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criminalamnesia · 3 months

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Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

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authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

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syoddeye · 2 months

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"Please, just a couple more times? Please?"

Your kid is relentless. You're tired from a whole afternoon of fun, and your arm's sore. You gently explain this to them, smiling weakly when they pout. Then you look at your husband, whose eyes shock you. Simon looks as letdown as the kid. The paper of his face mask subtly moves, and your brow pinches in confusion, unable to make out what he's trying to say. Then he lifts his free hand. Three. Three more.

You huff, a little grin overtaking your weariness. You're reminded these moments are not just for the kid, who holds one hand each as they walk between you, but for Simon, too.

It breaks your heart when you think of what he did not have or experience as a child.

So, you bend slightly and squeeze your kiddo's hand.

"Okay, three more swings. Then my arm's going to fall off."

Your kid giggles madly as you and Simon swing them again. Simon's gaze is fond and soft, low chuckles rumbling out as he watches the kid's feet come up off the ground. When you inevitably reach swing number three, your eyes meet again. This time, it's you who raises three fingers.

Simon deserves all this and more.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn reader #ghost x reader #ghost x gn reader #x reader #x gn reader #i got hit like a mack truck with worms when i saw a cute little family earlier

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rileyslibrary · 7 months

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A/N: *leans into the microphone* anybody ordered some non-verbal taunting communication, courtesy of the lieutenant?

———————————————————————

You have all gathered in the tent for a quick briefing by the captain. Today’s drill is supposed to begin before dawn, and without the sun to keep you warm, the breeze shamelessly seeps through the tent’s openings. You sit around the table with the rest of the team and wrap your arms around yourself, trying to focus on Price’s orders.

Ghost stands next to the captain, examining each team member from across the table. He stands with his legs spread, holding his hands behind his back. His eyes move slowly, taking in every expression, every posture, and every movement.

You scan him from his head down to his waist. He’s in full gear all the damn time; mask, scarf, uniform, jacket, tactical vest. Sometimes, you wonder if he sleeps with everything on so that he can be ready to go. Perhaps he hangs his clothes on a chair the night before and puts them on one by one in the morning. If that’s the case, it must take him forever to get ready. You wonder if it’s the layering that makes him look so big or if he’s naturally built that way.

You try to suppress the image of your lieutenant naked and redirect your attention to the captain’s briefing. You look at Price, who is pointing at something on the map, and notice Ghost staring at you from the corner of your eye. His eyes move slowly, from your face down to your arms, and he narrows his eyes at the sight. He unclasps his hands from behind his back, brings them to the front and wraps them around himself, mimicking your stance. He looks back up at you, tilts his head and raises one of his eyebrows.

You immediately drop your arms to your sides and mouth an apology at him. He shakes his head at you and returns to his original position with his hands behind his back. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they are already fixed on the person sitting next to you.

Price continues the briefing, and you try to absorb the information while battling the chill that creeps through your uniform. You struggle to keep your arms to your sides but, your efforts go in vain since you shiver whenever the wind blows in the tent.

The lieutenant, on the other hand, doesn’t let you off that easy. He picks up on every move you make like a fucking sensor. Your shoulders hunch forward, and he throws quick glimpses at you, signalling you to sit up straight. Sometimes, you place your hands in your pockets, and he widens his eyes at the sight, forcing you to put them back on the table. You absentmindedly slip your hands under your thighs one last time, and you see him taking a few steps back and beginning to walk around the table.

You stiffen up. As if the cold morning breeze wasn’t persecuting enough, now you have another—much worse—threat to fear. You follow Ghost with your peripheral vision while trying to focus on Price, but he disappears behind you.

You hear him fiddling with something—the soldiers across from you throw peeks above your head and then at each other. You try to pick up on their expressions. Unfortunately, you aren’t as good at decoding faces as he is.

There’s a hand brushing your chair, tucking something on its backrest. The same gloved hand nudges your shoulder once and points at the back.

You look over your shoulder.

It’s a cloth. You turn your upper body and take a closer look.

It’s a scarf; his scarf.

You turn to look at him, and he gestures for you to drape it over your shoulders as he walks back to the captain. You obey and lift it from the chair. It’s still warm to the touch. You throw it on your shoulders and wrap it tighter around yourself. His residual body heat is still trapped in the garment. It feels like a hug, and you fight the urge to bury your nose in and smell it. You forget the morning breeze, the upcoming drill, and his non-verbal taunting.

Because the morning breeze was there yesterday, and it will be here tomorrow. It is you who pitched a tent in its path.

Because the upcoming drill will eventually end, and you will get to rest. You just need to endure it first.

Because it wasn’t taunting on his part; it was his way of showing concern. And a teeny tiny bit of care.

You turn around and see Ghost taking back his position next to the captain. He doesn’t look at you again for the rest of the briefing. You wish he would. His scarf looks great on you.

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod ghost #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley fluff #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic

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mockerycrow · 4 months

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not very common i’m in a “i want to be cuddled mood”, but i am.

thinking about simon and sleepy middle of the night cuddles. maybe you woke up around 3 am or 4 am, blinking awake. you shift onto your side to face simon who is already reaching for you, somehow so in tune with you—his deep, raspy voice murmurs, “c’mere”. His skin is a comfortable temperature, sleeps without a shirt on. you wrap an arm around him and he shuffles a bit, your face nuzzling into simon’s sternum. he lets out a sleepy and heavy sigh, and his breathing sounds as well as his heartbeat soothe you back to sleep, your box fan filling in as white noise.

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gazspookiebear · 1 month

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Ugh I'm so sleepy. Eepy man. Enjoy this shit I cooked up in ten minutes.

You wake up, only to find yourself just as tired as you were a few hours ago. Your eyelids are heavy, and you're fighting back sleep with every blink. Exhaustion wracking your body with every movement.

You feel Simon groan and sit up next to you.

"Mmm... five more minutes?" You mumble sleepily, shivering at the sudden lack of warmth.

"'M sorry love, we've gotta get up"

"Please? I'm so tired..." You whine quietly

"Negative," he says, chuckling at your miserable pout.

"Please, Si?" You say it so sweetly. The nickname you rarely used. His weakness.

A moment passes before you finally hear a response.

"Fine."

You grin, knowing that you've won. He lays back down and wraps his arm around you, pulling your back to his chest. You close your eyes and sleep quickly overtakes you.

Of course, it was never just 'five more minutes'. Simon called your work shortly after and informed them that you wouldn't be coming in today. However that works.

#I'm actually so tired it's unreal #Dying out here #Ofc I didn't get to take the day off. I have to suffer #Who knew exhaustion was what would make me write smt #That's crazy #Got less than 2 hours of sleep #Which actually normally doesn't bother me #But I guess it adds up over time #*shocked pikachu face*#If only I had a Simon in my life #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x gn reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x gn reader

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marzylics · 3 months

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"You know I'll never love you" Simon says. The smoke of his cigarette floating into the air.

"I know" you said calm and collected.

"you know!" He say dumbfounded "then why do you spend all this time with me and take care or me" He says.

"Because I love you simon"

#simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley x male reader

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dmitriene · 3 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤthis scene, but with simon ghost riley

when he returns to you from a mission that takes at most a month, but for you almost half a lifetime, and the distance seems incredibly viscous and uncomfortable, the absence of his smell in the house, the sound of his footsteps, a couple of personal belongings and warm touches, all of this are not new, but everytime uncomfortable, because he's not here.

everything changes only when he finally returns, with the noise of the front door, the sound of heavy bags and his slightly battered breathing, he was in a hurry, maybe even walked half the distance to the house so as not to wait for transport for a long time, just because he missed you as much as you missed him, wanted to see you, to finally come back home.

so you end up in the bed in a pile of mixed limbs, it doesn't matter to you how much dirt is on his uniform and whether it remains on you or your shared bed, the only thing that worries you at this moment is his greedy, quick kisses on your lips, which you open to meet his mouth as quickly as possible and with knocked down huffs of breath, trying to gasp for air, just for him to slot his mouth against yours.

and you no longer feel discomfort, boredom, your chest tighten with the warm feeling that he is finally at home, whole, not allowing you to breathe from how actively he covers you with his intimacy, squeezing your body in his hands with a slight tremor and bruising force, but you do not mind, on the contrary, only finally finding the strength to wrap your arms and legs around him in return, muttering into his wet, swollen from kissing lips

— “w-welcome.. hah.. welcome home, si, missed you so much„

and simon responds with the same eagerness, out of breath, grasping greedily for gulps of air and swallowing sharply, only to rejoin your lips, surrendering himself to the warmth and softness of which he missed so much, speaking unintelligibly into the sensitive, reddened flesh of your lips as he held your face gently with both calloused palms

— “missed you too, lovie, fuck'n hell, how i missed you„

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ghostlywhiskey · 4 months

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based off this tiktok and how the cod men would cuddle (simon is at the end). simon’s really did something to me and made me all warm and fuzzy inside. kinda wrote this with the idea that reader & simon haven’t been sexually intimate yet too. no anatomy mentioned for reader so can be read as gn!reader :)

it’s you and simon early in your relationship. somewhere between the lines of you both have feelings for each other, trying to rationalize it and seeing how it could work with his job. ‘i love you’ hasn’t been spoken yet, the words confirmed in different sayings to show you both care for each other. physical intimacy early on consists of quick kisses here and there; whether it's on the lips, the top of your head or cheek. it’s the hand that rests gently on your lower back while he guides you through crowds before taking your hand securely in his so he doesn’t lose you. but, that wasn’t ever possible. even if you lost him in a crowd, he’d stick out like a sore thumb from his frame alone.

but it’s one night before he’s supposed to leave for a mission. the day earlier spent running errands with him while he grabbed small necessities followed by lunch. after all of that it was take out for dinner until the both of you retreated to his room; originally you didn’t plan on staying the night, but by the time you realize how late it was he just convinced you it was no problem to stay.

he dug through the drawers for a change of clothes for you, a pair of boxers to act as shorts and a t-shirt that might as well be a dress on you the way it came down just above your knees. you waited until he got into bed first, cautiously slipping under the covers on the side you’d sleep on once he was settled.

it was new territory in your relationship. there were times where he would have his arm around you while you both were sat on the couch and you’d lean into him. but now, being in bed with him, it felt like your body tensed as you pulled the covers up and snuggled them as you turned on your side to face him. laying on his back, eyes fixated on the ceiling until he felt your gaze and turned his head to look at you.

“what is it?” it wasn’t a harsh question, nor did it sound like it was. it was gentle despite the usual gruffness of his tone.

shaking your head slightly as it rested on the pillow, you held your gaze with him as you answered, “nothing, just saying good night.”

there was a brief pause and the air felt heavy around the two of you, or at least it did for you. and before you could speak the words good night to him, his body rolled onto his side and grabbed for yours. an arm snaked under you as the other hand pulled you against him and secured itself around your waist; both of your legs found their way to interlock comfortably.

“si–” eyes glancing up to see what you could of his face. his eyes closed while he pressed his lips against your forehead gently.

“gon’ miss you,” lips move against your forehead as he speaks, the arm around your waist moving slightly so he can scratch at your back while your one arm that wasn’t buried under your weight could reach to cup his cheek. a small space breaks between both of your heads so you can clearly glance up at him as he lowers his own to meet your eyes again.

“i’ll be here when you come back, yeah?” your voice is soft and reassuring, because you know his brain well enough to know where his thoughts are wandering off to.

“i wouldn’t ask you to–” his words are cut off by your own.

“i’ll be here,” you repeat the words, this time it sounds more confident, but still assured. there’s no hesitation.

slipping his arm away from your body, it comes to cup your face as well. both of you laying there, your thumb brushing against his scar covered cheek. simon’s hand rests so that your ear sits between his pointer and middle finger, thumb just by your hairline. both of your breaths steady and hitting each other's faces until he tugs you closer to his, lips pressing against your lips this time.

and you swear the words ‘i love you’ are spoken by him, mumbled against your lips as he kisses you. in return, your hand tugs his face closer as if it wasn’t already, your body pressing against his as both of your body heat exchange between each other, more so his.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader fluff #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #nic talks ghost #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost riley x gn reader #i love him so bad i will never forget my roots let my username show it

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agender-wolfie · 11 months

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Imagine Ghost’s favorite mug broke (totally not Soap’s fault 👀) and Simon is just all grumbly and upset about it when you come into his office with a plain black mug filled with his favorite tea, made just the way he likes. (He says you’re the only one that’s allowed to make him tea because you’re the only one that does it right. )

His eyes widen for a second and before he can say anything, you speak up. “I got you a new mug! And I made you tea!” Your smile was bright and excited and he felt warmth flood his chest as well as his face.

He carefully took the mug from you, his fingertips brushing your own before he stared down at the tea and then slowly back at you. “You didn’t have to” was his low reply. He’s grateful, truly he is! He’s just never been given a gift before and he wasn’t expecting anything, so you waltzing in here with a childlike giddiness and a smile that needed to be protected, he was a bit unsure of what else to say.

“I know, silly but I wanted to!” You giggled and he gripped the mug a little tighter, thankful for his mask. “Thank you…” it was short sweet and to the point. The most you’d get out of him but you know what he really means.

“You’re very welcome, enjoy the tea!” You said before turning and leaving with a skip in your step.

And Simon did just that; thinking about you every time he took a sip. He was lost in his thoughts when something caught his eye. At the bottom of his mug he could see something white slightly peeking out of what tea was left.

It was obvious it wasn’t a foreign object, it was ceramic like the rest of the mug and it didn’t move. He continued to drink until he was finished and when he got to the bottom he just stared.

If anyone came into his office at that moment, they’d probably have a heart attack because on Ghost’s face was the biggest grin he’d ever had. You were always so thoughtful, he’d have to thank you properly later. Maybe with a special mug of your own? You don’t have one of those, you just use the ones on hand.

#gender neutral x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x gn reader #cod x gn!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #baby girl ghost #my writing

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criminalamnesia · 2 months

Note

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

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I looove all the works you've been giving us, sincelery thank you for keeping us fed. So I had this idea lingering in my mind and basically : it's ghost with a reader that's only nice to him. Like they're not the most cheerful person but they're always giving him little snacks or giving him compliments and all that. So ghost think they're kind and like that all the time with everyone, but after one (or many) convos with 141 he realizes that no, they aren't very nice with people and it's just him.......... Anyway I hope this isn't too much, I wish you a good day/night!!!

epiphany

love this, thank you!!! Ghost needs a cute lil significant other that only likes him. Hope this little one-shot fits what you were thinking of.

warnings: mentions of violence, fluff, gn pronouns, reader has codename 'phantom', insinuation of smut?

"LT, please control them," Soap says pointing toward you, you raise your hands in defence

"I didn't do anything"

"You're joking, you almost shot my head off"

"You were in the way"

"Oh really" Soap crosses towards you and Ghost steps between, arm extended in front of you keeping you from clawing at Soap, giving him a glare. Soap huffs a breath and walks away shaking his head, Ghost turns to you, head tilted in question and you smile back at him.

"How was your day?" You ask

"Did you try to kill him"

"If I was trying to he'd be dead"

He quirks his head, "That's true"

"Oh here," You say reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small pack of biscuits. "Found these earlier, remembered you loved them so"

He grabs the package from your hands eyeing them over before the two of you walk off.

A few hours later Ghost hears yelling from the mess, poking his head around the door to see you almost face to face with Soap, finger pointed at his chest, your focus shifting when you see him, anger suddenly dissipating.

"What the fuck's going on"

"Your little pet is saying the mission failure is my fault"

"Yeah, and it fucking is Johnny, you're in charge of demolitions, who else do I blame when the door doesn't blow open"

"Alright both of you stop," Ghost says, "Johnny go cool off"

"Me? They're the one that's always walking around with a sour face"

You huff at him.

"Johnny, go"

You smirk as he walks away, face dropping as Ghost grabs your arm dragging you into the hallway.

"Why is he so mad at you?"

"I don't know, Scottish temper" You smirk

He stares at you trying to read your face, he'd never seen this side of you, truth be told he kinda loved it, but usually you were skipping around your shared flat, dancing to music or nuzzling into him as you cuddled. You were always so kind and soft towards him, making sure he ate when he was home, gently cleaning his cuts, dropping him off books you thought he'd like.

The two of you go your own way after your outburst and Ghost decided to investigate. Knocking on Price's door,

"Oi Captain"

"Whaddu need son"

"Just a question, Phantom, are they ever, I dunno, mean to you?"

"Are you joking, why do you think that's their codename, they scare the shit out of everyone"

"You're joking"

"I wish, I steer clear of them when I can, almost got my head chewed off when I took them off a mission"

"Huh, thanks sir," Simon says as he leaves the room, rubbing the back of his neck before his eyes land on Gaz,

"Hey mate"

"Lieutenant"

"Phantom, thoughts?"

Gaz looks around the halls like you'd be waiting around the corner to strangle him, "Great fighter"

"I mean their personality"

Gaz is hesitant, scared you'd somehow hear him talking about you, "Saw them almost break a rookie's shoulder for talking back, never bugged them after that"

"So you're scared of them too"

Gaz simply nods.

Ghost continues asking people around the base about you, most of them simply tried to stay out of your way others had horror stories and the rest just believed that you hated them. When he left base to go home he was utterly confused, your opposing actions a mystery to him, his confusion increasing when he walked in and saw you moving around the flat half-naked, hips swaying to some old song.

A large smile plastered on your face when you saw him, practically leaping into his arms to welcome him home, planting soft kisses over his face once he removed his mask.

"Did you want a tea?"

He shakes his head and you move from him, continuing whatever task you were up to, he scans the flat, brightly coloured decor on the shelves, blankets all over the place, you had made it so cozy.

"People on base are terrified of you"

His statement makes you stop in your tracks, "What are you talking about"

"Well apparently you've threatened quite a few people"

"Huh" You simply shrug your shoulders and Ghost smiles

"Why are you so nice to me and so mean to them"

"I'm mean?"

"They certainly think so"

You move towards him wrapping your arms around his neck, standing on your toes to kiss him, "Maybe I only like you"

"Mm I like the sound of that," He says kissing you back, "But you can't yell at rookies, that's my job"

"Fine, you can be the scary one"

"Very generous of you"

"I can be generous"

"How generous" His eyebrow quirks as he lifts your legs to wrap around him,

"Very"

He carries you, leading you to the bedroom and shutting the door with his leg as a fit of giggles overtake you.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost fluff #ghost x reader #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost x gn reader #simon riley x gn reader #cod x gn!reader #reqs💌

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rileyslibrary · 6 months

Text

You have a few questions about Ghost’s mask and he has some answers. (platonic, self-indulgent banter)

———————————————————————

You sit side by side outside the medic’s office, waiting for your physical exams. You’ve both just returned from a mission, and it’s standard procedure for all personnel to undergo routine checks upon returning to the base. ‘It’s the protocol’, they said. Boring shit.

Adjusting your shirt, you recline on the chair, glancing at Ghost’s back. He’s slouching, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked together. He turns to his left, looking at something you’re not interested in paying attention to right now.

He’s fascinating.

“Did you make it yourself?” You ask, nodding towards him.

He doesn’t hear you. That, or he pretends he doesn’t do so. You gently nudge his knee with yours to get his attention. He turns over his shoulder, his eyes locking with yours.

“The mask,” you say, pointing at him, then gesturing to your face, “did you make it yourself?”

He keeps staring at you, but not in the same way when he first turned towards you. It’s more ominous now, like a sign in the middle of the road warning you that there’s been an accident ahead. You don’t know what that accident entails, or what you will face if you get closer. Is it a truck that spilt yellow dye all over the road? Is it a major crash with casualties? Do you want to find out?

Yes. Yes, you do.

“I just think it’s neat.” You say, shrugging.

His eyes linger on you for a few more seconds until they end up traveling from your head to your waist. He finally looks away.

You keep staring at the side of his face, studying it; there’s a faint outline of an ear, a barely visible jawline, the skull plate sewn on his painted balaclava.

“Does it get clammy in there?” You ask again, this time louder.

You know he heard you, but he doesn’t turn to look at you this time. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising, and so does his head. He closes his eyes, and with a long exhale, he lets it all out. He stretches his neck to the left and then to the right.

“What is it that you wanna know?” He asks.

“You never removed it during our mission, not one single time,” you explain. “Got me wondering if you ever take it off, that’s all.”

He lets out an almost inaudible chuckle; it’s so quiet that you can’t hear it, but you can see his shoulders rise and fall. He slowly shakes his head as he gazes down at the floor. Hopefully, it’s a genuine reaction and not just an attempt to release the tension building up.

He straightens himself, sliding back in his seat before reclining. His shoulders press against yours, and you make room for him as much as possible. It almost feels like he’s intentionally expanding his presence; otherwise, he might have been more considerate with his posture. On the other hand, so would you with all the drilling.

“I, too, wonder about you.” He says.

“About what?” You ask.

“Whether you ever stop talking.” He replies, turning to look at you.

“I have questions.” You explain as your eyes drift to his right ear.

“I can tell,” He says and gestures for you to go ahead. “Let’s hear ’em.”

You straighten up and twist your upper body towards him.

“Ok, so,” you begin and clasp your hands together. “How does the medic check your ears if you keep them covered?”

“My ears are just fine.” He responds almost too quickly.

“How do you know?”

“I keep listening to you, don’t I?” he replies. “It’s my nerves that need checking.”

“Why?”

“Cause I keep listening to you.” He repeats. “Anything else?”

“What about your mouth?” You ask. “What if they need to check that during the examination?”

“I’m sure you’d manage that for both of us,” he replies as he leans further back, resting his head on the wall. “Since yours rarely stays closed.”

“Is that so, Lt.?”

He shuts his eyes and slowly nods.

“Do you have an answer for everything?” You ask.

“Do you want to find out?”

“Do I?”

“Do you?” He says, opening his eyes and looking straight at you.

You open your mouth to say something but decide against it. You close it and twist your body to the front, yet you can feel his eyes burning through the back of your head.

“You forgot the nose.” He says.

“What?”

“The nostrils.” He explains. “You asked about almost every single orifice in the human body except the nostrils and the arsehole, for Christ’s sake.”

“Do they check those?”

“Only if you have allergies,” he replies. “Or an infection.”

“Allergies in the arse?” You joke. “Never heard of that.”

“No,” he says, pointing at you. “Pain in the arse.”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley #call of duty #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost call of duty

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mockerycrow · 5 months

Note

okay, so something unsettling. with ghost x gn! reader. “don’t worry, it’s not my blood”. maybe you are ghost’s civilian friend in an abusive relationship and one day it reaches a point when you’re so scared you lock yourself in the bathroom while your s/o is raging outside the door, banging on it and threatening you. you manage to call simon and ask him to come get you. the result is, well, blood that is not his. 👁️👁️

- 🐇

JUSTICE (Ghost x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; HUGE warning for abuse and reactions to abuse (I had to take a break writing a part of this), murder, blood + gore + injury, major hurt/comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic.]

BEING ON LEAVE means Simon needs to restock his fridge and cabinets with enough food for a couple of days. Leaning against the bar of the shopping cart as he turns over the box of tea in his hands. He grumbles since he’s having to buy a new brand of his favorite tea, figuring out that his favorite company discontinued that line. Simon lets out a huff of defeat before tossing the box into the cart and he begins to roll his cart to the self check-out.

Simon bags his items up into his reusable bags and hauls them out to his car, putting a bag down to dig around for his keys. He finds them and unlocks the back, putting his bags in—and then his phone begins to ring. His eyebrows furrow a bit as he takes his cell phone out of his pocket, his eyebrows raising as he shuts the back. Simon swipes at his screen, accepting the call and pressing the phone to his ear as he gets into the driver's seat of his vehicle. “Hello?” Simon asks into the phone, a bit confused on why you’re calling him.

His heart nearly drops to his stomach when he hears you sob into the receiver, a muffled static banging in the background and some unintelligible yelling. “Simon—“ Your tone is laced with intense fear and alertness, and he can immediately tell you’re in a state of a need to survive. He calls your name, not even bothering to buckle up, starting his car.

Simon calls your name more insistently, his tone bordering on panic. “What’s goin’ on, love??” His heart begins to pound as you sob a near incoherent “go away” to whoever is making you act like this. “Hey, hey hey—focus, sweetheart, what’s happening?” Simon insists, pulling out of the parking lot, already decidedly going to your place of residence.

You shudder and sob into the phone and clear your throat. “Please, Simon, pleaseplease hElp me, he’s—“ You let out a heartbreaking sob that makes Simon’s chest ache, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel harder. “Derek, he’s fuckin’—he’s trying to—“ You’re barely able to push the words out, and fuck, Simon is so glad you’re not too far from the store he was just at.

“He’s tryin’ t’hurt you, love?” Simon asks—it’s so obvious your partner is, but he needs to double check; have you confirm it. “Yes—he’s trying to break dOwn the door—leave me alONE—!” You scream, piercing his ear through the phone. Simon lets out a huff, his heart pounding against his rib cage. “I’m on my way, alright? I’m nearly there, I won’t let ‘im hurt ya, love.”

Simon is definitely going over the speed limit, weaving through traffic and his tires screeching in protest at his movements. You choke and cough, letting out a terrified weeping noise, barely able to breathe. A painful itch blooms underneath his skin, the sensation burning and bubbling, bursting at the seams. Simon was not allowed anyone’s blood to spill except his. Derek’s.

“Breathe, alright? I’m on your street—do ya have anythin’ in the restroom to protect yourself with?” Simon asks, hearing you whimper as the muffled sounds of Derek’s maniacal screaming and pounding is apparent. “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re scared, I know, but you’ve got to stay with me.” Simon insists, and you make a timid “mhm” noise. There’s a shuffling sound, and he’s assuming you’re looking through your cabinets. Simon soon rolls up to your home, and he barely puts the car in park, not even bothering to turn the vehicle off.

“I’m here, darlin’. I’m here. Stay as far away from the door as possible.” And with that, he hangs up. You stutter out his name in fear, but you quickly hear your partner—soon to be ex—Derek redirects his anger from you to Simon, who you hear bellow out Derek’s name. Something about Simon’s tone is.. eerie. Something about how Derek begins to yell and gasp and fucking scream is satisfying.

You cover your ears, curled up in the corner of your bathroom, heaving and sobbing as your head is swimming. You’re dizzy from the lack of sufficient air entering your lungs. You aren’t sure how much time passes, but when you hear a gentle, muffled knock, you hold your breath. Simon calls your name from behind the door, causing you to scramble to your feet.

You sob softly and shakily unlock the door and you freeze at the sight of him—there’s blood splattered across his face, dripping down his neck, caking his hair and his clothes. You nearly scream but Simon quickly holds his hands up, his tone gentle. “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood. I’m alright, love.” The relief that floods you is crashing like waves, just like how you collapse into his arms.

Simon cringes just a bit, Derek’s blood smearing against you and staining your clothes, but your desperate sobs and grabby hands make him forget about the mess. Simon quickly wraps his arms around you and leads you deeper into the bathroom, making sure you don’t see the mangled and unrecognizable body of your ex-boyfriend laying in the hallway, in a puddle of his own blood, organs, and excrement.

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