”

Sereza bit her lip and looked away from her ghost again. “A lot of the others don't make that distinction and wouldn’t approve of me being here if they found out I can’t shoot. Not that I care about what they think – I don’t. They don’t know the reason why and don’t need to. But the whole thing frustrates me to no end.”

It angered the Brit to learn that others found fault in his girlfriend. Whether they knew the reason behind her lack of firearms skills or not was irrelevant. Sereza was a person – a human being with feelings and inherent value – whose job was to take care of them after injuries. How that made her somehow less in their opinion Ghost would never understand. And didn’t care to try to understand either.

XXXXX

The pair walked side by side back toward the gates, trudging slowly through the snow, while Sereza told Ghost more about her mental stumbling block. “It doesn’t make any sense,” his little love ranted, airing her frustration. “I’m around guns - big guys with guns at that," she gestured at her massive ghost beside her, "all the freaking time. I’ve gone to the ranges with the guys and watched them shoot… so, so many times. Never a problem. I hold them, I carry them, I’ve helped clean the damn things – also not a problem. It starts right as I aim.”

The skull hummed as he pondered over her words. That was peculiar. It would make sense if the sound of gunshots triggered her, but it was only once she took aim. Was she even able to get off a shot? Probably not, he decided. But she was perfectly capable and comfortable with every other aspect except for firing the weapon herself.

Ghost knew better than most how bizarre the brain could behave when triggered, but what many people didn’t seem to understand was that triggers were never random – not really. Whatever it was, it made sense somehow in the mind of that person. Maybe, for Sereza, when she was aiming and ready to fire, perhaps her mind put her in her father’s place and she was the one shooting at the terrified child.

His heart ached for her.

"Si… will you teach me?”

“To shoot?” His little one looked up at him with hesitant eyes.

He was willing, of course, but he also didn’t want Sereza to feel that level of fear again. Back to that manly-man urge to protect his woman… thing. Besides, there were other ways he could teach her to defend herself that didn’t involve firearms. “You were so afraid Love-”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking,” Sereza interrupted. “I spent years learning to come to terms with all the shit that happened when I was growing up, and this is the last thing. I want to be able to move past this too, but I… I don’t think I can do this one on my own.”

The towering skull thought it over as he held his love’s hand while she struggled through some particularly deep snow. “You're sure about this? I mean, I will, of course – and your brother could also help you,” he questioned.

“He… doesn’t know,” she confessed, finally breaking free with a huff. “My brother’s mom actually cared about being a parent and she escaped with him one night while our dad was passed out. A few years later our dad moved on and started a new relationship. That's when I came along. My brother carries a lot of guilt because I didn’t have a safe or happy childhood while he was the one who did – which I’m very glad of, by the way. That makes me happy. But he blames himself for not knowing about me or finding me sooner.” The skull silently listened, holding her hand warmly within his. “I tell him all the time that it wasn’t his fault, but like any big brother, he doesn’t listen.” Simon chuckled along with her, being an older brother himself.

Sereza hooked her arm through his elbow. “Would you? Please?”

He stopped walking and pulled his mask up. The main road back to base was just ahead so they couldn’t be seen where they currently stood. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Simon lifted her up and kissed her as deeply as he possibly could. “Didn’t need to ask, Love. I’d have helped you anyway.”

Simon sat his little one back on her feet, steadying her by the arm when she swayed. Knowing his kiss had left his love weak in the knees he gave him a satisfied grin.

XXXXX

The lieutenant had a short late afternoon meeting with Price.

And couldn’t concentrate for shit.

He put on a convincing performance though and it didn’t seem Price was aware that his lieutenant wasn’t as laser-focused as he would normally be. Simon was much the same during dinner too. One leg bounced incessantly beneath the table, and he kept forcing his shoulders back down from under his ears.

His distraction didn’t go unnoticed that time however and both Soap and Gaz found it immensely entertaining to tease him about it. They had convinced themselves that Sereza had sent him a text – of a spicy nature that included, perhaps, a spicy picture – thus concluding that the reason their lieutenant wasn’t his normal gruff self was all the blood leaving his brain. Occupied elsewhere, about three feet lower.

The idea had them snickering and cackling like poorly behaved school children. The sergeants both stubbornly kept with their concocted story despite Ghost’s insistence that their story was hopelessly wrong. “Maybe we should lay off, eh Gaz? LT’s got a busy night ahead of him, aye? Don’t wanna tire the ol’ boy out before he can satisfy his lady.” Soap was enjoying himself far too much in Simon's opinion.

He wearily shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his masked nose, grumbling under his breath at Soap’s teasing. Fucking hell, you two. Honestly. Was this how parents with small children felt? Because if so Ghost could understand why they looked tired so much of the time.

It had been a long fucking day and it was nearing the end.

Which was what had him feeling antsy. Last night Ghost had asked Sereza if she would be busy tonight… and told her he’d found his bandana. Now it was getting close to time to use said bandana.

So, yeah…

Antsy was a fucking colossal understatement.

XXXXX

Back in his quarters after dinner, Simon anxiously paced around the small space. An internal debate raged in his head about whether or not he was ready for this. Thus far the negative side was winning out, as per usual.

Bloody hell, I can’t do this! I CANNOT fucking do this!!

Yes you can. With her, you know you can. You need to.

Back and forth, back and forth. Mentally and literally. With all the walking and his thundering heartbeat, the lieutenant felt like he’d just come off the longest ruck march of his life.

Ghost was so jittery when Sereza walked in a bit later that she half-expected to see him start climbing the walls.

“Si?” Her Brit turned to look down at her, her touch relaxing him somewhat as she threaded her fingers through his. “You look like you’re about to crawl right out of your skin mi amor.”

…my skin…

“What has my love so stressed? Wouldn’t have anything to do with you not being able to sleep last night, would it?” she asked rhetorically.

The Brit sighed as he realized she’d seen right through his fib in the gym this morning and found a sudden, singular interest in their entwined hands. Admiring just how much his love was dwarfed by the size of him. Finally he answered her with only an affirming grunt, nerves having made him slightly tongue-tied.

Sereza rubbed her thumbs over the back of his hands as she squeezed them. “Can you tell me now what had you so anxious last night mi amor?”

Her love audibly swallowed. Did she have to be so damn observant all the damn time? She was giving him the opportunity to open up, and he appreciated all of her efforts, but fucking hell that was hard when it came to… this.

Feelings and whatnot.

She kissed along the printed knuckles on his skeleton gloves. “You know that it’s okay to tell me, if you choose to, yeah? It stays between us, and I will still love you and be with you regardless of what it is,” she encouraged.

Well she had certainly proven that to be true. All the emotional baggage he’d heaped on those slender shoulders, yet she was still here, as unshakable as any mountain, willing to put up with him for some unfathomable reason.

Ghost felt like an arse – again – for making her worry like this.

Fucking hell.

It was time to come clean with her.

Scooping up his little one bridal style, Simon climbed into bed and snuggled into her neck. Giving her a few ticklish kisses. The chaotic storm of thoughts in his mind calmed while he breathed the scent of her. Sereza’s nails traced across his neck and upper back while she left small kisses over his hair.

“… I’m scared Love,” her ghost whispered. “Scared I’ll remember… shit I don’t want to. I’m worried... about what you’ll see. But I'm much more scared-," He paused as his voice cracked. Ghost pressed against her tighter, seeking reassurance. “I'm fucking terrified... that- that I’ll hurt you. And it’s going to hurt you anyway. I want you so goddamn much but... I can’t… I can’t fucking stand knowing that I’ll cause you pain.”

Always such a worrier, mi amor. His worrying over her wellbeing she could address quickly enough, but the lingering trauma from his assault would take time. Sereza hugged around his dirty blond head. “Simon, Love – I swear, you have the sweetest heart,” she affectionately whispered before kissing his forehead. “Can I tell you a couple of things, my love?”

Her ghost grunted a reply, flustered at being called sweet like that.

“I absolutely adore your touch. It feels indescribably good to me, did you know that? Whether we’re just relaxing or… doing something else. Even before we were together, you’d touch me in subtle ways or pat the top of my head while you told me how short I am,” they both chuckled at the memory and cuddled each other tighter. “Everyone else who did that I wanted to punch in the face-”

“You couldn’t reach their face Love,” he interjected mischievously.

“Oh shut up,” Sereza huffed, making Ghost chuckle. “…I loved when it was you though, always made my day and left me wanting more. I was happy simply being with you. And I still am.”

Simon was touched. All tingly and warm inside knowing that he made his little one happy, both now and back then without actually trying.

“Please don’t torment yourself mi amor. Talk to me when something’s bothering you, okay? You aren’t alone anymore Si, and you don’t have to deal with everything on your own either. We’re here to help each other, yeah? Just like earlier today.” Sereza cupped his face and guided it up to hers, kissing the scar cutting through his eyebrow. “I love you Si. No matter what your mind tells you, please don’t think you have to force yourself into doing anything physical for me to love you or stay with you. If any memories come up I'll be right there with you and we'll get through it together. But just so everything is clear going forward, I will never be put off by your touch. It’s alright for you to touch me when you want to.” Another tender kiss to a scar along his temple.

Ghost closed his eyes as he basked in the gentle care Sereza was giving him. The feeling of her fingers combing over the shorter hair on the side of his head made him feel slightly drowsy.

“Always,” another kiss, by his ear…

“Anytime,” under his eye...

“And I will love it.” His love ended with a lengthy kiss to a deep scar across his cheek. “You won’t scare me Si, and I know you would never, ever intentionally hurt me. When you feel like it, you have standing permission, does that help?”

Yeah.

Yeah it did actually.

Rules, regulations, and permissions spoke to his military side; something that gave the soldier in him parameters to operate within. That familiarity brought with it comfort and security. Simon’s spirit felt so much lighter now and he was kicking himself for not talking to Sereza sooner.

Right then, Ghost’s mental lightbulb clicked on.

He understood now that when he was happiest… when he felt the strongest and safest… was when he was like this with Sereza. Facing what troubled him with the support of his other half. Not when he internalized or withdrew into isolation to fight his inner wars and mental demons alone in some twisted protective display – whether that was protecting others or himself.

The haunting voice of his father, with his vicious threats and cruel insults, quieted. For the first time, Simon could admit to needing the presence and love of another person and felt no weakness or shame in doing so.

The woman holding him in her arms was the source of his peace.

He didn’t just need her – he also needed her.

Mind and soul, he needed her.

Simon made up his mind.

No more overthinking and obsessing. Tonight, he would take her.

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dokiiihell · 1 year

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💀 𖥻 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 "𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭" 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 | 𝐈𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬 ᵎᵎ 𝟢9s 🦴

Taken from the Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comic book ! ! !

#COD #CoD #Call of duty #simon riley #Call of duty ghost #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #icons #modern warfare 2: ghost #icons aesthetic #gaming edit #gaming icons #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x original character #polarr #picsart

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silli---lilli · 1 year

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I'm here, Simon.

Simon gets badly injured on a mission and Mariana, his woman, comes to his side.

A bonus chapter from the AO3 work Home by Sillililli.

Part 1

CW: Violence, blood, adult themes, hospitals

It was the heat of the summer and Simon had been gone for weeks. If someone told MJ he’d been gone for years, she might believe them. She did well on her own, she kept their little home, she worked, she stayed busy. But she missed him. One minute alone in the apartment was enough to make her feel like he’d never been there at all, and the thought was terrifying to her.

She knew its what she had signed up for. What she had asked for, what she had so deeply wanted. To be in his life, to be a part of who he was before she came along. He gave her the same. And when he returned, it always felt like a tidal wave of joy. Something she’d never quite dreamt of, something she imagined only happened in the novels she’d amassed and movies she’d cried through.

But he did it for her. She marveled often at how he’d never swept someone off their feet before, how no one had fallen flat on their face over his brooding and his big, gilded eyes. She’d settled on the idea that many had, he just hadn’t cared to explore it. She was the lucky one.

He’d told her once that he’d never been in love. She knew that was no lie because he struggled with it a lot. He bordered on possessive when he was in a low place, sure that if she stepped out the door without him at her back then someone else would free her and carry her off like he had. She always convinced him to let her, but she often came home to him a mess, though he refused to acknowledge it. MJ met him always with softness. It never angered her. It wasn’t jealousy or lack of trust, it was just a long life of nightmares, waking and sleeping, and she would be at his side to face them.

She had plenty of her own, after all, and they’d been worse the past few days. That night it was a constant loop, a familiar replay of him wasting away before her eyes in the desert. Dead in her place.

This time, it took her several minutes of gripping the sheets, listening to the city sounds outside to realize it was just a nightmare. She reached an arm to his side of the bed. She was no less alone in spite of that fact. She wanted him back. Most nights, even the hard ones, she was proud of him, so full of awe at what he did, at his strength. She missed him sure, but she wanted him out there, fulfilling his purpose, doing what he loved. But that night, she needed him. She wanted him there.

She got up for a glass of water, humming to herself to fill the silence that seemed overly oppressive. And as she climbed back into bed, on his side this time, her phone rang.

She stared at it. Her heart sputtered, ramming against her ribs at a breakneck pace and making her hands shake. She steeled herself, so her voice sounded normal. She’d prepared herself for this, gone over her responses and how she would act to the CO on the phone. She had known it was a possibility since the moment he first stepped out of their door all those months ago. She had just hoped it would never, ever happen.

It was an unknown number, she couldn’t be sure who was calling, but she had a feeling. She knew little about the assignment, just that it had to do with Russia. Just that it was a mercifully short flight, comparatively.

“Hello?”

“Mariana.”

She hadn’t expected Price himself to call her. She swallowed the bile at the back of her throat. “Price.”

“MJ, Simon has been injured. We’re back in Warsaw.” He paused. “I think it’s best if you come out.”

“Okay.” MJ scrambled backward off the bed and onto her feet. Her heart was back in her throat and she clutched at it with her free hand. “How?”

“I’ll get you a flight. How soon can you be ready?”

She glanced around the room. She couldn’t even think about packing. Her passport was in the safe. “Now.”

“Alright. A driver will come to you, give them a half hour.”

“How bad is it, Price?” She asked, knowing he would be honest, and knowing she couldn’t take a two hour flight unaware of what she was walking into.

“The last leg of the mission went left, Simon fell down a well and took gunfire. He has a broken back.” He paused again and she actually heard him swallow. “It took us too long to find him.”

They both kept their voices steady. Emotionless. “Too long?”

“He’s alive, which is more than I could probably say for the rest of us in that situation. I don’t have much else but I’m sure we’ll know more by the time you get here.”

MJ closed her eyes, fighting images of Simon having to be pulled out of a hole in the ground, broken and bleeding. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

“The flight leaves at 1:45. If I hear anything else before then, I’ll let you know immediately.” His voice softened. “I’ve told him you’re coming.”

Despite her best efforts, Mariana choked on unshed tears. “Tell him I love him.”

“Of course, MJ. See you soon.”

MJ hung up the phone. She had twenty five minutes before her ride got there. She sat on the edge of the bed, his edge of the bed and allowed herself two minutes of panic. Two minutes in which she imagined that he didn’t make it until she got there. That their last goodbye was their last goodbye. That he woke and didn’t remember her. That he might not see or speak or walk again.

And then she stood and turned on the light. She walked promptly to the toilet and emptied her stomach. Rising, she splashed cool water on her face and brushed her teeth. She pulled out a duffle bag and threw in some clothes. Jeans, sweatpants, leggings. A few shirts. Enough underwear for a week. She gathered a few things out of the bathroom and threw them in. She absentmindedly wondered if she should bring him some things, so she dug out a pair of his sleep pants and an old t-shirt of his and added them to hers.

She picked up her work things. She sat them down. She picked them up again. She didn’t want to give herself any reason to leave him before he was ready to come home with her. She could work from there, if it came to that.

She went to the safe, her hands still shaking, and entered the combination. She pulled out her passport. There wasn’t much else inside but some cash and an extra handgun. She stared at it. Stuff he’d left, in case she needed it.

“Simon.” She said, out loud.

His name was pretty. Strong. Like him. Not enough people knew him, these sweet sides of him. There was no way he could die. For all the times she had prepared herself to bury him, knowing the kinds of dangerous things he ran head first into, she decided in that moment that it wasn’t realistic. It didn’t really make sense. She sat back on her heels and shut the safe. He would be fine. He would make it.

She stood. She gathered her things. She waited for a call and when she got one she went outside. Price texted her, giving her the name of the driver. He was very matter-of-fact about proving his identity and the safety of getting in the car with him. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even thought to wonder. She just wanted to go.

It was nearly another half hour to the airport. They skirted the main terminal and entered the military tarmac. Of course, he had a private flight for her. She wiped dry eyes. They could never repay John Price for all he’d done for them. They would try. They.

She climbed aboard the plane the man directed her to. The pilot gave her his name and shook her hand. Again, she didn’t fucking care. The plane was nice, she had her choice of seat. She picked one near the back and sat. Her phone was so tight in her hand that it was slick with sweat and she nearly dropped it when it rang again. She answered.

“You’re about to take off?” Price.

“I think so.” She answered, again her steady voice failed to give away the level of fear gripping her.

“Just wanted to check in before you left. They’ve taken Simon back for surgery.” No ‘he’s stable’, no ‘he’s awake’, no ‘he’ll be out when you arrive’. Just facts.

“Okay.” She wondered what had taken them so long to take him back. She had so many questions and none she wanted to sit the whole flight pondering the answer to.

“I’ll pick you up when we land.” She shuddered in relief, a little of her tension leaving. She wanted to be with someone who was completely in charge, someone she knew.

“Okay.” She repeated, her relief in her voice.

She cried on the flight, quite a lot. She cried because even if he came out on the other side perfectly fine, he had gotten hurt. She didn’t know how long ‘too long’ was. Minutes? Hours? He’d sat there, his back broken, bleeding from a bullet wound, for how long? Long enough to think no one was coming? Long enough to be afraid? She laid under the dead cartel shoulder, her foot caught, for what felt like hours. She’d been banged up, sure, but not broken.

John Mactavish had found her then, even if he hadn’t made it to her rescue. She choked again. She wished she’d thought to ask Price if he was alright. She hoped he was and she hoped he was there. He was one of the few people on earth that Simon loved and trusted. He was always at Simon’s side, so had he been then, too? Or was there some reason they were separated?

Nerves shook her body so badly that her teeth chattered. She hoped someone could answer her questions. She hoped Simon would miraculously be awake waiting for her, so she could ask him. She knew he wouldn’t be. She knew when Price told her that he had told Simon she was coming that he had said it to unhearing ears. She had plenty to say to those same ones.

She had to get it together. For him.

The flight felt impossibly short. As they hit the ground again, she reconnected her phone and she had one message, from Price. That he would meet her in the hangar. The fact that it was so vague turned her stomach again. She was done crying, her tears dried. She knew she looked a mess but she stood straight and tall anyway, walking to meet him with purpose. He reached for her, she thought to shake her hand, but he pulled her into a hug instead.

“No change. He hasn’t come out of surgery yet.” He motioned toward the door. “But we’re not far.”

The hug almost melted her into an aching puddle again but she kept her straight face. This was what she had agreed to do, but she had regrets. Like the fact that he wasn’t her husband. They were stupid for that. All these logistics would be so much easier if they were legally bound. What if they wouldn’t let her in because she wasn’t family? He had no family. There was nothing that would stop her, really, from getting to him.

She hadn’t needed to worry. No one asked her how she knew him, or why she was there, she just kept at Price’s elbow and he led her through several sets of doors marked with a language she didn’t understand and into a waiting room, her bags over her arm.

Soap was there. He sat across the way, slid down in an uncomfortable chair, one arm in a sling. He straightened when he saw them, and stood as they approached. He held out his left hand, the one not wrapped up, and MJ folded it into both of hers for a second. His blue eyes met hers and smiled, in spite of their situation.

“Heard nothing yet.” He said. “Shouldn’t be long, though.”

Price turned to her and she dropped Soap’s hand. “I have some calls to make. You okay here?”

She nodded, even though she felt like her feet were barely attached to the ground. “I’m okay.” She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Price nodded at Soap and walked out. MJ followed Soap back to the grouping of seats and took one near his.

“MJ.” He shook his head, sinking back down. “Glad you’re finally here. The trip was alright?”

Horrifying, lonely, far too long. “It was perfectly fine. Are you okay, John? I meant to ask Price, I knew there was a chance you two were together.”

“Aye, I’m fine.” He didn’t explain his busted arm. He looked at her with raised brows, waiting for more questions.

She sat forward, folding her hands so they wouldn’t shake. “Can you tell me what happened? The Captain didn’t say much.”

Soap searched her eyes for a moment, debating whether or not he should give her the details he knew she wanted. He knew she could handle it, but he was hesitant to repeat them again. “Cap has a hard time with these things.”

“He cares for you guys.”

Soap ran a hand through his cropped hair. “Three of us went into a small village, Ghost, Gaz and I. It had been turned to a compound. It was just supposed to be recon.” Soap’s voice stayed even, but MJ heard the dip of frustration. “We were ambushed and outnumbered. We got separated.”

MJ felt her hands begin to numb as she gripped them tighter and she told herself to relax.

“I had both of them on comms and we had a point communicated for rv. There was a lot of shooting, we got low on ammo. It took a lot of time. Gaz and I found each other outside the wall but I hadn’t been able to get Simon for a few minutes.” Soap calling him by his first name gripped MJ’s heart. Shame on her for thinking he had no family. “I knew he wouldn’t answer if he was compromised. Still, Gaz and I tried to go back in but so low on ammo and visibility, we struggled.”

“Your arm.”

“Standard nonlethal GSW.” He shook his head. “It shouldn’t have happened this way.”

MJ let him pause, steady himself with a breath.

“Price and the others came to us instead of the rv point, they cleared the rest of them out. We went back in, looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. We thought maybe he’d been taken. It had been over an hour at that point since I’d heard from him.” He held his tongue, keeping from saying that he knew something was wrong, that he was bleeding, too, and absolutely terrified that he’d left Simon to die. “We slowed, we met back up, and I checked the well. He was there. His radio was drowned, it shorted out. The cold water most likely kept him alive.”

“Price said it took too long to find him. Too long.”

“Mm. I think that’s just his guilt speaking. His back was broken in the fall. They shot at him down into the well, through his stomach. We would have had to keep him from going in at all to prevent that.” He sighed. “He bled quite a bit and we had to make a decision to pull him out knowing he could be permanently injured, or leave him to keep bleeding out. Obviously we could have found him before it got to that point, but—”

He cut himself off and met MJ’s wide green eyes. “It was bad.”

“It’s always bad with things like this, Mariana. But he’s the toughest bastard I’ve ever met.”

“But he…” She licked her lips, her mouth dry. She motioned down the hall. “What have they told you?”

“They said moving him didn’t do any more harm than leaving him. They said he is at a high risk of infection due to sitting in the water. They’re attempting to stitch up the gunshot wound now. They want to do surgery on his back, too, but not until he’s stable. He’s lost too much blood.”

He stopped and took a deep breath. MJ relaxed slightly. Now that she knew what they were facing, she could prepare properly. “Thank you.” She said to Soap. “I’m glad you were with him.”

Soap swallowed all his guilty rambling. He’d done plenty of it in the past few hours. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” She said softly. “It’s not your fault. Or anyone’s, except theirs.”

Simon had said that to her many times, about loss, about what had happened to her, to both of them, of all he’d faced.

“You’re right.” He glanced down the hall. “They’ve had him for a couple of hours. I’m hoping we’ll hear something soon.”

She nodded, watching him bounce his leg impatiently. “How long ago did you get here?”

Soap checked his watch. “Three or four hours ago, now.”

MJ sat back and quieted. She knew waiting was always the worst part. It took her back to when her parents went missing. She knew they were gone. She’d felt it. It was different this time, she told herself, in the company of the casually clad Sergeant and the quiet night. They’d been there 3 or 4 hours already. That meant it was just that evening, as she sat and fed herself dinner, watched TV, showered and braided her hair, that Simon was fighting for his life. Nearly losing it. She’d told herself her tears were done on the plane, but they threatened again as she wondered if he was afraid. If he had thought he was going to die there.

“Oh.” Soap sat up straight again, startling her. She planted her feet, watching him warily. “They had to cut Simon out of his vest. They found this in his pocket.”

His voice turned sad, even as he willed it not to. He handed her a tightly folded piece of notebook paper. She took it gingerly, unsure of what it was. She unfolded it. It was a note she’d left him a long, long time ago. Just after they’d returned to London and settled into making a life together.

Gone for coffee <3

And tea

She had written it in blue pen, left it for him, and never thought of it again. He hadn’t told her, but he’d had it next to his heart ever since.

It had gotten wet at some point, crinkling the edges. She felt she was crinkling at the edges.

“You know…” Soap had been watching her and her eyes grabbed his and held them. “I always tell him I don’t need him.” She shook her head. “It’s a huge fucking lie. I do need him. I can’t live without him.”

He nodded. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a while. Waiting. Eventually, the door opened and a doctor walked out. In a heavy Polish accent he said Simon’s name.

Soap and MJ both perked up, but he nodded to her and she stood, walking to shake the doctor’s hand. He walked them near a window.

“Lieutenant Riley is out of surgery. He did well, all things considered. We think the bleeding has stopped, and he’s getting another transfusion as we speak.” MJ nodded seriously, taking note of everything he said. “His fever is up, but it’s to be expected. He’s intubated and will remain sedated until the fever goes down. We will go from there.”

“Thank you.” She said. “When can we see him?”

“You are his wife?” He didn’t sound accusatory. His voice was kind.

“Girlfriend.” It felt so trivial compared to what he was to her. “Mariana Ricardo.”

He nodded. “Good to meet you, Mariana. He’s in recovery, it could be some time before we feel ready to move him, but when we do you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you again.”

He nodded and walked off. A weight fell off of her shoulders. He’d made it through surgery, that was a good step forward.

Soap stood to greet her as she walked back. “I called Price.”

Like clockwork, the Captain rounded the corner. The men stood at attention as she relayed the news.

“It could be worse.” Price breathed, like he was reassuring himself. “I’ve asked he be put in a private room. There should be a place for you to lie down.” His eyes smiled, wrinkling at the corners. “We’re gonna be alright.”

MJ sat again, close to Soap, who rested his chin on his chest and closed his eyes. He’d been fighting all day, he hadn’t slept. He’d finally found out that Simon would make it, at least through the night, and so he rested. She didn’t. She wouldn’t until she was by his side.

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hypercodation · 1 year

Text

“Show me your teeth.”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley (CANON) x Greyson ‘Wolf’ Hollow (OC)

Some heavy sexual undertones. For context; Greyson is a werewolf.

Standing in the empty common room, fixing a drink after a mission, Wolf didn’t hear the other enter the room.

“You think I can’t handle you or something?”

Wolf’s eyes slightly widened at Ghost’s words… they had just gotten off a rougher mission of theirs, one that had almost went south… they were both quite beaten and bruised. He must not be thinking straight.

“What do you mean by that Lieutenant?” Wolf turns to the taller man. being the same rank on the same task force was odd, but Ghost was here first so he gets treated as higher up.

“You act like you're afraid you're going to hurt me.” He says. He’s glaring into the blue eyes in the mask the smaller wears.

“You know why… I shouldn’t have to explain it.” Wolf almost mutters, losing eye contact. He definitely wasn’t one for confrontation.

Wolf had already sat and explained to the team what he was after one encounter…

“I can handle it.” Ghost growls sternly.

“Ghost, what has gotten you so worked up.”

“You being so careful around me is what.”

Huh? ‘Careful’?

Wolf looked almost dumbfounded at his words. “What.”

Ghost sighs and sits at the bar, rubbing his temples. “I can see it, I’m not crazy, Wolf.”

Wolf almost cringes at how dark his code name sounded on Ghost's tongue…

Wolf thought about it… given him and Ghosts past, of course he was easier with him… he did look up to him, and he did save his ass.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize… I-“ Wolf pauses at Ghost standing up from his seat at the bar and walking towards him.

“Ghost?”

Ghost stops, standing above the male.

“Show me your teeth.”

Wolf froze, he felt a warmth come over him, of course he had feelings for Ghost, everyone did, but damn, did he have to pull this shit?

“I- I don’t-“ Wolf sputters.

“Show me.”

Wolf felt a fuzziness in his chest, which wasn’t really welcome given the circumstances.

Wolf took a breath and moved down the mask covering his nose, not taking off the skull one above it.

Ghost took and hand and put it under Wolf’s jaw to make him look up… he ran a finger over his scarred lip. Poor Wolf was quaking in his boots.

“Open…”

Wolf opened his mouth, and Ghost took his thumb and ran it across his canine… Wolf took a shakey breath. He hated how his body was reacting to this… he gripped the counter behind him with his drink on it.

Ghost hummed, satisfied.

“Bare them at me…”

Wolf was getting more and more confused by the second… did he want to feel threatened???

Wolf, after hesitating, bares his teeth, showing all his sharp fangs. Ghost runs a thumb over them, over his gums, then opens his teeth using his nail and presses on his tongue. Wolf shudders…

Ghost smiles under his mask. He pulls his hand away, his thumb coated in Wolf’s saliva.

He still stands over him. “I want you to bite me.” Ghost shows his wrist to Wolf, who’s mouth just drops… he swears he must’ve passed out on the battlefield and this was a fever dream.

“You want me to…-“

“Draw blood.”

Wolf looks up darkly at Ghost… did he even realize what he was asking him to do? He was basically asking Wolf to claim him, but he couldn’t really say no… could he?

“Do you even realize what you’re-“ Ghost puts his wrist up to Wolf’s mouth. “It’s an order.”

Wolf takes a breath, looks up at Ghost before biting down on his wrist, his teeth plunging into the not so soft flesh. When he pulls back, he licks the wound, like all good dogs do.

“Good boy.”

‘Now I gotta be tweaking.’ Wolf stepped back from Ghost to look up at his dark eyes…. No, it was definitely real.

Ghost pet Wolf’s head before walking back off. “Thank you.” He says before completely out of sight down the hall.

Wolf just stood there, unsure of how to feel…

Fuck.

#call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #call of duty imagine #ghost fanfiction #cod ocs #cod oc #canon x oc #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x original character #cod x oc #Greyson ‘Wolf’ Hollow

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fleetwoodmoth · 1 year

Text

Mari had come to a comfortable impass with Ghost. In the morning they sat quietly together drinking tea and coffee, they would show him their photography, and sometimes if they caught him out at night they'd sit together and he'd listen to them tell him about their day. Mari was okay if it never became more than that, time spent between friends. But when their survival depends on each other in the Mexican jungle, maybe some confessions are more urgent than others.

Falling. That was the last sensation Mari remembered before they were coming to, to immense heat against their face. It took a moment for their eyelids to finally open, head swimming as they tried to fight off the disorientation. They lurched sideways where they lay, a sudden searing pain radiating up their arm and across their shoulder. It felt like a million needles were puncturing their skin all at once as they rolled away from flames that licked up and over their body.

Sudden questions flooded their mind all at once, a headache split their skull in two, aggravated by a high pitched ringing that wouldn't go away. They blinked, heavy and slow, sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Canopy? They had been flying.

"Ghost?" They choked out, mind still spinning as they tried to sit up, the plumes of black smoke heavy in their mouth and nose.

They squinted through the grit in their eyes and were able to finally see where they lay. They could see the sunlight more clearly now as it formed shapes against the trunks of the trees above, cutting through the smoke that billowed upwards.

The ringing had started to subside, they could only hear their own breathing for a long while as they clutched the arm that had felt as if it were still alight. They raised their head to assess the rest of their body. They still had all their limbs which all were pointing in the correct direction, which was an honest surprise to them.

Resting on their chest was their camera, still strapped around their neck. Right. They remembered the top of the trees, the view over the jungle below which they took eager pictures of. Ghost's silhouette cast in the pinkish gold of sunset. Their heart clenched. Ghost. They squeezed their eyes shut and tried to remember. There was a commotion on the radio, they hadn't been paying attention. Then there was a jolt, and then Ghost's arm wrapped around them. Then there was nothing.

"Ghost?" They cried out, sounding more pitiful than they had anticipated, like a scared child.

They rolled onto their side again, the motion sending a blinding pain up their torso. They definitely broke a rib as the feeling of a knife being slid against their insides persisted with every inhale.

It was amazing how dark the forest floor was despite the sunshine above, despite the flames still sizzling nearby or the hole the helicopter's carcass had ripped into the canopy. It took a moment for their eyes to focus on the thicket of undergrowth they had landed in, before they could see something not far from where they had landed.

It was only around ten feet off, and at first they mistook it for a piece of the helicopter that had become dislodged in the crash, but then it began to move.

"Hello?" Mari called, voice still ragged and wet as they tried to catch a breath that never seemed to slow.

They watched as the form shifted in the shadows, or maybe their eyes were playing tricks on them. Finally though, the thing righted itself, and they realized it was a man.

"Please-" Mari began pushing themself into a sitting position despite the stabbing pain in their ribs. It was then that the man looked at them, and they were sure their heart stopped beating.

"Ghost!" They said, voice high and hopeful as the man dressed in black stood up in the knee height underbrush.

They were relieved, something about his presence, his survival brought them comfort. At least they weren't alone again.

That relief was short lived however, as they saw the man with the skull mask stumble, catching himself on the trunk of a nearby tree, slumping forward ever so slightly before righting himself again. Mari's heart jumped into their throat.

With the pain pushed aside they stood, ignoring what felt like lightning shooting up their left arm, and were able to make it to their feet. Their head was still swimming as they pushed their feet to move towards him as he seemed to stare at them from under the brow of the skull mask, clearly having a hard time breathing.

"Ghost are you–"

"We need to move," his voice was forceful, like it was taking everything in him to get the words out.

"Cartel– they'll see the smoke– they'll come."

"Is that who shot us down?"

He nodded.

"Mierde!"

"We can't be here when they show up," he turned and as if he hadn't earlier struggled to stand upright, he started moving deeper into the jungle.

Mari followed close behind, they hadn't really gotten a chance to see how he fared from the accident, and from the way he was moving Mari wondered, not for the first time, if he was human.

They hadn't made it five minutes by the time they were hearing the sound of car tires and people shouting. If someone had told Mari there was a road nearby they wouldn't have been able to find it without the sound of motors.

Ghost must not have liked how close the narcos sounded, because he turned and took their hand without even looking and started towing them along. The brush and foliage they were steeped in made it feel like they were wading through water, now chest height as they started up a slight incline.

Mari's mind was riddled with alarm. They had grown up near forests like these, they had been told not to be out past sundown, to not walk further than the jungle's edge, and now they were nearly sprinting into it at sundown, injured and already lost. Sweat poured down their face as they pushed to keep up with Ghost's longer strides.

They met another stretch of flat ground again after climbing a slope for what felt like hours, but from what they could still hear from the crash site, it had only been minutes. Ghost tried to push on, near dragging them along, hand in a deathgrip, but then he staggered and fell. Fuck.

Mari bit their tongue to keep from crying out and possibly alerting the narcos of their existence, before rushing to his side. He had landed on his hands and knees which shook beneath his own weight. Mari didn't know they could experience such horror in such an acute way. Ghost was injured. The man who some said could come back from the dead was hurt, and they were lost.

"Ghost?" Their voice was barely a whisper as they touched his shoulder.

The man jolted, before reaching out and grabbing the collar of their PRESS jacket, Mari froze as he fixed them with wide eyes. They expected pain, they expected fear, but instead they found something wilder in his expression. It lasted only a half second before he seemed to realize what he had done and slowly let go of their jacket.

"Talk to me Simon."

It took a moment, but Mari could almost see the fatigue wash over him. So he was human. It shouldn't have surprised them, because they were slowly becoming more aware of what their own body was going through. The knife between their ribs had returned with a vengeance, and they were starting to become aware of a throbbing pain in their nose and right cheekbone.

"I think– my ribs," Ghost wheezed, sitting back on his knees and looking down at his torso, hidden beneath kevlar.

Sudden spots of deep red appeared on his pants, and at first Mari thought something was wrong with his leg. Only when they looked up to meet his eyes again did they realize it was coming from the eye socket of his mask. Mari felt a churn in their stomach, and questioned if this was real or all a terrible nightmare. They reached for his face, wanting to try and discern where the bleeding was coming from properly, but their wrist was grasped again, this time in a nearly panicked fashion.

"You're bleeding from your head, if I don't look at it and stop it you die here," they said, voice flat and tight.

He only stared at them, and for a minute Mari wondered if they would have to cut the damn mask off for his own safety, but finally he relaxed his hold.

"Fine, but you field dress it and then we're going."

Mari gave him a stiff nod and a twitchy smile to try and reassure him as they reached for the first aid kit on their belt, occupying themself while they let him move at his own speed. Only when they saw the mask clutched in his hand against his knee did they look up.

Mari's vision caught on where his face was, turned down towards his lap, the bangs of his dark hair dripping with sweat from the humidity. Because of the dwindling sunlight he was mostly in shadow, and Mari's attention was pulled to the dark wet matted hair just above his right temple.

"This will need stitches," they said under their breath as they rifled through the kit for bandaging.

"Not now Mari," he said, voice clear and low, no longer muffled by the mask.

"I know."

Mari reached down and took the mask from his hand, using it to hold the gauze down against his head, and hoped the pressure would be enough to keep it from bleeding too quickly. Simon pulled the mask down over his face as if he was bundling into a coat in the freezing cold; an act of desperation.

Mari stood, ignoring their screaming joints as they straightened, the pain of the sticky sweaty air agitating their burnt skin made tears form in the corners of their eyes. Ghost stood and swayed, and Mari leaned into him as they braced to catch his weight, but he managed to keep himself upright. He even seemed to scan them up and down before they saw his eyes catch on their shoulder.

"Your arm–"

"Not now Simon," they snapped, voice high and pained.

He gave a sharp nod, moving to take their right hand, and had them walk in front of him, his hand moving to their shoulder, not wanting to lose them in the inky darkness that was slowly encroaching on them. They pushed through the dense foliage, the visibility getting lower and lower the longer the two of them walked, but any light would be too dangerous to use.

Finally Mari slowed to a stop, Ghost moving to stand beside them as they both stood listening to their breathing becoming swallowed up by the sound of the nightlife waking up. The sun had finally left the sky, and the already cool forest floor was starting to drop in temperature, the sweat that Mari was soaked in causing them to shiver, and they knew things were only going to get worse before it got better.

"We lay low here," Ghost's voice was low and weary now.

"And then what? How are we getting out of here? And the cartel, they'll be searching for survivors."

"One thing at a time Serpiente. Cartel won't move until daylight, and we were in constant contact with base. They'll send a team as soon as they track our position," he said.

Mari nodded, eyes feeling open too wide as they tried to see in the pitch black night, focusing on the pin pricks of stars overhead.

"Mari," they could tell he was looking at them by the sound of his voice, so they turned towards him, focusing on his silhouette which they could barely make out with their limited night vision.

"Yes?"

"They will send a team to find us, when you hear them I want you to haul ass out of here."

Mari blinked a few times, not understanding what exactly he meant.

"We will haul ass out of here, Ghost."

There was the sound of a sigh and a low groan, and they felt a smile tug at their lips for the first time since they woke up.

"You can move faster than I can, get to safety and send MacTavish after me."

"Stop!" Mari didn't mean to snap, they didn't mean to raise their voice either, going silent as they both held their breath to listen for possible trouble.

"Hernandez."

"Riley."

They stood in the now tense silence, before they heard him sigh again.

"We need to find a place to rest."

#simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x original character #c: Mari Serpiente Hernandez #my writing

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Man-Sized

7/9 Shadowplay

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

Christmas came and went, and all she knew was that Simon wasn't working. She still didn't know where he lived – whether he had a home in Manchester or if he resided elsewhere. He could live in London for all she knew. He could live down the street, and she wouldn't have a clue about it.

She sent him pictures of her family and the Christmas tree, of the cute pajamas her parents had got her – they still got her cozy sleepwear as a gift, like she was a child. She sent her a photo of herself later with that thing on. Or most of it on, anyway. She even added a few hearts to her texts, knowing he wouldn't return them. Simon was born at a time before emojis were even invented.

She didn't know if he spent the holidays with his family. It was odd to even imagine Simon in a happy, domestic setting, sipping grog or decorating a tree. His father was dead, and he rarely talked about his brother or mother. All the details he had given her of his life were from a pre-military time.

True to his habits, he only sent a short reply on Boxing Day that said: "See you soon."

And she waited. She went back home the next day and sat in her lonely apartment watching historical dramas and eating chocolate until she felt sick, and he never came. She stayed there the day after, didn't leave the house even for the store. On the third day, she started to get anxious, on the fourth, rather angry. No one turned that extra key on the lock of her front door, and she felt like an idiot.

On New Year's Eve, she decided she would get the fuck out. She would not stay at home like a whimpering, lovesick puppy, waiting for its master to come home.

The long-distance relationship was getting on her nerves, and his occasional unavailability didn't feel exciting anymore. It was just vexing. Sometimes it felt like a paranoid exaggeration that he couldn't tell her when they would meet again. She didn't need much: just a fixed date would have sufficed. Her other life was stupidly on hold because she was always on high alert for him. This had been going on for months, and it was high time she did something else. Just for the shits and giggles. To hell with his soon.

So she went to see her friends and drank herself into an impressive stupor.

It wasn't her usual approach to dealing with anxiety and frustration and a yearning heart, and it didn't work as well as she had hoped. But at least she got out of that stupid flat and saw some people who actually had time for her. She had been invited to a party before the holidays with the knowledge that she would not attend – just like she never attended any student shenanigans and was rather curious as to why people kept inviting her.

But right now, an evening full of alcohol and uni people who had normal problems, problems she should've been thinking about too instead of her supersoldier, sounded better than binge-watching Outlander for the fifth day in a row.

And it was actually loads of fun. She decided right then and there, while having her fifth or sixth drink, that she should leave the house more often. Connect a little, get acquainted with new people who did normal shit. Even if they were a bit boring compared to a certain brooding giant who made love to her like she was a goddess.

She laughed so much that night that her stomach hurt, and a few boys from school were really after her at the party, quenching her need for validation and attention just a tiny bit. The whole crew went to see the fireworks to the city, and they all shared some bubbly in the frigid night, and even if she wanted Simon to somehow teleport himself behind her at the turn of the year, to grab her from behind and raise her in the air and whisper something naughty in her ear, the longing wasn't enough to rob all the fun from that night.

When she walked home, feeling a bit wobbly and more than a bit guilty for having flirted with not one but two guys, she reached for the pocket that held the push dagger Simon had given her. It received loving attention every time she walked to school or to the club, the excitement of doing something forbidden soon having turned to a feeling of security and a promise of prowess, all granted by Simon. It was almost like a comfort object, the way it instantly carried her thoughts to him.

Home felt dark and shabby and even more lonely after having a few good laughs with cheerful people her age, who studied the same subject and had big plans for the future. Her plans for the near future were another day alone, but this time, with a hideous hangover. That future felt so dreary that she didn't quite catch the familiar dark shoes in the hallway as she barged in and fought herself out of her heels all but suavely.

She went straight to the bathroom for a late-night shower, and the men's shower gel bottle – the one Simon had brought to her apartment because he didn't want to smell of "girl shampoo" – stared at her like a reminder of what she couldn't have. She then brushed her teeth and went to get a glass of water before crashing into bed.

Even in the dark, she could see a man sitting on her couch as she stepped into the living room that extended to an open kitchen.

She didn't panic this time. Her reaction was a simple, annoyed sigh upon seeing that he was yet again trying to gauge a reaction out of her.

"You really need to stop doing that."

She could see him tilt his head a little at her bitter tone. They had never fought, but right now, feeling emboldened by the booze, she had a feeling that an explosion was about to happen. Returning to a dark home filled with a dark man was such a contrast to the spirited, youthful gang she had spent her evening with that all the laughter left her for a moment.

How long had he even been here? It was nearly 3 AM. She had gone to the party as early as she deemed acceptable, wanting to get some fresh air and fresh vibes as soon as possible. If Simon had come to surprise her in the evening, he had had a long night.

"Where were you?"

The raspy voice was demanding, and she fought back a jolt of irritation just from hearing that dominant tone. It was just a simple question, but it felt like an interrogation.

And she wanted to scream.

Where were you?

How many times have I waited for you to bless me with your presence?

She had been away just this once, and he hadn't called, hadn't sent a text, had chosen to wait here for her to return from her all nighter, and then accused her of not being home.

"At a friend," she said.

"Which one?"

"Marc."

She heard him draw air upon hearing that she had been to some other guy's apartment.

"A new friend," he noted.

"He had a party," she explained, then tested her luck like an idiot. "It was fun. I made lots of new friends."

She turned to get that glass of water and noticed Simon had done her dishes while she was away. There were flowers in a vase on the counter, too. He had wanted to surprise her on New Year's Eve, probably hoped to spend another peaceful evening at home together.

A tiny needle pushed into her heart at the sight of the pink tulips. Simon didn't know it, but they were her favourite flowers. She wondered whether he had been to the club to see if she was there, only to come back when he noticed she wasn't up tonight. If he had sat on that couch as hours passed by, with dread sinking in from the thought that she might be out somewhere, cheating him with another guy. The needle inside her heart burst into flames.

"Where were you?" She whispered. He finally rose and walked to her, much in the same way he had done when she had been upset in this exact same spot when morning light had filled the room.

"Covering my tracks."

She already knew that "covering tracks" meant he took extra precautions before coming to see her, whether there was a real, heightened risk or not. Christmas time might be a heightened risk: those who wanted him harm would probably want to know where he spent his holidays. Who his loved ones were.

It meant that he was devoted to her, an actual sign of care and deep affection. Simon had just made sure he wouldn't set her in danger.

She could feel his warmth behind her, could smell him, and felt distress spike in her chest when he wouldn't proceed to touch her but just stood there. She turned to face him with a quivering lip and wasn't sure whether she was about to burst into tears or a manic giggle.

He was wearing a black hoodie this time, but it didn't quite manage to make him look any more youthful or boyish. But it was snug, almost cute. The size of it probably double or triple XL to accommodate those shoulders and that chest. That hoodie told her he had definitely planned to stay home, cuddling and making love while the tulips slowly opened their blossoms in that vase.

She knew he came here for her softness. He would never admit it, but he craved the softness of her bed, her couch, her body, even the food she made for him with love. He had just wanted to spend the evening filled with some color, laughter, and affection, certainly not go and watch exploding fireworks that would only remind him of war and death and darkness.

Suddenly she felt guilty about getting so worked up. She felt shame for her condition: she was still drunk, like a sailor, wearing nothing but flushed cheeks and a towel.

"Are you angry?" She searched for judgment in his eyes. He watched her sternly, didn't betray any emotion other than that of guardedness.

"Why would I be angry?" He said in a Should I be? kind of way.

"Because I'm drunk?"

She must smell of booze, of a whole pubful of drunkards. Not ladylike at all. He had heard the state in which she had barged in — she had even sung a dirty song in the shower.

She felt like a child compared to him, felt like every guy she had talked to at that party tonight was like a child compared to him. The shyness never quite left her, even if they had known each other for months now.

What if he was angry? Or disappointed?

Or worse yet, disgusted?

"You said you didn't like women who drink."

She certainly wasn't a drinker, even if this night had been a bit rowdy. But trying to explain to a man who disapproved of drinking that she wasn't an alcoholic while smelling of booze was somehow too funny in her sleepy, partied, lovelorn state.

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and a stupid little chortle pushed through her lips. This time, he raised a hand and took hold of her shoulder, as if to ensure she was okay.

"I never said that," he said gently. The brown of his eyes was blown dark, and she vaguely remembered that dilated pupils meant drugs or darkness or love.

"One of the guys wanted to walk me home," she blurted out of nowhere. The alcohol in her system had apparently decided it was quite alright to tease him a bit for taking so long. His head pulled back, a subtle indication that he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Or actually, two. It was funny when they both came to give me my coat when I was leaving."

He was silent, the feeling of being reduced to a flustered child – or a drunken moron – in his presence only increasing by the minute. Either he was genuinely astounded by her behaviour, or then she was really pushing her luck with her drunken babble.

And fuck, she would never get over his eyes. Perfectly almond-shaped and so big that supermodels would kill for them. But it wasn't the warm, dark chocolate or the eternal exhaustion of hooded lids that made them so enticing. It was the look of having walked through hellfire… and having emerged undefeated, with scars and a sardonic, knowing smile. He was like Lucifer cast out from heaven, a fallen dark angel who had been thrown to Hell, who merely shrugged at his fate and then started to rule the whole goddamn place.

She opened the towel and let it drop to the floor, then took a step and wrapped her arms around his neck. He went rigid as she pressed her body flush against him, the amber eyes roaming her face while the rest of him was stiff. It was a new situation, her meeting his solemn stare with bold teasing while making it clear that she wanted him to rut her — on that counter if need be. Or better yet, she wanted to climb onto his lap and ride him, run her nails down his chest and sink them in, perhaps to the point of drawing blood.

It was usually he who ravished her…

"I've been a bad girl," she tried to imitate a seductive voice but it turned into another giggle.

Good God… She wished someone would come and put some duct tape on her mouth.

But then a hand was placed possessively on her hip, a thumb brushed over the side of her stomach. Those eyes were now looking at her much in the same way they always did when she was dancing for him. Hungry and dark. Proud… Pleased.

He had looked at her like that for months and months now. Like he owned her. In a stupefied recognition, she realized he had looked at her that way before they had even shared a word with each other.

He moved in a sharp flash, scooped her in his arms and started to walk toward the bedroom.

"Are you gonna punish me?" She whispered without even bothering to cover the heavy anticipation in her voice. He wouldn't say anything, but when they reached her bed, she was thrown on it. Gently and with care – but it was still more of a flung than setting down.

"It's not really a punishment if I enjoy it, right?" She laughed with excitement, all the remnants of her anger dissolving into a soft buzz that gave a nice edge to the upcoming retribution. "I guess the joke's on you."

He still wouldn't budge, still wouldn't speak…

"Are you sure you're not angry?"

She rose to lean on her elbows and watched him undress with a soldierly sharpness. Under the black hoodie was a black t-shirt — of course. But only now did she notice that he was wearing grey sweatpants. Fucking sweatpants.

Why did he have to be such a kissable, huggable cuddle muffin on this night of all nights? Those sweats were so far from the glitter and glamour she had surrounded herself this evening that she felt another burning sting beneath her sternum. The ample bulge against that soft, grey cotton was visible even in the darkness.

The muscles bunched as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She would probably never tire of seeing those shoulders, not to talk of his divine forearms that were so different from the skinny little things she usually saw at school or even at the club she danced in. Even she had more muscle in her forearms due to pole dancing than some men – but Simon… God, he was an absolute specimen. And with that tattoo slapped on that bulky, veined muscle, she could verily fall on her knees and pray to this man.

Her earlier teasing felt stupid as hell. She wasn't interested in anyone else than him walking her home. That ship had long since sailed.

And how could anyone compare to him? Those boys she had talked to would shit themselves if they saw Simon, even without his gear. Would turn tail and run seeing him in those cozy sweats, even. She wanted to explain herself even if the cleverest thing would be to just shut up.

"Marc's just a friend from school. He was in this group project and then we started to talk about our plans for the New Year, and then I figured I should go to this party because I never go anywhere, you know, and -...mh."

His pants were off, all of them, and she could see his cock spring free, already hard, like he always was when she was lying down like this and he was about to descend upon her. The night swallowed most of him, but it wasn't enough to hide those forearms, that hungry, slightly amused glint in his eyes – or that heavy, obscenely thick erection that was jutting from between his equally massive thighs. It was veined like his forearms, surrounded by the palest, faint hair, similar to the almost invisible ones that coated his chest and back here and there. Everything in him was heavy and thick, except that pale breath of hair…

Her mouth shot full of water, and rich heat pooled between her thighs, which instinctively clamped together as if knowing that this man was too big for her, even if evidence already proved otherwise. He always told her how tight she was, but she felt like it was more the cause of his size than any asset of hers.

"I thought it would be good to connect with people because you never know, right?" Her mouth kept yapping on while her eyes were glued to his massiveness. All of it.

He crawled to the bed between her legs, which opened by themselves for him as if this man was a whole VIP pass that granted access to the exclusive area of her.

"If you wanted to know where I am, you could've just called me. You never tell me where you are or when you come back. You know, "soon" could mean anything."

She expected him to insert himself to her opening, to push in with a full-blown ego because he must already know she was wet from just seeing him, the bastard. But instead, he dove face first to her folds while sweeping her thighs over his shoulders like they weighed nothing.

"But I get it, you need to–"

A pair of hot lips surrounded by a peak stubble hit her skin, and her head fell back with a moan. Her thighs drifted even further apart as his tongue traveled up her slit, parting the swollen lips with so much love that she knew he definitely wasn't angry with her.

Oh no.

She had only managed to amuse him again.

And of course she had. Her intoxicated state and desperate attempts to make him jealous must've told him that she was a bit of a mess because of him. He wasn't petty, even if he was possessive. It was crystal clear to everyone in this room that she had just tried to distract herself, and she was featherbrained if she thought she could fool him.

"I was mad at you," she confessed with a sigh. "I still am…"

She peeked a look down. The sight of a brawny, wide man on his knees between her legs made her more heady than all the punch she had had that night. The bulk of muscle on his back made her legs look sleek and slender and weak, the coarse stubble against her delicate, swollen folds made her head spin even when she was lying on her back. The faint scent of tobacco and his musk were like incense to her; she inhaled it like it was her only way to heaven, that haze of blazing masculinity, of fire and smoke that was thoroughly him enveloping her as she fell back on the mattress.

Her hand found his hair; it was cut shorter from the sides, but the top had generous amounts to grab hold of, and she curled her fingers there while pushing her cunt against him. She was tired of pretending that it didn't feel fucking best when he gave her head.

An exceptionally hungry kiss echoed through her body, making her spine arch and her legs slide up and down his back. How could it feel like he was kissing her instead of fucking her with his mouth? She had taken Simon as a man who didn't worship women like this, but like always, she had been wrong. Even the very thought of a commanding officer of some super special tactical unit having his face buried between her legs was enough to send her to the verge of orgasm. Not to talk of seeing and feeling him actually there.

She sighed as his hands drew her against his face by the thighs, then gasped as a firm, thick tongue – thick like the rest of him – thrust inside her.

"God… yes, just like that…"

If she was pulling his hair a little too hard, he didn't mind. Or at least he didn't say or do anything about it. At first, she had thought that perhaps he tried to make her shut her mouth this way. Speak with moans and sighs instead of words. But now she felt like she was his prisoner, about to make the confession of a lifetime.

"It drives me crazy, the waiting… I'm always waiting for you." It was a miserable sob, and she was arriving at the center, the numb, veiled core of this whole conundrum.

"You drive me crazy, Simon."

He let her monologue go on. If anything, he encouraged it with his tongue, with his lips that nibbed her swollen bud and sucked.

"You're so annoying." She felt him huff a brief chuckle against her, inside her even, as she was open and dripping and hurting, wholly at his mercy. "Like, no one comes even close. And, and, I…"

The darkness made it seem that she could spill any secret in such a lightless, safe cavity where there was suddenly no time, no past and no future to make her pay for what came out of her mouth next.

"...I love you."

But the laws of cause and effect still applied to this world, and Simon stopped, breathing into her pussy like a long-distance runner.

"What?"

His first words since forever hit her folds with a husky, tentative roughness. That voice was better than any dark rum or gooey chocolate cake or even a hot tub bubbling with maple sugar bath bomb. The heated knot in her stomach coiled and twisted, her eyes were brimming with tears.

"...Nothing."

He breathed into her tender folds, she could feel his lips draw into a smile. He kissed her right at the center, at the core of her, and she jerked a little, bit her lip, and waited.

"You sure?" The gruff, murky voice still talked to her pussy, like it was there where the confession of his prisoner was to be found.

"Yes..?"

A devastatingly languid lick stroked her folds, and the starved sigh was that of a happy, happy man. He had a winning hand, and he knew it.

"Are you absolutely positive?"

She swallowed, her lips trembled, and her heart rammed against her chest as her drunkard's brain thought of the terrible fate that awaited her if she yielded to him. What if they were still playing? She hated poker, especially when she was playing against Simon who always had a royal flush in his hand. She wanted to play together, not against each other.

"For fuck's sake, why do you always have to…" she started, then bit her lip again as he plunged his tongue inside, so deep that it made her chin shoot up toward the ceiling and her hips grind against his face.

"You always have to win," she sighed strenuously, on the brink of tears.

"Love you too," he rumbled against her, and her walls clenched around nothing, more moisture leaked to coat his chin.

"Wh-...What?"

He picked up where he had left, proceeding to kiss and lick and suck like it was just some small talk they had briefly shared while he was eating her out.

"Simon…"

"Shh."

She pursed her lips from happiness and allowed him to finish the job, which didn't take long in her state of bliss and drunken overstimulation. She came with a cry, leaked love in the air – leaked literally, on his lips.

He rose to sit after he was done, panting like it had been a while since he had tortured anyone like that.

"What took you so long?" She asked when he threw himself to lie on his back next to her.

"What took you so long?" He huffed, and she wasn't sure if they were talking about their mutual absence or the late confession. She turned to press against him, thrumming with love. He shifted too and took her in his arms, and her head was shoved against the plates of muscle that made his chest. He was still hard, and she wanted to take him in her mouth, to return the favor tenfold.

"You're so annoying," she chirped with a broad smile while crushed against the world's safest chest.

"Copy that."

"I love you."

His cock twitched between them when she said those words. It was his only reaction to her repeating that long-kept secret.

"You're drunk," he commented with sleepy, honeyed amusement.

"I'm drunk, and I love you."

He sighed and pulled her into an even heavier hug. "Come 'ere."

They cuddled sometimes, mostly after sex, but it was never this ardent. She ran a hand up and down his back while the other was squeezed somewhere between them. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and powerful underneath her cheek.

"Don't send me pictures of your family," he grumbled through half-sleep. "It's an unnecessary risk."

He had rigged her phone with schizophrenic detail so that their calls and messages couldn't be traced. He had even built a sort of a Faraday's cage out of a shoebox, wired mesh, aluminum foil and whatnot, where he put his phone when he came to her place. She didn't even know all the things he did to ensure no one knew about their relationship. Safety measures weren't doubled, they were tripled with Simon.

She gathered the photos she sent of herself were a weakness for him since he never forbade her from sending them. She didn't know if they got destroyed right after, though, or what kind of a headache it was for him to get rid of all the metadata.

"Whatever you say," she murmured while pressed flush against him. His erection wouldn't die, and in her opinion it was unfair, downright sinful, to leave him in such a state after he had given her so much love. She raised her leg and swept it up the side of his thigh until it came to rest on his hip so she could rub against him.

"You need to sleep," he said, but didn't stop her. He even allowed her some space to snake a hand between them to grab him and guide the tip to her folds, still soaked from his treatment. The notion that he prioritized her rest over his own pleasure only made her more wet. He responded with a shallow, hoarse exhale as she helped his cock against her slickness, coating it with moisture.

"You love me?" She was a lovesick puppy now, and he grunted at her neediness.

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"You only said it once."

"Once is enough."

She glided along his length with slick, moist sounds filling the darkness pulsating with love.

"No it's not."

"Insatiable woman," he muttered, slightly out of breath from what she was doing to him. And as if he had only now noticed that she was handling him and not the other way around, he switched their roles and rolled partially on top of her.

"Could you just say it?" She watched him with what must've looked like the most desperate, needy stare she had ever worn. He simply seized his cock and adjusted it to her entrance.

"Pretty please?" She whispered while he pushed in, only halfway, knowing she was more than ready to take him fully. She even grabbed his ass to force him, but he refused her.

He always had to win… Always.

"I love it when you beg."

The voice was harsh, rugged, but his eyes were soft, even softer than the double bed under her.

"I love your cunt," he continued, and a moan slipped from her as he teased her with a few shallow, unhurried thrusts. "Love the sounds you make when I fuck you hard."

"Mh-..."

"...or gentle. Fuck you real slow and deep. I know you like that."

He finally went completely in, finally gave her that sweet satisfaction that came from being filled. It felt so snug, so gratifying that it could only be compared to having a piece of your favourite cake after a shitty day or taking the first sip of coffee in the morning or easing into a hot jacuzzi when you were cold.

"I love it when you say you're a bad girl when you're the swee'est girl there is."

That one ended in a short, mocking laughter. As if she was absolutely shitty at trying to deceive him in anything.

He continued to tell her everything except the thing she wanted to hear. He told her he loved her bedhead, her cooking, the look of concentration when she was curled somewhere to read a book. He told her he loved her laugh, her sharp tongue, and how adorable she was when she was mad at him. The list went on and on, it even had the time when she had slapped him, on it. She was just about to plead again, beg for it if she must, when he finally relented.

"Yeah, sweetheart… I love you," he whispered in her neck with a burnt voice, burnt from tobacco or barking commands. "Should be bloody fuckin' obvious by now."

She dug her nails into his back, not worrying about the consequences, which were only delightful. The coarse stubble chafed her neck as he kissed and sucked her skin, surely leaving marks.

She was so wet for him that she was creaming around his shaft. Big as he was, he glided inside her with no effort at all, even when she felt herself tighten around him with another upcoming release. She was going to come a second time, a rarity, even with Simon.

He pressed her against the mattress with every thrust, the feeling of being crushed between the plush, soft bed and a bruisingly hard body absolutely glorious. Feeling weightless and completely open, she came while clinging to him, knowing it would send him on another ego trip for having worked her to a climax twice already.

The sound that left her, more like a helpless wail than a satisfied moan, meant she had lost all her chips in a bet against someone who had invented the whole game. Her cries painted the darkness as she throbbed and clenched around his cock like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

"Now what did I say? Insatiable." His voice turned into a wined and dined tone when he was pleased, almost braggingly so, and she wanted to dig her nails in his back again and make him grunt instead. But that voice also caressed her, much like his hips that gently rocked her through the waves of the orgasm.

He came shortly after, through gritted teeth and a feral edge to his peak. Her neck was burning from all the love it was getting, but the last roll of his hips was almost lazy, and he collapsed on top of her, trapping her under a blazing hot chest. A palm slid along the dip and swell of her waist, caressed the side of her thigh, and pulled her leg to rest on his back while he remained buried deep inside her. He turned from a savage, heated man into an affectionate lover so quickly that she could only hang onto him as best she could.

His back had broken into a sweat, but when he eventually pulled out, he didn't roll to the side like he usually did. Instead, he shifted to lay his head on her chest, and clutched her in a sideways hug, slack against the bed and partly on her. The ragged breathing was interrupted by an uneasy swallow.

"Life was easy before you came along. Didn't have to worry about gettin' killed."

More confessions were spoken in the fading night, and she raised a hand to stroke his hair. The light had slightly changed, the wintry night was easing into a break of dawn while they were finally about to get some sleep.

"Guess I have to stay alive now."

Only Simon could make something like that sound romantic, but his tone was somber, as if he was letting an essential part of himself go when he chose life and her. She wondered if she had brought Simon back to life like he had brought her. It wasn't what they had planned for themselves, but here they were: spent and alive, meshed together at the dawn of a new year.

"You're spooking me to death as it is. I don't want to know how you would be like as an actual ghost." She tried to lighten the mood that was slipping into something darker, something she didn't wish to think about after a night like this. But Simon had chosen to make her cry.

"Would haunt you still."

She couldn't say anything from the bittersweet pain that spread through her heart. It was hard to breathe when a choked sigh clawed at her throat and tears threatened to cause a whole flood.

"Did you like the flowers I got you?"

…And just like that, he changed the subject. She blinked back tears and tightened her hold of him, so snugly settled there over her heart.

"I love tulips. Thank you," she whispered in the crown of his head.

"Hm."

He was already on the verge of slipping into sleep, like men used to after a good fuck, especially when already exhausted from work. Or from loneliness. She hugged him so tight she could feel the flare of his ribs as his breath slowly evened out. She caressed his hair, the back of his neck, stroked his back and felt him rumble softly against her.

"Not your pet..."

His last note was more of a weary sigh that turned into soft snoring as he fell asleep on her chest. She was not far behind, drifting off to sleep too while cradling him — precisely like a pet, or a child, her last thought being how oddly beautiful it was that he finally allowed her to hold him like this.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #mw2 smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x female oc #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #ghost x female oc #ghost smut #simon ghost riley x original character #simon riley smut

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deunmiu-dessie · 14 days

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he misses you. he misses you like a flower misses the sun. like the desert misses the rain. like you are the entirety of his being. as if you hold the key to his fierce, thumping bloody heart within the palm of your hands, like he is nothing without you— and perhaps he isn't. he doesn't feel like himself, no, in fact, he feels empty. like a shell of the man he used to be before you. he feels as though the world has lost its color, its meaning, and it makes him feel bare— it makes him feel.

he misses you. he misses the warmth of your perfume, a sweet and spicy blended aroma of saffron and sugared lavender. he misses your smile, all wide and pretty— genuine and charming, and always all for him. he misses the sound of your laughter, raw and boisterous, but sometimes soft and breathy, intimate. he misses your kisses, shy and cloying— yet fierce and angry at times as well. he misses the small things, like the scatter of moles across the expanse of your body that he finds himself counting when he can't fall asleep. or the way you fuss over him, mumbling curses and your love for him all in the same sentence.

he is nothing without you, and he knows it all too well.

the soft jangle of your keys in the lock makes him look up from his journal, the door swinging open. and despite himself, he finds that he's softened underneath your warm, loving gaze. ah, he also misses the sound of your voice, euphonious and soft, a tone you use for him specifically.

❝why are you looking at me like that?❞

he can feel his heart dance within his chest, pounding fiercely as you slant your hip to the side, the very same hips he adores holding onto when swaying with you to music. your eyes, which always seem to sweep him under with their intensity with no fail, are glittering with mirth, it knocks the breath from his chest. ❝ i adore you,❞ he utters— he sounds like a fool in love, and he doesn't particularly mind it. your cheeks flush with color and you playfully roll your eyes. that's alright, you don't need to say it back, he knows.

❝help me with the groceries?❞

he? ⸺ SIMON, gojo satoru, DAMON SALVATORE, soap, older!TANJIRO, scott mccall, GAZ, clark kent, EMMETT CULLEN, leon kennedy, STEVE HARRINGTON, giyu tomioka, JOHN PRICE, loran, ULYSSES, rick grimes, KÖNIG, dick grayson, SPENCER REID.

honestly it can be anyone you envision.

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thoughtsandbones · 11 months

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Time for Tea?

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!MedicDoc OC (codename: Blue) 💀💙

WARNINGS: Mention of profanity, self harm scars, scars, fluff, medical inaccuracies and just getting the POV of our friendly neighbourhood masked menace.

PLEASE reblog and like! Hope folks are enjoying the series, I am building up characters and plots, cos I have a lot ideas and just been enjoying writing :D

Song inspo: Across the Spider-Verse playlist basically only Spotify

Word count: It's long... sorry, not sorry.

A/N: Flashbacks are getting messed up when I am indenting them and I am getting lots of errors when publishing the work, please bare with some mistakes and spelling issues.

spelling and some grammar mistakes as I am bad at times... :/

(FYI: bold sentences... that are like this... are supposed to describe redacted data/info to the plot... ;] .. )

Please do let me know how you all are finding this fanfic! :D

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9 and PART 10

Part 11

<CUE FLASHBACK> Siberia, Russia, October 12 2010 Day 3- The storm was making it difficult to see where you were going; the harsh sharp wind was piercing through your morf snood, cold needles prick your skin. You breathe out, the moisture cooling the cold around your mouth. "Yer drifting right Blue, come to your left a bit" The Captain said over the radio Looking over to your left you could no longer make out the silhouette of the Captain. "Copy Cap" You say back and change your direction walking left, you see the outline of the Captain emerge. "Stick close, we are nearly there" He said over the radio again "Yes sir" Both of you walked, slightly crouched. The storm bringing in snow, being the perfect cover for the two soldiers infiltrating the base. Up ahead you see barbed wire fencing appear, the silhouette of the buildings of the base coming into view. The Captain puts his hand up, signalling you to stop, you do so. "Here we are Blue" He says "Hanger on the right hand-side of the tarmac Cap?" you say "Aye, make our way through to the left and head to the tarmac where the MiGs are." "Copy Cap" The Captain crouched down, looking left and right, and you followed him "Blue, yer nervous?" The Captain says You look at the back of his head, he doesn't turn, because you know he's looking on the look out. "Staying focused Cap" You respond, trying to keep a cool demeanour. "It's alrigh' to be nervous" The Captain teased "Nervousness produces adrenaline, which is keeping me on high alert for any Russians sir" The Captain chuckled through the radio "Aye, yer nervous" he said "Yer got me, so yer'll good" The Captain added You laugh back "Aye Cap" you mimic his Scottish accent which earned another chuckle over the radio.

"This is Major Perov! Come up with your hands...."

The hiss of that memory electrified your whole body awake. Hot sweats lathered your body, your baggy t-shirt clung to your back and chest making those parts of your t-shirt damp. You can smell the sweat coming off you as you turn to lie on your front.

Not another dream like that again You think, groaning into the pillow. The sticky sweat had seeped through your t-shirt and onto the bed. Running your hand through your hair and down the nape of neck, you could feel the droplets resting on the surface of your skin as they were squashed against your fingertips.

Gross

Getting up, you sit crossed legged on the bed, the sweat on your body going from hot to cold. You shiver. Grabbing the duvet you wrap it around you. You feel the cold within your marrow.

You grab your phone. It was 3:46am. Laying back down on the bed all snuggled with your blanket and sweat ridden shirt. Pondering at the thought of going back to sleep. The bad odour coming off you made you abandon the thought.

Unraveling yourself from the blanket you head to the bathroom, turning the shower on and wait for it to get warm. Taking off your shirt, still damp with sweat and chucking it in the laundry basket. Catching your naked body briefly in the mirror.

Your torso a lighter shade of brown than your arms and neck. You turn your body admiring the right side of your arm and shoulder, flexing the muscles under the skin. The bullet scar curved over the top of your shoulder, the black humerus bone tattoo standing out. These markings make you, you.

The mirror began to steam up from the heat of the shower, stepping in, bracing yourself for the onslaught of hot water droplets that somehow pierced into your skin and warmed your bones directly.

Once you dried yourself and got ready it was 4:26 am, you were hungry but the mess hall wouldn't be open. Price did say he had a small kitchenette next to his office you could use. In your second drawer you grab a mug along with a small bag that contained your emergency stash of tea, sugar and milk sachets. You hoped Price would have fresh milk and tea, but you brought yours just in case.

You put on a black hoodie over your clean grey shirt that was tucked in your black joggers, trying to keep you warm, and your trainers, walking out with your mug, whilst stuffing the your home tea kit in the large pocket of your hoodie.

Damp strands of hair clung to your face as you walked to the kitchenette, putting your AirPods and playing music to drown out of the echo of your dream.

Meanwhile in Price's kitchenette/break room, Simon sat on the sofa, head laying back with a cup of chamomile and lavender tea, it was the smell of this brewed tea that helped calm him from another restless night, he held the mug close to his chest, giving warmth to his heart.

The steam from the mug drifted to his naked face, his mask hitched above his brows. He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip of the tea, savouring the warm bitterness of the lavender and sweetness of the honey. His ears perked at the sound of approaching footsteps outside the break room, he quickly pulled his mask down his face with his left hand, holding his mug steady with his right.

The doorknob turned and the door opened. There you walked in, your long damp brown hair reflecting in the dim light, you did not turn the light on.

Ghost froze, he had not expected you to come here, especially at this time in the morning. He watched as you headed over to the kettle and placing your hand on it's side.

The kettle was warm, it had just been used, and someone was in here, as you heard movement come from behind you.

Price? You think and then turning around expecting to see a grinning gentlemen.

Nope. It was the masked menace, Ghost, sitting on the sofa, holding a mug of tea. Through the little natural light that lit the room, you could make out his blue eyed-balls widening at you.

"Morning Lieutenant." You say turning back round, and switching the kettle on.

"Mornin' Doc" Ghost gruffed, he cleared his throat. He watched as you took out a bag from your black hoodie, and take out a Tetley tea bag along with a spoon. You didn't even flinch.

Tetley girl eh? Ghost thought gazing down you, wearing black joggers. His eyes went back to your brown hair draped over your shoulders, some parts still damp.

The kettle began to shake as the water within boiled. You placed the string around the handle of the mug and plopped the tea bag into the mug. The kettle boiled as the switched flipped up. Waiting a few seconds then pouring the water into the mug, watching the colourless water become seeped with dark amber.

"Is there milk in the fridge that I can use?" You ask, your back still facing away from Ghost.

"Yeah, blue top on the bottom shelf" Ghost says watching as you move to the fridge

"Thanks" You say, opening the door and grabbing the milk.

Ghost watched as you set his pint of milk next to your mug, you stirred the teabag with a spoon you brought out from the little bag. You take out a sugar sachet, ripping it and placing its contents in the mug, then swirling the tea. He watches as you squeeze the teabag against the side of the mug and toss it in the open bin. You take his milk and pour a dash of it in, stirring the contents, you add a bit more.

Ghost wondered how milky you liked your tea...

You screw the cap back on and then put it in the fridge, grabbing your mug you sit on one of the four chairs surrounding a small square table, where you place your mug of tea. You look over your shoulder and see Ghost still staring at you. Looking down at your wrist, noticing you forgot to put your watch on so you couldn't count the seconds of how long he was staring at you this morning. You let out a sigh, delving back into the music that sprang from your earphones.

Ghost diverted his gaze back to his mug. He then watched you take a sip of tea in the corner of his eye. He looked back down at his tea, the mugs warmth bringing him a sort of comfort as you sat there. Ghost noticed you move your left arm up, like a magnet his eyes were drawn to your movements, you pushed you hair back, he noticed you had those wireless ear buds in, he scanned your body noticing your left leg resting on the chair opposite and your right foot tapping the air gently.

He was frozen in his seat. He felt like he could not move or get up. Ghost was drawn to you again as you raised your arm and placed your elbow on the table, resting your head in the palm of your hand.

You take another sip of tea. Gulping another sip of the hot liquid down, trying to warm your insides that felt cold, warming the nerves.

If only you could make some chai but you didn't have the spices with you.

"This is Major Perov..." echos in your left ear but faintly this time, you try and focus back on the music..

Should've brought my jar from home you think. You lean back into the chair sighing again. You turn your head to the left and see Ghost looking at you, he moves his head down, to look at the tea in his hand.

There was no heavy tension between you two... or so you could tell... He could've left when you went in but he didn't. You wonder how would you bring up a subject like Siberia to him. You don't even know him. He's just a masked enigma.

Wish the Captain was here. You think, worse case, Sergeant Riley would do, the distant memory of him awakens in your mind He'd surely tell you to leave him be but throw in the sarcastic comment to see how'd he'd respond and go off that. 12 years since they've been gone. 11 and 10 years for MG and KD. Your former mentors and comrades. Gone.

Now you've got new ones to get to know. And one currently sitting in the same room seemingly hates your guts or has some major trust issues.

You clear your throat, pausing the music, taking the left ear bud out, taking your shot...

"Did you get the email sir?" You ask, turning slightly towards him, bring your left leg down from the chair opposite.

Ghost looked up "Yeah I did" he responded whilst nodding, his the fingers on his right hand drumming against the mug. Lump forming in his throat again.

You nod back, bringing your mug in your hands and close your chest, and then take a sip. The insides of you cold still. Perhaps cocooning yourself with your blanket will help? You think

Ghost watches as you bring out your phone, taking your other earbud out and placing them back in your pocket. His eyes stuck to you as you get up and take your mug and little tea kit bag, stuffing it back in your pocket.

"See you later Lieutenant" You say not smiling

Ghost nods back at you and watched you leave, closing the door gently behind you. He glanced at his watch. 5:15am... In about 9 hours you both were going to have another interaction together... Why were you up so early? Training perhaps?

The stoic face you had flashed across his eyelids when he blinked.

You were annoyed, who wouldn't be? Ghost retorted to himself, slightly scoffing. The looped voices bouncing across his cranium.

He leaned back on the sofa, his tea now lukewarm, he lifted his mask and took a sip.

"Bleurgh" He said as the barely warm liquid ran down his throat. He gets up, takes the teabag out and tosses it in the bin and pours the tea in the sink, washes the mug and places it on the drying rack. Ghost stands by the counter, looking at the seat which you sat at moments ago.

He had a chance to apologise but missed. He left the break room and headed back to his room, his mind more clouded than before.

Later on that day

"Hope my blood pressure isn't too high" Price said as you wrapped the cuff around his right arm.

You smile slightly and shake your head at Price's remark

"Shall find out soon enough" you reply pressing the start button on the blood pressure machine, the cuff fills up with air, the machine whirrs, the numbers on the machine rise up.

Once you hear two beeps the reading is complete: 125/80

"125/80, that's perfectly good for someone your age" You say

"My age?" Price chuckles

"41 is a good age sir"

"You're 9 years younger than me Doc"

You look up "Don't look it though" You smirk.

Taking off the blood pressure cuff, you write the reading down on your chart for the Captain.

"Your med kit is good, I just put more Celox, the haemostatic gauze, and saline in there" handing him his med kit, zipping it up.

"That shellfish stuff?" Price asks as he takes his kit giving you a semi-disgusted look.

"Yes sir"

"Not a fan" He added looking at his kit

"Good thing you won't be eating it for rations" You retort

Price chuckles, and checks his watch 10:55 am.

"Right, I'll leave you to prep for the next patient" Price says, you get up and take the tissue paper where Price sat and placed it in the bin. Spraying the bed with disinfectant and wiping it down with blue roll. You wait for the remaining disinfectant to dry and go to the bathroom and wash your hands.

For the duration of the 30 seconds it takes you to thoroughly wash your hands you scan your reflection in the mirror. Drying your hands and turning the tap off you head back in the main room.

Laying new tissue on the bed, you hear footsteps approach, checking your watch it was 10:59am. Perfect timing you think

Gaz appears in the doorway, you propped open after Price left, you look up and force a smile

"Morning Gaz" You say

"Morning Doc, you good?" Gaz asked, he carried his half empty med kit in his hand, sort of hoping you won't scold him. He looked around the infirmary, it was done up well. Clean. Organised. A laptop on your desk, along with a few files stacked neatly next to it. A small brain statue lay next to the lamp.

"Good, how are you?" You say gesturing to the med bed as you closed the door.

"Very well doc, er.. my med kit is a mess" Gaz says handing over his med-kit.

You take it, and examine, a little worn and torn, but expected when out in the field, somewhat similar to Price's bits of sand trapped in the edges, unzipping it you see it stocked with a few plasters, one ambulance dressing and gauze. Looking back up, you see Gaz's concerned face.

"I can stock this up fully, don't worry" you say smiling, "Fill what you can on the chart, don't worry about address" you add, heading to the cabinets behind your desk and place med kit on the counter. You turn back to see Gaz and walk back over.

You take out your equipment and move over to where Gaz sat, placing the clipboard with the pen to the side.

"Temp check" you say placing the IR thermometer to his forehead. The screen turned green, 36.4 ℃, normal. You grab the chart and jot this down.

You place a pulse ox monitor on this forefinger on his left forefinger.

"What's this for?" Gaz says flickering his finger where the oximeter was clipped.

"Measures pulse and percentage of oxygen in your blood"

"Cool gizmo"

"98%, good" You say checking the screen and scribbling the number down. "Pulse at 88 bpm, also good"

"Why not 100%?" Gaz asks looking at the oximeter, he breathes in sharply and holds his breathe, the oximeter changed by 1%.

You let out a small laugh "Not always, as we have a little carbon dioxide in our blood" You say

"Interesting" Gaz says continuing to look at the oximeter.

Taking the oximeter off his finger you proceed with the other checks; blood pressure, height and weight check, general well being, medicine enquiries but mostly refilling his med kit.

You hand it back to Gaz and explain what new stuff you packed. Gaz nods and thanks you and leaves.

It was 11:45am, Soap will be here soon, you follow the same procedure, strip, wipe down and set up.

Never did you think you'd be doing the job of a GP, seeing patients one after another, no surgeries, no rotations and no other doctors, least no friendly doctors yet...

There was a knock on the door. Getting up and opening it, you see Soap grinning.

"Morning Doc" He said

"Morning Soap" You reply back, making way for him to enter as you stood by the door, he walked and looked around.

"How are yer?" He asked turning facing you as you closed the door.

"Good" You say "How are you?"

"Been alrigh' Doc, Ghost beat me in target shooting this mornin'" He adds, awaiting your reaction when he mentioned Ghost's name.

You walk over "Ah, better luck next time" You say

"Take a seat on the med bed and fill out the chart on the tray" You gesture to the clipboard.

Soap picks it up and starts to write down his details, he notices are large x in pen over the personal details section apart from name and date of birth.

He fills out what he can and places the clipboard back on the tray.

Walking over, you begin with the your check list of check-ups. Soap took his shirt off, you stare at him blankly, trying not to ogle at the toned and defined muscles of his upper body.

"Ergh what are you doing?" You say apprehensively

"Don't yer need to put those electric cables on my chest?" Soap said looking at you confused.

You meet his confused face with yours. Your cheeks feel hot as your eyes dropped to his abs and down his snail trail, Soap followed your eyes and grinned. Swiftly turning on your left heel I cannot believe I looked you cling to your white coat.

"I'm not doing an ECG, please put your shirt on" You say closing your eyes trying to shake the image, now realising what Soap thought.

"Alrigh' doc it's on" He laughed "Sorry, I genuinely thought.." he trailed off as your turned back around, your cheeks showing a tinge of pink. He saw you biting in your lips and your ears going red.

You proceeded with the checks:

Pulse oximeter on; 98% and 97bpm

BP: 126/70

etc etc etc

You finish by asking Soap to step off the weights.

"Got your med-kit?" You ask

Soap's face dropped, the one thing he completely forgot that he should not have forgotten.

Taking in his shocked face, you smirk

"Get it to me when you can. I have Lieutenant Ghost at 13:30 so before then please" You say and Soap nods as he leaves the infirmary. Glancing at your watch, 12:40pm, enough time for a quick lunch.

Heading down to mess hall, it was busy of course, you wait in line for food along with other soldiers. You felt like you stood out with your blue scrubs, it's not like you were actually working in a hospital. Should've worn my black fatigues and sweater you think as you move along with the line.

Lunch was a steak and ale pie with chips. You felt full after half-eating the pie, you check your watch 13:10pm. You swiftly stop eating and get up, putting the food in the food bin and placing the plate and tray on their associated piles.

Heading back to the infirmary, you spot Ghost and Soap talking outside, Ghost looks at you and lowers his voice, Soap also looks at you and nods, you see him holding the med kit in his hand.

As you approach, they both stop, both looking at you as you open the door.

"Afternoon" You say to Ghost,

"Goo' afternoon doc" Ghost said, taking a deep breathe as he stepped inside the infirmary. He looked around, it was nice, orderly and clean. A better state than before you came.

"Got the med-kit" Soap said, bringing out out of his pockets of his fatigues, it was rolled up and empty. You take it off him, "I'll give it to you once it's ready" You say, Soap nods but doesn't move

"Here's mine" Ghost said as he uncrossed his arms and brought his kit, it was fuller and heavier as it was placed on your hands.

"Right, I'll have a look in a bit." You say looking up at him and then to Soap who was still hovering.

"You alright?" You ask Soap

"Yeah, just..." Soap started looking at Ghost.

"Johnny, you had your check up, now bugger off" Ghost said turning to him, knowing exactly why he was lingering

Soap grinned at Ghost and then at you, he began to walk away but turned slightly

"Lt, if you wanna make the doc blush, all you gotta do is take your shirt off" Soap winks and teases closing the door

"Wa-What?!" You say stammer as Soap closes the door, you could hear him laughing on the other side.

Ghost whips his head from the door to see your wide eyed shocked face, you turn your head to meet his eyes, he taken in your doe-eyed expression.

"He took his shirt off on his own accord" Υοu blurt "Thought he was getting an ECG done" you say motioning to the empty space between you with your right hand as if to swat the memory away.

"It's alrigh' Johnny likes teasin'" Ghost says, he watches your face return to normal, and head to the back counter placing both med kits there and opening them up, examining the contents.

Ghost watched your back, like he did this morning.

"Sorry about yesterday" He says looking at your back, he watches your head come up, listening.

"I was out of line, you're good.." He added "Just was.. cautious" Ghost added slowly. He felt his right hand reach up out to you, wanting to tell you it's...

You take in his words.. inhaling for four, you turn around and head back to where Ghost was, exhaling for four.

Ghost swiftly brought his right arm down in his back pocket of his jeans. He looked at you and you smiled, he relaxed a bit more.

"Thank you lieutenant" You say, accepting his apology, you still feel like he somehow... For some reason he still despises you...

You look up at him and smile, he nods back, you his eyes crinkle a bit, hopefully smiling underneath that mask...

Ah the mask and the clothes... You always observed him wearing long sleeve shirts or sweaters, no t-shirt in site so far...

"So.. I'm going to check your blood pressure, pulse, weight, height..." You trail off looking at his blue eyes grabbing the clipboard on the tray.

Ghost blinks and looks back at your deep brown eyes, framed by your black mascara'd lashes "Yes doc..." He says slowly

"I understand the mask stays on, but need to take a neck reading for body temperature if that's okay?" You add looking down from his eyes to his shoulders then to your clipboard.

"Of course" Ghost says, lifting the hem of his mask to reveal is neck. You were entranced by the sudden willing nakedness of his neck, the hem stopping under his chin with his ungloved hand; snapping out of the haze you grab the IR thermometer and press the button, you look back at his neck and notice a mole on the pale skin covering his jugular.

The thermometer beeps, screen turning green, 36.8 ℃. Good. Placing the thermometer down, you grab the chart and jot it down.

Ghost pulls his mask down, watching you scribble out parts on the form. He unzips his jacket, revealing his own black pullover hoodie.

You look up and notice your lieutenant take his jacket off, and then reach for the hem of his hoodie. Leaning on your heal you turn your back.

Please don't strip down like Soap you plead trying not to imagine what his naked torso would look like.

After taking his hoodie off, and folding it on top of his jacket. He looks and sees you've turned fully, your back facing him, smirking slightly under his mask, he wonders if he should tease you and take his shirt off too...

Turning back to face the Lieutenant, you see him wearing a black t-shirt which hug snuggly to his muscular torso. Grabbing the blood pressure cuff you bring it next to him. You notice on his left fore arm a myriad of different tattoos.

Ghost watches as you move towards with a blood pressure machine, he rolls up his sleeve of his t-shirt, he gazes at your brown hair now braided, slightly messy, as few strands have fallen out are now tucked behind your ear, he notices two small silver hoops hugging your cartilage.

Unravelling the cuff, you wrap it around his chiseled bicep, you noticed a few scars up and down his arm, even a few on his hand, but you didn't say anything or linger on them too long. Not when you knew how awkward it is when people stare and make remarks of your own scars.

Looks bigger than my thighs you think, admiring the muscles laying underneath the flesh of his upper arm.

The cuff did not fit fully. You look up at Ghost, he was looking at you, your eyes widened slightly.

"Good thing the machine came with an extra large cuff" You smirk, taking the cuff off the machine and heading to the drawers he cleaned last week.

"Good thin'" Ghost repeats, sitting up taller, observing the way your white coat glided with your movements. Your left breast pocket filled with pens, he noticed some writing underneath the pocket, but couldn't decipher it.

Walking back to Ghost with the XL cuff, you plug it in the machine, unravel it and placed it around his arm above his elbow. You swiftly look at the tattoos again on his left arm; a black monochromatic piece, a wonderful chaos of skulls, a dog tag, guns and other army related pieces.

Your cold fingers grazed his warm skin, Ghost felt the cold ripple all the way to his chest. He watched on as you adjusted the cuff.

"That alright?"

"Yeah" Ghost says

He watches as you press the machine and watch the numbers go up, he felt the cuff tighten as it filled with air around his arm. The air hissed and he watched the numbers fall down. 137/88

Grabbing the clipboard and the pen, you jot down the numbers, and you frown slightly.

"You've got high blood pressure"

Ghosts huffs Great he moans in his head

"How old are you?"

"34" Ghost grumbled

"How's your diet?" You ask looking up at him

"Alrigh'"

"Are you taking any drugs, legal or illegal?" You ask

Ghost looks at you, stunned by the wording of your question

"Legal?" He asks narrowing his eyes at you. You gotta be pullin' my leg

"Paracetamol, simvastatin, antibiotics, opioid based pain relief etc" You say

"And illegal?" Ghost asks perking up, curious as to where this will go...

"Cocaine, cannabis and other not so fun things" You add smirking at him.

"Only done the legal kin', paracetamol and hold up - opioid based pain relief? Ghost whips at you, now realising what you said.

"Morphine, codeine and oxycodone" You say "They're legal but addictive like heroin."

Ghost takes it in, of course, he had his own familial experience with that dark side of drug addiction. Tommy...

"Just paracetamol and antibiotics from injuries in the field" Ghost said quietly

"Okay" You say, jotting that down.

"Any new stress in your life?" You say looking back up to him

Ghost looks at you, and then back at the reading of the BP monitor, 137/88 flashes at him.

You observe Ghost, looking at the monitor

"High blood pressure is not worrying if we can correct external factors like diet, exercise and maintaining any stresses" You roll off your tongue.

Jeez you sound like the pamphlet you remember your mum getting from the nurse about high blood pressure You slide back slightly on your chair turning your head, manoeuvring yourself to the trolley tray, rolling your eyes to yourself as you aimlessly fiddle in the tray.

Of course these guys would have a few health issues, they are super elite soldiers, they've dealt with so much...

Ghost looks at you. He's been here before, doctors telling him to change this, do that, etc etc...

You grab the pulse oximeter and move back over to Ghost.

Alright, Sergeant Riley taking your advice; sarcastic comment, time to throw that..

"Look, I sounded like a damn pamphlet, but I'm here for all your health needs" You say bringing your hands up to your sides, foolishly giving him jazz fingers and you smile with teeth.

Ghost scoffs a laugh out, then clears his throat turning his head to the side.

"No new stresses" Ghost says, his gaze back to you, he watches you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head.

"Not even me?" You add, remembering the encounter yesterday after the target course.

Staring into your narrowed brown eyes Ghost knew it was you who was slightly causing stress. Ghost shook his head and then looked at the BP monitor again.

You get up and take the cuff off his arm. You show him the pulse oximeter, and he brings his hand up, you clip it on his forefinger.

"What time do you usually get up?" You ask, remembering the encounter this morning at around 5am.

"Couldn't sleep last night if you're referrin' to this morning" He says looking up at you

You nod back at him, your lip curved slightly. 98% and a pulse of 72bpm. Strong heart

"Not able to get to sleep or wake-up in the middle of the night?" You ask writing down the readings of the oximeter.

"Both" Ghost grunts

"Have you tried any medicine for sleeping?" You ask

"That herbal stuff, calm, from Boots" he said

He watches as you wrinkle your nose. "Didn't work?" You say

"Yeah"

"I'll give you zopiclone, just one, for tonight, see how it goes and we will have another check-in tomorrow" You add, heading to the small locked cabinet and cut out one tablet from the sheet. Locking the cabinet, you head back and give it to Ghost, he places it in his jean pocket.

He continues gazing upon your movements, your hand flicking back a strand of hair that got near your amber brown eyes.

"Take it an hour before sleep, avoid going on your phone and alcohol and should help with aiding sleep. Keep water or squash nearby as it can have metallic aftertaste" You command softly whilst writing away on the clipboard sitting on the stool.

Ghost looked at you, all this seemed so natural coming out of you. He nods along, mesmerised with your poise and assertiveness. That's the rookie you remember from all those years ago. He smirked under his mask and leaned forward a bit.

"How was the herbal tea?" You ask looking back up

"Eh?" He guffles, how could you know?

"This morning, I could smell lavender, was that your tea?" You say, eyes becoming doe-eyed.

'Course, the smell of lavender was soothing, especially after that... episode... nightmare

"Yeah Doc"

"Does it help?" You ask

"Sort of, chamomile and lavender tea..." Ghost begins and then pauses.

Gazing upon his eyes, which shifted left to right as he spoke to you. His cool blue eyes strike yours, they were even icier against his blonde eyelashes.

Ghost looks at you, he notices the writing on your white coat, Dr Hari Kaur Neurosurgery threaded in black cursive under the pocket full of pens.

"What abou' you?" Ghost asks, he notices your eyes narrow.

"What do you mean?"

"You were up early" Ghost retorted

Tilting your head back, your roll your head around. Maybe if I open up, he'll too...

"Bad dream woke me up." half-lying to him. You didn't want to talk about Siberia, not now..

Ghost watched as your eyes lost a bit of brightness, becoming dull.

"Tea help?" He asked, trying to bring that brightness back in your eyes

"Tea always helps" You smirked

"What one you have?" Ghost asked, knowing full well you had Tetley.

"Tetley, but I prefer PG tips" You grinned, eyes twinkling again.

"Oooh" he sucked in some air "Yorkshire is best" he sighed

"Tetley is from Yorkshire!" You snapped

"Was from Yorkshire" He retaliated "Run by an Indian company now, Yorkshire Tea is still based in Yorkshire" He added crossing his arms and puffing his chest out.

You scoff at him, looking away and then back at him, admiring his chiseled torso.

"Actually prefer chai, with PG tips" You quipped

"Hmm" Ghost says "Maybe you could use my Yorkshire Tea next time and I'll judge" he added

Nodding back at him you get off the stool. "Next time for tea then?" he nods back.

Ghost watches and listens as you ask him to step on the weight balance, and checks his height. He continues to gaze at you as you complete other checks needed, obliging your every command willingly. It was the least he could do after the way he treated you.

You would understand if he told you later convincing himself that now is not the right time.

You would understand, bad people are out there

He gives a nod and a yes comes out of his mouth, as you say something about his med-kit, his eyes drawn in on your back as you walk to the counter checking their contents again.

You would understand, it's safer for Simon Riley to remain dead to you.

Ghost looks at you, wondering if you ever thought about Simon Riley...

"I am the death of everything you know and love" Roba's voice echoed faintly in his skull

You would understand

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