#slow burn simon riley

[darkeraurora]

Admissions - Chapter 4

A little filler and fluff before time to start unpacking all the trauma.

Minors DNI

Dark eyes cracked open at the sensation of a light tug on his shirt.

Looking down, Ghost’s gaze landed on the small figure curled around him, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder and a leg wrapped around one of his. Soundly sleeping as though she was in the safest place in the world.

The most precious sight he had ever seen.

Price had been right, fucking dammit. Ghost hated it when that happened. On the battlefield it wasn’t so bad – good even, sometimes – but when it came to his personal life the Brit didn’t like it at all and planned to mentally complain about it for the next several months.

But there truly wasn’t any better feeling than having the woman you love in your arms. Barely a month ago he had been imagining holding Sereza against his chest like this and now, by some stroke of luck, here she was. In his bed, sleeping against him with her hand gently clinging to the fabric of his shirt. Simon honestly felt wholly at peace for the first time in his life.

The one person he’d ever had feelings for was now his.

But now what?

What came next?

What was she expecting from him? Did she want tender lovey-dovey things or sappy romantic words? Ghost wasn’t sure he could manage those. The guys were always buying gifts for their girls, should he? Did she want that? What the hell did she even like? And where the hell did he even go to buy flowers in the first place? That was something you gave girls, wasn't it? He wasn’t a romantic man at all and had no idea how to be. Maybe he could pick up some tips by listening to the rest of the guys since they wouldn’t shut up about the time they spent with their girlfriends and –

HOLY FUCK.

Simon’s eyes flew wide open, darting around the room as fast as his thoughts came through his head. Did he have a girlfriend now? They hadn’t exactly covered that last night, was that what Sereza saw herself as? Did she even want to be his girlfriend? Or did he have to officially ask her first? As his girlfriend, was she going to want… more intimate things? Would she want to touch him? Or him to touch her? Touch her how? Was she expecting sex from him? Not that he wasn’t interested or didn’t want to… Certainly wasn’t that. He very much wanted to actually… but–

Ghost took a deep breath.

He needed to calm down. They had just admitted their feelings to each other last night for fuck’s sake; he was getting very far ahead of himself. His lust didn’t seem to fucking care though.

Another deep breath, exhaling slowly.

His sleeping beauty shifted; her leg brushing lightly against his morning erection, making his cock throb and his sac tighten. Ghost tensed, pushing his head back against the pillow at the pleasurable pressure. Fortunately she quickly stilled again. Good. That gave him a moment to get control of himself.

With his free arm he carefully swept a curl from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear before his fingers went to her shoulder and grazed down the length of her arm to envelop her hand within his palm. Leaning his head forward ever so slightly to press his lips to the top of her head, letting his kiss linger a moment and closing his eyes in contentment. Never in his life would he have imagined she - or anyone for that matter - would have accepted to be his. To be with someone like him. Yet here she was and he planned to cherish whatever time he could have with her. 

How do you do this, my little one? Simon wondered to himself. 

Ghost closed his eyes as he rested his head on top of hers again and drifted back off to sleep.

XXXXX

Soft fingers brushing along the side of his uncovered face woke Simon again sometime later. Bright amber eyes staring back at him took his breath away.

“You kept it off,” Sereza observed. 

“Yeah,” Ghost murmured, voice rougher than usual with sleep, eyes roaming over the face of his love.

“Hi,” she sighed with an ethereal smile, as though properly meeting him for the first time - which he supposed she was, in a sense.

“Hi,” Simon chuckled, leaning up to kiss her.

Sereza met him and took his lips gladly. Simon grasped the back of her head to deepen it, causing her to let out a sensual moan. Ghost rolled them over without really thinking about what he was doing, consumed by just the feel of her. Only when he found himself with his arms between her back and the mattress did he realize the position they were in. Practically the same as his fantasy on the roof where he had her naked underneath him.

He froze.

“Simon? You good?” Sereza called to him, blessedly oblivious to his inner thoughts. Or at least he hoped she was. 

“Uh, yeah,” he fibbed... sort of... and gave her another kiss to reassure her, “I’m fine. More than fine.” 

Sereza watched an array of thoughts and emotions cross his face before they settled into contentment. Her hands glided over scar-torn biceps and up into his sleeves to his shoulders. “Your arms are amazing.” Her chin tilted upward, demanding another kiss from him, which he was only too happy to provide. “I love you Simon.”

Ghost grinned at her sweet words. He appreciated the compliment, even if it made him feel a little –

What in the fuck- was he feeling bashful?!

He mentally frowned at himself and shoved that feeling away in a hurry.

“You’re amazing and I love you even more.”

Sereza’s eyes widened at the challenge. “Excuse me Lieutenant! I will have you know that I love you more!”

He defiantly shook his head and rolled his eyes, playfully putting on his best haughty British expression. “Don’t think so.”

“I love you more. Times infinity. I win.” She gave him the tiniest, quickest peck on the tip of his nose before flashing a self-satisfied victorious smile.

Simon narrowed his eyes at her declaration. “It seems I'll need to change tactics.” Dipping his head down, he rained small kisses all over her cheeks, jawline, and neck, seemingly bent on kissing her into submission and sending her into fits of giggles.

This was so childish but neither of them cared much. For Simon it felt good to enjoy such an innocently silly moment like this. It wasn't like he'd been able to have these juvenile back-and-forth moments when he was growing up. It felt a little like she was giving the neglected child in him a little treasure he'd been missing. 

Having kissed Sereza within an inch of her life, Ghost lifted his head from her and looked down at her sparkling eyes, unaware of the smile spreading over his face. 

Sereza cradled his cheek in her palm. "You look happy," she whispered.

Ghost turned and kissed the inside of her wrist. I am for once. Very happy. All because of you.

They both stayed in their own little world until the ruckus of others out in the corridor told them it was breakfast time.

Neither of them wanted to leave or see this moment they were having together end, but their bodies demanded food. Sereza was sure Simon’s stomach was demanding quite a bit louder than hers was since he hadn’t left his room in two days – something she planned to fix today.

“I have an idea,” she started, making Ghost slightly raise a curious eyebrow.

Ohhh me too, Love. He thought to himself before mentally shaking his head at the intrusive thought. He really needed to get control of his lust. He blinked a few times as he returned his attention to the woman under him.

“Let’s eat in here, yeah? I can go get our plates and you can get a quick shower before I get back. How does that sound?”

“Alright,” he quickly agreed, moving so Sereza could get up. He did feel pretty rank after not taking care of himself the past few days and was sure she would prefer that he didn’t stink.

XXXXX

Down in the mess hall the rest of the 141 meandered lazily into the room. Soap looked around for a moment before he huffed in disappointment when there was no sign of a towering skull balaclava anywhere. However a certain young lady caught his eye who, he just happened to notice, was leaving the hall with two trays balanced in her hands.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” she greeted sweetly, sliding past him as he held the door open for her.

“Morning' Lass! My that’s quite a helpin’ ye' have there!” One breakfast tray loaded with substantially more food than the other. Far more than a little thing like her would be able to eat in one meal. Truthfully he doubted that she could even eat all of that in an entire day. How very interesting, he thought to himself.

Sereza just smiled happily back at him without any sort of an explanation. Soap watched her walk off toward the elevators. Very, very interesting.

Just then Price walked through the doors, the older man looking around just as Soap had. "Still no?" he asked of his sergeant.

"No sir, but I got something better for ya'."

XXXXX

Later that afternoon Sereza had succeeded in prying Ghost from his man cave. A word that earned her quite an exaggerated groan before he grunted at her to speak English. They walked together along the roof in the fading afternoon sun. Not a cloud in the sky and the arctic winds were relatively calm today. A perfect day to drag the brooding Brit out for some sunshine.

“Ghost? There’s something I want to ask you.”

“If it has any more of your weird words then I’m not answering,” he groused.

Sereza giggled at his moodiness. “Don’t worry, I’ll speak English.”

“Good.”

“…For right now.” She shot a sinister smile in his direction.

The skull moaned miserably. Sereza dropped all of her silliness and adopted a serious tone. “When did you realize you loved me?”

Bloody hell. Simon sighed and turned his masked face away. 

“I’m just curious. Please tell me? I’ll tell you next if you want.”

He supposed that was fair, and he was actually curious himself about what in the world he did that made Sereza fall in love with him, of all people. Personally he had no idea. 

“This is going to sound stupid,” he warned, “The day we arrived here, and you and your brother were mad because some wanker sent us to the Arctic without the proper gear-”

“I’m still mad about that by the way.”

“I’m sure you are, but while I watched you show us around base and get us sorted, lecture us on how to dress properly for the weather here… I couldn’t stop looking at you. I could barely pay attention because I was already in love with you. Though I admit I didn’t know it at the time. It took bloody Price getting on my arse one night in the gym for me to realize it. So, yeah, that’s it. Sorry it isn’t more romantic.”

“I don’t see any reason to apologize, I think it’s sweet. Very sweet. And I think you’re also very sweet.” She bumped his arm with her shoulder.

“Quit that. I’m not sweet,” Ghost shyly muttered as he gently bumped her shoulder back.

“You are tooooo.”

“You’re taking the piss.”

“Speak English,” she grumbled in an unnaturally deep tone Ghost supposed was meant to be an impression of him.

Simon forced a change of subject. “Right then. Your turn, Little one.”

“Well – I didn’t realize that I was in love with you right away either. It took me a little time to figure it out too. You were in my head all of the time and I caught myself looking for you everywhere I went. Whether I needed you for something or not, I just found myself wanting to be where you were, and I wasn’t happy otherwise. And then one day it just dawned on me and... it was like I’d always known that I loved you. So yeah, it wasn’t anything you did exactly, but... from the very first day...it was just… just you. You being you.”

Ghost looked around and behind them. Seeing they were alone, he pulled off his mask before yanking Sereza to him and capturing her lips in an ardent kiss.

For all of his life growing up he’d been told how much of a burden he was and how disappointed his father was in him, oftentimes for just simply existing. Then he was betrayed and taken prisoner, which left him with much deeper scars than just the physical ones that marred him. He’d shut himself off from the unrelenting stares and the whispers and the world’s cruel nature long ago.

Sereza was somehow able to see him underneath all of the layers he wore in order to protect himself. For whatever reason she saw him and found him worthy of being loved and accepted just as he was.

It was the single most astounding and loving thing he’d ever known in his life.

Her fingers combed through his sandy hair and down the nape of his neck, sending pleasant tingles down his back, and pressed her body flush against his. Ghost broke their kiss before the feeling of her could wake up the more primal parts of his mind. Also, if things between them were going to go further, they needed to have a talk first.

Sereza hummed as their kiss came to an end. “Mmm, I love kissing you. I used to wonder what it would be like.”

He smiled down at her before kissing her forehead and sliding his mask back into place. “I want to ask you something,” he cleared his throat nervously.

“Yeah?”

“What would you consider us to be? I know it hasn’t been very long... uh, at all... since we found out we love each other, but I was just wondering… what are we to you?” he asked her with a hint of nervousness. “I want us to be on the same page before we continue this. What am I to you?”

“As in, what would I call us?” Ghost nodded back to her. Sereza grinned at the barely perceptible anticipation in those midnight eyes of his. “I think that… we’re two halves of a whole - a team, here to take care of each other. What do you see us as?”

Two halves of a whole, he repeated in his mind. Each of them incomplete without the other. It was perfect.

He combed his fingers through her waves, “Exactly the same.” Sereza smiled at his response and leaned onto him, just before she could roll up his mask to kiss him–

“Hahh-HAAA!!! That’s my boy!!!” an unmistakable voice bellowed from off to the side somewhere.

Fucking HELL.

Price and Soap casually strolled over wearing the dopiest grins Ghost had ever seen on another person’s face with Gaz trailing behind them.

Price laughing and applauding his lieutenant unnecessarily loudly. Once close enough he gave Ghost a stinging slap on his shoulder. “About bloody time, son!!”

Simon winced at the sheer volume of Price’s voice.

Sereza was looking amused though and trying to hide her giggle with her gloved hand. As long as you’re happy, Love.

The Captain walked past Ghost and enthusiastically embraced Sereza. “Congratulations to both of you!" He plopped her back down on her feet. Why was this man so excited? Ghost silently prayed Price didn't come looking for a hug from him next.

Johnny had to give his two cents, "He's had it bad for ya’ for a long time Lass. Proper lovesick, he's been. If he gives ye’ trouble let us know, aye? We’ll straighten ‘im out.”

The Brit shot an apologetic glance at Sereza. He was flushing furiously underneath his mask at their words and was milliseconds away from punching one or both of them, consequences be damned. Gaz at least just stood there and kept quiet, so Ghost felt that he could probably let Gaz off.

Luckily for them, Sereza intervened before Simon actually hit anyone. “Ghost isn’t trouble at all. I find him to be perfectly enjoyable.”

Dammit he was blushing again. Ghost just knew he was the shade of a lobster with the way he could feel his ears burning. Simon kept his face angled enough so the others wouldn’t see it creeping up under his eyes – he hoped. He’d never live it down if they did.

“Seriously?!” Soap exclaimed.

“Seriously. Zero trouble," she confirmed.

“LT what the hell?! Why ye’ holding back on your lady? She deserves to know what a right prick ya' can be too!” The sergeant practically whined in that absurdly high pitch he could reach. “I swear Lass, this bloke is the grumpiest wanker there e’er was. You’ll see,” Soap warned. “Glad he’s bloody mindin’ his manners for his lady though. So far.”

The skull growled menacingly, making clear that he'd had quite enough of their teasing.

“Oookay, and with that,” Price took hold of Soap’s shoulders and passed him to Gaz who began steering him back in the direction they came from. “We’ll be off then. You two kids have fun! And Ghost? Be nice,” he warned as if he were leaving his toddler children alone on a playdate.

“Send us a wedding invite!” Gaz called.

What the fuck?!! Simon mentally penciled Gaz in near the top of his list.

“Congrats again Sereza!” Soap hollered back at them as Gaz continued to steer him away. “I'm sure you’ll be the best girlfriend there is!”

Price followed after them as he shouted, “Carry on you two!” with a thumbs-up and a not-at-all-subtle wink.

Alone again. Fucking finally, shit.

Ghost rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry about them.” 

Sereza wove her fingers between his gloved ones. “It's alright, I don't mind your friends. They just care about you and are happy for you.”

“Hmph," he rumbled irritably, "… ‘wedding invite' was a bit much though,” Simon mumbled, making her laugh a little at his discomfiture.

Soap’s last annoying comment came to mind. “Are you my girlfriend?” He quickly blurted out before thinking. “I-I mean… would you consider yourself my girlfriend? ...Can I call you that... my girlfriend?” Bloody hell he was bad at this. It was like being a damn teenager all over again. 

Sereza nodded sweetly as she pulled his skull mask back off and kissed him.

However Simon abruptly broke away from her almost immediately as his nagging fears in the back of his mind finally got the best of him. “Sereza I… I don’t know how to do this. I have no fucking idea how to do any of this.” He gripped her hands tightly in his, silently pleading with her to understand that he was trying to tell her that he'd never had a serious girlfriend before without him having to admit it out loud. 

Everything about this dynamic was new to him. If she would yell at him or insult him then he’d actually know how to handle that. Having a relationship – a safe, healthy one – was an entirely foreign concept to him though. All he knew was violence, drunken screaming, and fear. Ghost was terrified that he would carry those over into this relationship with his little one and end up hurting her.

Sereza ran her small hand up his sternum and over his collarbone. Simon had to bite back a groan at the feeling of it. “Well, I’ve never been a girlfriend before,” she confessed as she looked up into his dark eyes. Ghost was legitimately shocked at that. "We can figure this out together. Learn from each other, yeah?”

His hands cupped her face and he crashed his lips to hers eagerly. Beyond delighted to feel her return his kiss just as fiercely.

Feeling a little braver knowing that this was all as new to her as well, Ghost ran his tongue across her bottom lip, seeking her consent to enter her mouth. Sereza clung to him tighter and opened her mouth to him.

An elated growl vibrated through his chest at her acceptance. His tongue plunged past her lush lips and began to eagerly explore. Instantly hopelessly addicted to her unbelievably sweet taste and the small moans he pulled from her. The feeling of her against him, her fingers digging into the back of his jacket, and the breathy exhale she released all sent a flare of heat straight to his groin.

The front of his pants began to tighten.

There was no way he could resist her for much longer.

XXXXX

In the wee hours that night the door to Ghost's room silently cracked open.

Price peeked in cautiously. His eyes softened at the sight of Sereza and Simon wrapped snuggly around one another in their sleep with Simon’s face bare. His lieutenant sleeping soundly and peacefully. 

Well done Simon. I'm proud of you son.

Each of the 141 boys was like a son to the captain, and now he found himself feeling a little like he’d gained a daughter as well. Smiling proudly, he shut the door just as quietly.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x original character #simon riley #Simon “Ghost” Riley #Call of duty smut #slow burn simon riley #this will get spicy #the world needs to be nicer to ghost #feelings can be scary #starts off slow but gets spicy #Ghost gets the girl #way too much trauma for one person #someone hug this man #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost simon riley #cod mw ghost #ghost #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #cod imagine #masterlist #fluff #smut #imagine #simon ghost riley x oc

[bluegiragi]

some domestic monster!141 antics :3 (more notes under the cut)

early access + nsfw on patreon

-Gaz and Price sleep shirtless to lessen discomfort around their wings

-When the 141 sleep in a pile, Price tends to try cover them all with his remaining wing. It's a subconscious dragon thing done out of protective instinct for a hoard.

-Soap is scared of heights. His inner wolf is very uncomfortable not being on the ground.

-Currently, Price is the only person Simon is okay with being fully shirtless/naked around.

#poly monster141 au is a go people i repeat it is a go #gaz and soap have definitely messed around #and i definitely think that si and price had/have an on-and-off thing #hehe #im having lots of fun with this au #bear with me #the slow burn's gotta slow burn #monster 141 au #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #giragi art

[auspicioustidings]

https://www.tumblr.com/auspicioustidings/734619885087375360/i-cannot-write-for-shit-right-now-so-any-little

Hmmmm I’m seeing so many x single mom readers and not sure if this is something you’re even interested in BUT

Simon meeting his pretty new neighbor while she’s moving I and realizes she is either a.) heavily pregnant or b.) has a very young baby so Simon goes “hmmmm mine now :)” and helps her out a little? (Alternatively, if you don’t wanna do Simon for this, then maybe Price?)

(Also if you haven’t read @peachesofteal’s Light On fic, Simon x single mom reader, I implore if you to do so!!! It’s so good)

Peaches Light On fics, and I am being so deadass serious, give me such a flood of serotonin any time I see a new one. Everyone get your butt over there because they are the standard for single mother content as far as I am concerned!

That being said, I've put a bit of a twist on this so it's not really what you requested at all, sorry :') I could not do a similar idea to Peaches because there is nothing I can do to improve perfection!

Tactical Action

Words: 1.1k

CWs: mentions of death

“It's not a shame Price, it's fucking ridiculous.”

Simon Riley was furious looking at the paperwork. It wasn't often that TF141 kept tabs on a promising rookie so when they did he expected nothing but excellence. What he did not expect was a large ‘Early Service Leaver’ stamp over an otherwise exemplary record.

“Their brother died in that warship collision, can't blame them for wanting out.”

“My brother was murdered, I kept fucking going.”

He had met you once when Johnny had dragged him. His Sergeant was both excited and annoyed that someone had gotten the new record for the 3rd selection phase. It made sense to get some feel for you then, if you were as good at escape, evasion and tactical questioning as the test scores suggested then the 141 needed to have you on their radar because the PMCs certainly would. 

You were a determined thing, shoulders back and addressing them with just the right amount of respect. Not arrogant, but not a pushover. Soap had been talking about how much he wanted to get his hands on you the whole drive back to base because he was a horny idiot and you were a challenge he found intriguing. Simon had just rolled his eyes and added your record to the small pile in Price's office. 

He knew a little of your background. Both parents gone, one sibling in the navy. Well one sibling now KIA. He could have understood taking leave, but to quit entirely? It made him angry, he thought it was a waste of potential. Price could see how it affected him and he sighed. 

“Go talk to them then. But do not get yourself reported for harassment and intimidation Simon, if they don't want back in then we make our peace with that.”

That was all the permission he needed. He probably should have taken Soap really, someone who could be comforting and coax you back. But fuck it, you were supposed to be good under pressure so he was going to give you some hard damn advice on not bloody giving up.

–

Exhausted didn't even begin to describe how you felt. This was the hardest thing you had ever done, but you were not going to just give up. You couldn't, not with this tiny thing relying on you. 

She had never even got to meet her parents. Your brother died just before the due date in that accident and then his girlfriend had died from complications in childbirth. You had promised her you would look after their baby if anything happened, made an oath that you'd not let her parents anywhere near such an innocent little thing. 

So you were on your own with nothing but grief and exhaustion and an ever dwindling death in service payment. They would pay part of your brother's pension out each month at least for the baby, but you were terrified that it wouldn't be enough to give her a life she deserved. She certainly deserved her parents and not her fathers ill equipped sibling, but you could only do your best even with the knowledge it would never be enough. 

You flinched when there was a hard knock at the door of your flat, freezing but taking a breath when the baby remained sleeping in your arms. You needed to move at one point you knew, a flat in a bit of a rough area was fine for a soldier (ex-soldier you reminded yourself) but not so much for a baby. 

The security you had upgraded as best you could at the moment and you checked the door camera to see Lieutenant Riley. Ghost. You had met him briefly once, but what was a legend like him doing here? Shit. You knew you looked a wreck but it wasn't like you could ignore him so you opened the door, bouncing baby girl gently to keep her sleeping. 

Simon's planned tirade died the moment he saw the situation. You had a baby. Oh that changed his tirade significantly. Your marital status had listed single, so he could only assume you had gotten yourself knocked up by some casual hookup. That was unacceptable in a soldier, so bloody stupid. 

“Shit” you cursed when she woke up, heading back inside and giving him a nod of invite.

You bounced her and tried to coo at her to go back to sleep. To please God go back to sleep. You never knew what she wanted, it felt like whatever you did was always wrong. And of course then she started wailing and the Lieutenant was in your flat closing the door behind him witnessing your absolute failure to take care of a baby. 

“Oh for Christ sake, give her here.”

Simon took the baby and hoisted the little thing up onto his shoulder, rubbing hard at her back. 

“When was the last time you fed her?”

“I- well, just before you got here. 10 minutes ago maybe? Just got her to sleep.”

“Did you burp her?”

“Oh. I…” you replied, straining yourself in an attempt not to cry. “No. I forgot.”

While his eyes were sharp on you his hands and voice were gentle and soothing for the baby. He was good at this. Did he have kids? Fuck was everyone just innately good at caring for babies but you? 

“Didn't stop to think if you could take care of her before having her?” 

“She's not mine. Well I suppose she is. I'm her only living relative, or only decent one at least. I, um… that warship accident from a few months back. My brother died during it and her mum passed during the birth. I'm her legal guardian now. I'm what she has sir, it was the best tactical action given the circumstance” you said, straightening up despite your exhaustion and prolonged terror at being responsible for such an innocent little thing. 

Simon cocked his head to the side as the baby on his shoulder burped and gurgled, now trying to get back to sleep. You were still a soldier he saw then, you were fighting back your emotions to give him a report on the situation. He reevaluated after the sitrep and took a moment to find the best course of action.

“Marry me then.”

“Sir?”

“We can get it done tomorrow. Might take a bit of time to get a decent house but we'll stay in my flat until then, better area. Still going to be out on assignment a lot but any death benefit would go to you and the widows pension would set you up for life. I'm what you have rookie, it's the best tactical action.”

“Yes sir.”

#mhairiwrites #cod #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #well at least the implication is a slow burn in which they do fall in love #they just do it all very out of order #baby > marriage > moving in > sleeping together > dating #Soap is gonna be pissed

[m-1-8]

Part 3 of: Fight Dirty The spar haunts our dear Lieutenant How far will he descend into madness? Part 1

#poor ghost fantasizing against his will. #and like a magical and mysterious gay fairy #I come and drop homosexual slow burn for you #🧚‍♂️ ✨ #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #cod mw2 #M18 MW

[swordsandholly]

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #cod x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #ghost x reader #cod #ghoap x reader #ghoap #ghostsoap #plus size reader #fat reader #reader insert #slow burn #reader has pots #soapghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #simon x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #I’m so pumped for the next chapter you have no fucking clue babes

[whynot-tryit]

Angel of Small Death: Chapter 1

John Price x female! reader

Summary: Laswell convinces Price to hire a team medic. You spend your first day meeting each one of the men and you take an instant liking to the captain, and he does so too.

Word count: 5,528

Warnings: inaccurate medical stuff, mentions of blood, insomnia, body parts, body touching, lmk if there’s anything I should add.

----------------------------------------------------------

“John, in the past six months your team alone has made up almost forty percent of overall med bay visits. I’m not saying your team isn’t fit, I just think you should hire a team medic.” 

This isn’t the first time the idea has been brought up to Price during his and Laswell’s debriefings in his office. His hands run over his face, racking through his mutton chops before laying them down on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. “I know you guys can take care of yourselves on base and out there on the field but come on John, you guys need someone. You need someone to help you.”

Price wasn’t fond of asking for help but it was starting to get on his nerves with how much Laswell was bringing this up. “I already said no, Laswell.” His annoyance makes his words come out gruffier than usual. Laswell rolls her eyes and rests her back against the chair posted on the other side of his desk. “How about I choose for you? If you hate them then you’ll never hear me talk about it again.” 

The sigh that rolls through Price’s chest is the only sound that radiates through the small room for a couple seconds. He hasn’t had the time to finish the mountain of paperwork on his desk along with the daily training regime for the team, along with all the meetings he’s been dragging his feet to day in and day out. Maybe some help would be nice. Did that mean he was unfit in his role? His eyes come up from the papers on his desk to Laswell’s. Her eyes seem to read his mind and her eyes get softer trying to voice her thoughts.

He was good at his job, getting help wouldn’t be a bad thing, he deserved it. The bags under his eyes and stiff shoulders were a tell tale sign of how much he worked, an extra set of hands wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

“Fine. You pick ‘em.” 

..............................

You were an experienced medic, having been stationed in multiple locations, saved a multitude of civilians and soldiers. You were proud of your work. Moving around so much, feeling like you were being tugged in one direction to the other was getting quite exhausting. Once the rumor of a job opening as a team medic passed through your small base you hesitated for a small moment, you had no idea what team, where, but you knew it would be good to get some fresh air and maybe to have a new place to find stable ground for a foreseeable amount of time. It took months of rigorous interviews and paperwork but they chose you. Laswell, chose you. You had asked her why the captain of the team didn’t pick you, asking why they weren’t present for any of the interviews if you were going to be working with them. She had only hinted that they seemed to be a close friend of hers who needed the extra hand and didn’t have the time to pick someone themselves, so she was doing them a solid.

You had always liked the idea of helping someone, that's why the idea of being a medic, a doctor, was one you had had since you were a child. One that you worked very hard to make a reality, so the thought that whoever it was that you were going to work for really needed you made you even sounder in the idea of taking the new opportunity. 

Duffel bags are still packed and laying on the floor of your new living quarters, hands on your hips and eyes trailing around the four walls, all the way to the small bed and desk. This would have to do. Since the process of getting here had taken so long you wanted to jump right into introductions. You hadn’t heard a single thing about the team, 141. Cute name, you thought.

Unpacking and making the room somewhat livable for your needs was going to have to wait, changing into your scrubs and grabbing the four manilla folders you made your way to the medical wing on base. Laswell had helped you set up one on one meetings with the team so you could go over their medical files. Military medics, especially ones who didn’t work with the team directly and personally were always known to look over things and forget to file symptoms and problems properly so you wanted to make sure you went over some things. You wanted to do your job properly. 

First up was Kyle Garrick. 

As you walked towards the curtain which separated your little appointment room for your little meet and greets you noticed the feet underneath the small sliver of space made by the floor and the bottom of the curtain. He’s early, 15 minutes early to be exact. That earns a check in your book.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach out a hand to pull the curtain to the side and take a quick step inside before pulling it back to its place behind you. “You must be Kyle.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

You greet the soldier with a kind smile, moving to place the folders in your arm on the small side table in the corner before pulling out the rolling stool from underneath and taking a seat, scooting yourself a little closer to the cot located in the middle of the room, closer to Kyle who is seated right on top. 

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, makes me feel older than what I really am.” You say with a small chuckle. He doesn’t seem to be much older than you, a little younger than the other members in 141, you presume. Your eyes make their way from his eyes down to his shoulders, then to his arms, hands interlocked in his lap, all the way down to his legs and feet. “You can call me Gaz then, that's what everyone calls me around here anyway.” You file the nickname into the back of your mind. 

You splutter out a greeting, a more friend like one at least, your name and medic title. “I already went through your medical history and you seem to be pretty healthy or at least your file is a lot lighter than some I’ve seen.” You mentally flinch when you realize that it might come off as you think he’s inexperienced in his field, new to the military, although his age hints at him being quite the opposite. But Gaz smiles, “Means I’m good at my job. Don’t get hurt too often, at least I try not to.” Oh thank God, you think, he didn’t take it that way.

“Well then, I guess me and you are gonna get along just fine then.” You chuckle. “Is there anything you wanna tell me though? Anything like trouble sleeping? Appetite problems? Joint Pain? It doesn't seem like you’ve complained about anything, ever. At least according to your records.”

A deep hum can be heard coming from his chest as he seems to run through his own mind, trying to come up with anything he would deem reasonable enough to complain about, at least to a doctor. As he’s doing so you take note of his clothes, the medical wing is set up like most hospitals, AC blasting, it’s cold, sure, but not enough to be bundled up for. Your eyes focus on his shoes, more specifically his socks, they’re not the military issued kind. They seem to be wool socks, which is odd, not something you see that often. Maybe his feet get cold, at least to a level that he takes an extra precaution to keep them warm. 

While you’re finishing reeling in your thoughts after noticing your observation, Gaz finally finishes rummaging through his mind for anything to tell. “I don’t have anything I think is worth complaining to you, Doc. I mean if complaining about the food on base to you can actually change anything then that's about it.” A deep chuckle makes its way out of his throat. You smile.

“Can I see your fingers?”

The odd question makes Gaz raise a brow but he pulls his hands from his lap and lays them out to the space between you and him, palms up. You take a soft hold of his fingers, wrapping yours around them almost like you would grip onto a handle of something. They’re oddly cold. You take note of it in your mind and move his hand to be palm down so you can take a look at his fingernails, softly running your thumbs over them.

Gaz stays silent, watching you as you bring them level to your eyes as you take note of the very subtle vertical lines that run through his nails. You let a slight hum almost like an aha moment and Gaz is very confused. “What is it?” The question comes out with a slightly worried tone. 

“Do you get cold easily, Gaz?” 

“I don’t think I get any colder than the average guy, why?” 

You finally drop the hold you had on his hands and scoot to the desk, opening a drawer to quickly take a pair of gloves out and slip them on before scooting back to your previous position near him.

“You wear wool socks, which aren't really military issued so I’m guessing your feet get cold easily and your fingers too. Your fingernails also show symptoms of an iron deficiency. Is it alright if I check your eyes and gums?” You always try to explain the best way you can, talking slower than you normally would- trying to come off as understanding as possible. He gives you a nod of approval before shifting closer to the edge of the bed so you can do your little investigation. 

You take a hold of his face, placing your thumbs underneath his eyes before pulling down his water line to get a good look underneath. The spot is oddly void of red, a classic sign of anemia. You move on to do the same with his mouth, pulling on his bottom lip to look at his gums which are a pale pink- not the exact color that they should be.. 

Retracting your hands and pulling the gloves off you scoot to the manilla folder, pulling out a pen from your scrub pocket to jot some things down. “I think you’re anemic, an iron deficiency, nothing too serious since it doesn’t seem to affect your work but I’m gonna order a blood test to confirm and to see if it’s just a dietary issue or if you need a supplement to get you to normal.”

Gaz is kind of taken aback. He felt fine, or at least he thought he did. Sure, his feet and hands got cold but he had trekked through waist high levels of snow and water. The soldier thinks of how he gets winded when moving from one sparring match to the next. Was that what that was? “You got that because of my socks?” 

Shit, you’re good. 

---------------------

Next was Johnny MacTavish, or “soap” at least that's what the red mess -doctor handwriting, right next to his real name on his file read. You had stayed in the curtain enclosed room after Gaz had left, writing out a referral for the blood test you had mentioned when you heard the slight squeaking of boots on the shiny floors headed right your way before they stopped right on the other side of the curtain. You looked up right as they were pulled aside and a friendly face greeted you, and a mohawk- which surprised you. 

“You must be the new Doc, names Soap.” He greets you and steps inside, extending a hand to shake yours. You take it, giving him a light shake before introducing yourself and directing him to sit on the cot. Soap’s introduction didn’t seem rushed yet happened all before you could even stand up from your seat. It somehow exuded this confident aura off him, which somehow in your mind explains the haircut for you. 

“I see here that you're a demolition expert?” To be frank, when you had read that in his file while going over all the men’s information, and seen all his med bay visits you knew he would be the one that would take up most of your time. You had seen first hand the aftermath of the explosions his people have dealt with. On enemies and on your very own. The thought and images are quickly pushed to the back of your mind. 

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, it's deeper and louder than Gaz’s. “You are the second person to call me ma’am today, please just call me anything else.” 

“My bad, Sorry, Doc.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m guessing you also know that your file says that you frequently find yourself in the medical wing.” Soap winces, a hand coming to rub the back of the neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of comes with the job. But, hey! We’ve got you now, so no worries.” 

Yep, you had your work cut out for you on this one. “I guess you do, can’t wait to see what you get yourself into that I have to bandage you up for.” 

Soap enjoys your replies, the banter settles nice under his skin. His smile doesn’t seem to fade, maybe slightly but never fully gone. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been at this a couple years you know about the annual hearing tests you should be taking.” 

His smile drops instantly. “What.”

“You did know that all personnel that deal with explosives regularly are supposed to be given a hearing test once a year while for others it’s every 3, right?” 

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, past your rib cage right near your spine as you watch him gape at you- like he’s grappling to find the words that he clearly doesn’t have. “I’m pulling your leg, your file doesn’t have anything on them either so I'm guessing you never had them.” Soap lets out a sigh before shrugging, flashing you a sheepish smile. 

You chuckle, “Alright, I’m gonna have you do one for me and let's just hope to God you’re not deaf yet.” That earns a chuckle from him, again. He was a lot more talkative than Gaz yet around the same level of openness. Thank god it seems like you got a good team, no weirdos so far. 

“Can I ask you one thing, lass?” Your eyes dart up from your folder where you were jotting down your notes. “Yeah, of course.”

“How fast does hair that's been burned off, by let's say- an explosion- take to grow back?”

Oh boy.

………………………………..

It had taken a while to finish up with Soap, he had too many questions for his own good. But the interaction puts a smile on your face at the thought. Your next patient was already waiting outside, Soap greets him right on the other side of the curtain before he comes in.

“You must be Ghost.” 

You had heard of him before, small whispers of a skull masked man who never showed his face. To be honest with yourself, it wasn’t quite unfamiliar to have a soldier that preferred to cover their face most times, so the thought of it that wasn’t unsettling to you in the least. Even as his huge frame slips past the curtain before moving to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of the bed. You suppress a frown, he’s purposely distancing himself from you- normal in his case, you try to tell yourself. There's a long moment of silence where you’re at least expecting him to somewhat introduce himself but it doesn’t come. Alright then.

You introduce yourself instead, trying to get rid of the silence. “Did you know that most of your files are almost completely redacted?” His eyes finally meet yours after making their way across the room. “Yeah, I know.” 

There's silence again, this isn’t gonna be easy.

Ever since you were a kid you had always been able to read people, their eyes, their hands, the way they walked. You look at his eyes and the skin around them, at least the small amount you could see through the baklava he wore. They move down to his neck and shoulders, they’re stiff- almost painfully so. Then onto his crossed arms. 

“So, how often do you get nightmares?”

Even Though you can’t see his face you know he’s surprised. “Excuse me?”

You give him a soft smile, “Your eyelids are kind of droopy, you have serious under eye bags, both indicative of an inadequate sleep schedule and your right shoulder is higher than your right even though you're standing straight which tells me you sleep on your side very often. It's actually an effect from what we call a sleeping soldier position. You lay on your side, one arm under your head and the other most likely holding onto some kind of weapon.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, it almost seems like he’s sizing you up. Trying to guess if you’re serious, if you’re being condescending in some way but Ghost can’t seem to find anything behind your eyes except kindness. It almost scares him more than what he was expecting. You know you're right, you’ve worked with dozens of cases of PTSD, diagnosing it and treating it. “What have you tried in order to help?” 

You almost think he’s not going to answer you, that he’s just going to storm out of the room and somehow you’d lose your job before you even got the chance to do anything about it.

 “I don't know how to fix it.” It’s a quiet, muttered reply. You almost miss it. 

Ghost feels like he’s out of his comfort zone, sure soldiers had nightmares and maybe he had had them when on a mission, sleeping just a few feet away from his teammates but you were new and somehow could see through him. “Does your captain know?” You hoped the answer was yes because then it meant you wouldn’t have to tell his superiors about his personal problems and you could just help him without anyone having to know and judge him which is what you guess is making him uneasy. “Price knows.” You nod- they seem to be the closest in age on the team so you guess they’ve known each other for at least a decent amount of time, knowing things about each other that only a close friend would. “Then I can help, I don’t have to tell the captain unless he asks and neither do you.” 

“No drugs.” Ghost had lost hope on ever truly resolving his problems when he lied awake at night thinking about it. Drugs would be written down, stored and used against him. He’ll be seen as an unstable soldier- a sick man. 

“I can do that.” You offer him a small smile, at least you’re getting somewhere- doing your job.

Soap might not be the one to worry about, you thought.

—----------------------

You let out a quiet sign to yourself, the back to back meetings have had you cramped inside the room for hours. The team seems to be a good one, funny and kind, thank god. The last meeting was with the captain. You were nervous even though he had hand picked the three men you had met earlier so he couldn’t be too far off in comparison. But the thought that you were going to be working with him and he hadn't been involved in choosing you was gnawing at you. If he hated you or thought he didn’t need you he could have your bags packed in an hour tops. You try to take a deep breath, he couldn’t be that mean- none of the boys seemed to warn you about him so that means he had to be nice or else they would complain about him somehow. 

The thoughts in your mind seem to be clouding your senses, you barely hear the steps coming towards the curtain and how they come to a halt right before the fabric is slowly pushed to the side. 

Still lost in your thoughts and sitting in the stool, it seems like you’ve been glued to the whole day at the desk that's been housing all the manilla folders, referrals, and notes you’ve been working with for hours on end- you don’t hear the steps get closer and the figure who they belong to standing just slightly past the threshold. Price knows he should probably make himself known, maybe clear his throat or rustle the curtains so you know he’s here. 

He plans to, or at least that's what he tells himself, he can’t help taking your form in, your back to him- legs crossed, seated, elbow resting on the desk, chin in your hand. He gulps, he hasn’t seen your face but somehow he knows that you’re beautiful. He would bet money on it without you even having to turn around. Surprisingly, it's the very gulp that makes him let out a small cough that finally has you turning your head to face him. A part of him wants to back out of the room and call Laswell, curse her out for this idea of hers but that thought seems to slip out of his mind as your eyes meet his. 

You’re quick to stand up, wiping your hands off on your thighs before reaching one out for a greeting. “Shit, so sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. You must be the captain.” Price takes your hand but his eyes don’t leave your face- that smile that he can already feel is going to get him in a load of trouble and gives you his own. “It’s alright, love.” You try to hide the sharp inhale you seemed to have involuntarily made when the name hits your ears. 

His hands are calloused, not in a way that scratches you but feels sturdy, warm, somewhat comforting. The grasp he has of your hand lasts a little longer than what anyone would deem normal and you stutter out a soft command for him to take a seat on the cot. 

Price does as you say and lets go of your hand before taking a seat, interlocking his hands in his lap. You take the time to turn and rearrange your papers, trying to get your breathing under control, of course no one mentioned he's handsome. Fuck.

“I hope my men haven’t given you a hard time so far.” You finally turn around after hearing his voice, it matches his face- handsome, charming. “ No, they're nicer than I expected.” That makes Price raise a brow, questioning what you mean by that and you catch on. “Gaz doesn’t like talking so much, Ghost is an enigma of his own, and well soap is one hell of a character.” You chuckle while taking a seat on the stool once again and scooting over til you’re a few feet away from him.

To be completely honest, Price had almost forgotten about the deal he made with Laswell. She had come by to drop your file at his desk- for him to look over- but in reality, he had forgotten. He feels what he thinks is guilt eating at him in his chest. He had been adamant for so long on not needing a team medic, that they were a waste of time and money- yet here you were, nice, beautiful and he didn’t hate you one bit. 

“Well, Gaz is called Gaz for that very reason and well Simon is Simon, and soap- well he’s most likely the reason you’re here.” Soap had been the sole reason for 141’s increased med bay visits which is what had tipped off Laswell to initiate the month long debate of hiring someone. 

“I’m glad you did, it doesn’t seem like you guys have been keeping up with protocol.” 

“What do you mean, love?” Concern is laced into his words, the thought of his men not getting adequate help makes the knot in his chest grow tighter. 

“I’m having Gaz checked for anemia since he’s got some of the tell tale signs. Soap hasn’t had a hearing test in over five years and Ghost has a severe case of insomnia.” You know that not a lot of teams have the opportunity to have a team medic, often resorting to rotating med bay doctors who aren't very keen on prevention and treating for mundane things. The look of guilt spread across the captain's face, his brows furrowing and lips taut. “It’s not your fault, I’m here now so I’ll be taking care of you guys and I’ll be trying my best, captain.” 

Your words seem to settle the man down but you can tell he still seems anxious over his men. You place your hands on your knees, “Let’s worry about you right now.” You offer him a kind smile before standing up from your seat and taking a few steps forward before coming to a complete stop when you're standing right in between his spread knees. Your hands are held up a few inches from his face, silently asking for permission. Price pushes the feeling of apprehension to the back of his mind before tilting his chin slightly up, granting you to do so. 

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin. 

“No.” You don’t know if it's in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder that's laid out on the desk. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.” 

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes, scooting back to him. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barely a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain. 

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. I'm gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?” 

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

 “Cigars?” 

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shiny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment. 

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his. 

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking- even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face. 

“It's not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it in case of anything.” 

“Alright, love.” 

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” His eyes wander around the room, taking note of the fluorescent lights and sketchy wallpaper with a not too fond look on his face. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, it's small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.” 

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, that's it.” You can tell he’s thinking, trying to take you in- read you. 

Price decides he likes it, likes you.

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Price's reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too. 

“Deluxe package?” 

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.” 

You both break out into a chorus of light laughter and quiet chuckles. The room doesn’t seem so small and suffocating like you had thought a mere thirty minutes ago and that pit in your stomach has seemed to all but dissipate. You finish going over some more of his medical records, confirming some information and filling in some gaps before you realize that it's been over an hour and the day is coming to a close. It doesn’t even hit you until Price brings it to your attention by looking down at his watch. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ve probably kept you here for longer than you planned.” You say with an apologetic smile, nervousness etched into your words. “It’s alright, love.” 

The boys were most likely waiting for him in his office for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Your eyes seemed to have glued him to the cot and your voice lulling him into a daze. Maybe having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

He stands- you follow him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, captain.” You hadn’t had time to take him in when he first came into the room. He’s tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a nice strong set of thighs you have to force your eyes off of. 

“John.” You raise a brow, lost in thought from seeing him in his full form. “You can call me John.” His smile is warm and it's almost like the warmth of it radiates onto you and you feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck. 

“Okay, John.” 

“It was nice meeting you, love.” Price gives you one last kind smile, the crows feet along the edges of his eyes come out at the gesture as he walks towards the curtain before pushing it aside and stepping out. The curtains don't go back to their previous place. You watch him as he walks away until he’s out of eyesight and you finally feel like you can catch your breath. Fuck, your captain is hot. 

---------------------

Taglist: @sharkiestory

#john price #john price x reader #fluff #cod modern warfare #cod men #x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #slow burn

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 1

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: Ghost returns home to find he has a new noisy neighbor: a socially awkward veterinarian with questionable cooking skills. Word Count: 1.5k

When Simon Riley limply walked in on his flat after four months of deployment, he could barely breathe. The stale air from the lack of proper ventilation had trapped in the humidity of the past rainy days, the walls poorly insulated, and therefore, moldy. As per usual, the place looked terribly dull, the scarce decorative elements inadequately arranged, but certainly well-fitting to the dingy apartment complex in Manchester.

Dropping his duffel bag by the door dismissively, instead of opening the curtains and letting in the evening light, he first headed to the fridge, analyzing its usual contents: two beers, a carton of milk (most likely spoiled by now), a jar of marmite and an old noodles container from the Chinese restaurant he liked, stinking up the place.

“Forgot ya little fucker” he made sure to remember to throw it out later, before grabbing a beer and plopping himself on the couch, careful enough to not hurt his wounded leg any further. But as soon as he grabbed the remote from under his thigh, ready to turn on the news and resituate himself with the current ongoings of the British populace, he finally paid attention to the commotion next door.

“Bloody fucking hell” He groaned “What’s all this racket?”

He heard thumping, scratching, something breaking, quick footsteps and what seemed to be a gentle voice cooing “oh no, please, not again”. Just as he was processing the fact that he didn’t remember having any horizontal neighbors since he first signed the lease (one of the main reasons why he even signed in the first place), an aggressive knock on his door made him instantly rise to his feet, grabbing a black facemask from his bag and moving silently to peek through the peephole.

“Mr. Riley!” The old woman on the other side called out, still knocking, and Simon sighed deeply in annoyance. “I know you’re in there, I saw you come in earlier.”

“Fucking cunt” He muttered under his breath, weighting whether ignoring her would make her leave at once (it wouldn’t, and they both knew it).

He took a deep breath before unlocking the door, regretting it immediately.

“There ya are” She started, shoving a couple papers on his chest, and forcing a pen between his calloused fingers “I need you to sign this immediately.”

“What are you on about?” He tried his best to keep it polite and cordial, but the woman’s presence and constant complaints always filled him with inevitable rage.

“Your neighbor” She pointed to the door next to his, where a great deal of noise still stemmed from the walls “She cannot and will not stay here. She is insufferable.”

Well that makes two, innit? He thought to himself, biting down his tongue.

Faced with his menacing silence, she carried on with her melodramatic monologue:

“It’s a petition to kick her out, I’m getting everyone to sign, even the new tenants, then I’ll arrange a meeting with the landlady for a formal hearing.”

“What the fuck did she do?” Simon inquired, clearly irritated, reading the five signatures on the first page. He was pretty sure three of them were in the same handwriting.

She looked at him indignantly, extending her arms at the door once again, indicating the ongoing clatter.

“She has a bloody jungle in there! Cats, dogs, birds, and God forbid, rats if you can believe it!”

“Mrs. Parsons, I think we all had rats in our apartments at some point this year.”

“Not as pets! It’s disgusting, and everyone’s been complaining about the noise!”

He glared at her indifferently, eager to return to the comfort of his privacy and wallow in his frustration, giving his leg some much needed rest. She stepped back, seemingly realizing that Mr. Riley was in one of his moods, not keen on indulging in useless chatter or gossip.

“Right, well, not interested.” He tried to return the signatures, to which she vehemently refused, pushing them back to his chest.

“At least consider it Mr. Riley. She lives right next to you and the walls are thin. Your signature’s the most important one.”

“Will do.” He shut the door on her face, mindlessly throwing the papers and the facemask on the coffee table as he limped back to the couch and turned on the tv. He hissed after realizing he had ripped his stitches as he sat down aggressively, a splotch of blood soaking the fresh bandage he had been arranged on base.

“Fuckin’ hell” he sighed tiredly, deciding he would deal with it first thing in the morning.

***

As the pandemonium progressively decreased throughout the night, Simon had fallen deep asleep on the sofa, tv still on and feet kicked up on the table. But when there was a new knock on the door, this time softer, he felt like he could have only been sleeping for five minutes, exhaustion and grumpiness still ingrained in his bones.

“What now?” He groaned to himself, massaging his sore neck, and finally remembering to kick off his boots. He was so used to sleeping fully clothed, often even geared up and ready to go, that he always took some time to remember how to act like a civilian again once he was back home.

Just as he readjusted himself to go back to sleep, his lids semi closed and arms crossed over his chest, one more knock arose anger in his belly at his newly interrupted rest. Frustrated, he sighed before getting up, easing up the pressure on his wound as the sharp pain reminded him of the ruptured sutures from the previous evening.

Facemask on once again, Simon opened the door aggressively, expecting Mrs. Parsons to come collect her newfound project in ruining other people’s lives, and therefore halfway of saying “What the fuck do you-”

“I-I’m so sorry! I know it’s early and I was probably a huge bother all night, but I wanted to apologize before leaving for work and-”

“Slow down.” He commanded, stopping the young woman’s panicked rant. He had barely rubbed sleep from his eyes and his mind wasn’t yet ready to take in another dreadful monologue. He observed her intently, as he often did to potential threats (usually concealed by the shadows), but as the circumstances proved different, she observed him right back. He always felt strange and vulnerable without the skull mask, regardless of the black facemask covering half of his visage anyway.

She couldn’t possibly be over 25 years old, her bright and cheerful complexion not carrying the weight of the tired lines that came at 30. She was considerably shorter than him, but still quite tall for a woman, her frame concealed under oversized scrubs that seemed ridiculously out of place; her hair messily tied in a long braid. She held up a tray with what seemed to be freshly baked cookies, but about half of them were burnt.

As she smiled nervously, he noticed one of her canines was slightly chipped, and the small white scar across her right eyebrow almost distracted him from the dimples. If she had noticed him stare at the small imperfections, she didn’t seem bothered at all, continuing her anxious speech as if she had practiced in front of the mirror beforehand.

“Right, I’m sorry, I really hoped we could meet in better circumstances.”

“What time is it?” Simon groaned, looking at his wrist to check his watch. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s 6 in the bloody morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I was gonna bake you a cake and offer you tea, but I was called in unexpectedly yesterday an-”

“That’s lovely and all, but why are you knocking on my door at six in the morning with half-burnt cookies?” He interrupted moodily and almost regretted it once he saw her smile falter and her cheeks redden in shame.

“Oh…” She lowered the tray, her eyebrows scrunched as she analyzed the overcooked treats and tried hard to recover. “Well, I just wanted to apologize for all the noise from last night before I left for work. I feel terrible about it and-”

“Apology accepted.” He stepped back, ready to shut the door.

“Wait!” She held it with her foot, nervously trembling under his cold gaze. She took a deep breath, and he sighed, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if deciding what to think of the socially awkward woman meddling in his business. “I just…”

“Go on.” He encouraged, trying to speed up the end of the uncomfortable encounter.

“I’m new here.” she blurted out “I moved in about a month and a half ago and people don’t seem to like me very much already” she sighed, and he noticed the dark bags under her tired eyes.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I work at the Vet clinic a few streets nearby-”

“I didn’t sign it.” He interrupted once again, and she would certainly be frustrated if she wasn’t so happy about what he said.

“The petition?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Her face gleamed with relief “Because I-”

“I’m due to consider it.” He added, her expression quickly dropping to disappointment.

“Why?” Her soft, defeated tone could almost pull on his heartstrings. If he had one.

“I don’t know if you’ll bother me yet.” Now he was just messing with her.

“I won’t!” She argued, defensively.

“Alright. I’ll think about it over that cake.” He closed the door, leaving her open mouthed in shock, the tray of cookies still in hand.

He heard her softly press her forehead to the door after a thoughtful moment, and then yell out:

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“People.”

A/N: I'm back! I wrote this months ago but only just decided to start posting these series :) I LOVE writing porn but when it comes with a cute backstory attached it's just *chef's kiss*. I plan on keeping the chapters simple and comforting - writing has been really helping me cope with seasonal depression, and the boredom of routine in general. New chapter coming soon... Enjoy!

#ghostxreader #ghost imagine #ghost cod #cod #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #neighbor!Simon Riley #neighbor!Ghost #slow burn #modernwarfare2

[ghouljams]

Home [Chapter 6]

Prev Part

Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, slow burn, f!oc cameo(Witch), sea travel, grief, kidnapping(sort of)

Summary: Again you find yourself at the mercy of the Vikings' will, moved without your consent to a place you'd rather not go. You must be going mad, somehow it all reminds you of home.

Packing up camp takes less time than you’d thought, though you suppose many hands make light work. Your hands aren’t saved from that work either. Despite decidedly not being a viking you’re directed to assist with collapsing and packing tents. Mactavish points out where to store them on the ship, before picking up crates and barrels with a soft grunt. You resent being given the easy work, relegated to burden before you even set out, but you would resent being given anything harder too.

Working with vikings. Your blood boils at the thought, but you have no other way to go. With no pressing medical needs you’re treated the same as every other man in the crew. You’re not sure whether to resent that fact or laugh. Are you a woman or aren’t you? Are you surrounded by wolves or are you taken into their burrow? Will you find hands shoved under your clothes, or won’t you?

You stick to Mactavish, try not to be underfoot after the first viking you bump yells at you. The men are all preoccupied with carrying their burdens, if it weren’t for Mactavish you might see threads of escape. You might have taken the chaos of packing the ship as your best chance to get out of here. But Mactavish seems to welcome your company, chattering away as he directs you to grab crates and load the long boat. His hand is firm on your back, always touchy even when it’s not called for.

“Is nae a long journey,” He explains, “jus’ across the straight. We’ll be there before ya ken it.”

It doesn’t escape your notice how excited your viking counterpart is at the prospect of going home. If it were you, and to some extent it is, you wouldn’t be so eager to part with your homeland. As you see it Mactavish may as well renounce the tartan he wears over his shoulders, eager as he is to be a viking. You don’t have much choice in where you go, but you’ll be damned if you’re eager to leave. 

You’re employed, that’s it. You work or you die. You catch the captain’s eye as Mactavish shows you where you’ll be stationed for the journey. He tips his head to talk to the viking in the skull mask, his attention off of you as quickly as it had found you. Mactavish catches you staring and sighs.

“He’s just nervous about ya runnin’.”

“As if you wouldn’t strike me down before I left camp,” You mumble, your eyes following the trails of axes and swords where they sit on the hips of the men loading the ship. Mactavish winces. You don’t see how it could mean much to him, you’re just extra cargo, another mouth to feed that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“Ah wouldnae,” Mactavish tries, you push past him. You’re uninterested in empty promises, in words that have the same substance to them as the air they whisper through. He would, he just needs to be given the order and your life is forfeit. Wants disappear when viking’s greed is on the line.

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him, you’re already stolen, you’ve nothing to return to, what reason could you have for running? You’re the only woman on the ship, and for who knows how long. That’s reason enough to run. There’s space to run on land, but at sea? You pause, frown at the rocky beach below your feet. You’d be better served dead than passed between oars. 

The fears of women, you have no sane way of voicing them to your captor. Mactavish hands you a bag, the contents of it shift with strange shapes as you find your hold. It’s smokey, smelling of meat and brine. It grounds you a little. You clear the anxiety from your mind and glance out over the sea, trying to find the other side the way you used to when you were small.

-

You’re reminded almost immediately that Mactavish owns you as the longboat pushes off the shore. You’re caged between the wall of the ship and your least favorite viking, his words bouncing around your head as he directs men to row. “My catch,” “my watch,” “prey.” He calls you that again in a hushed tone,

“Dae ya get sea sick, Vaenn?”

You ignore him, turn your head to rest it against the wooden wall of the ship. There’s little for you to do on the ship but wait. You patch a few blisters on the youngest vikings, and tend to the fever that’s brought on by a night of rain. Mostly you find yourself with Mactavish pressed to your side. Big and warm, sturdy when you try to push him off. His eyes are stormy each time you look at him, the clouds parting when he turns to meet your stare. 

He pulls on smiles like an old pair of shoes. They’re well worn, practiced to his face, but they never reach his eyes. You wonder what he must be thinking. You try to drown out that curiosity with a different one. What are you meant to do when you get to shore?

Four days of sailing and the only thing you’ve come up with is: doctor. You suppose there must be more vikings, more warriors returning from different pillages, that need patching up. You can’t imagine what that must look like, a whole village of brutes. You wonder if they kidnap all their women, or if you’re a special case. 

Exhaustion weighs on you. The rocking of the boat, the unease in your stomach around sleeping with so many strangers nearby, you find little rest and in the short grabs of it you jerk awake to the heat of fire. Your grief has started to numb you, or perhaps that’s the ocean’s chill. Mactavish fixes his fur around your shoulders more tightly, checks the heat of you with a cool hand against your cheek. You wonder if he even has the capacity to worry for others. A man that would turn away from the screams of an entire village is a man that holds no one but himself in his heart. You turn away from him more often than not, feel the frustrated curl of his fingers before they’re dropped in a fist to his lap. 

You can see it every time you close your eyes, so you don’t. You can hear your own sobs ripping from your chest, can feel the strength of Mactavish’s arm around you, in your dreams. You don’t sleep. What’s lost can never be regained, and now you slip further from it. Your skin is cold and your stomach churns with the waves. You tuck your resentment close to your chest, and nurse it with bitterness.

You’re not going home. You don’t have one of those anymore.

-

You’re startled awake by a familiar melody, words you know from your mother’s tongue. You mutter her name, still addled by sleep, and split your eyes open. Mactavish is studying his hands beside you, digging his short nails into the calluses at the base of his fingers. His voice is low, but the tune carries. The usually noisy ship seems to hold its silence. In the dim grey light of dawn you wonder if it’s just the two of you awake.

The only two souls alive that carry the land’s proper tongue.

And yet he mutters it, the words of the lullaby said under his breath, breathed through the chopped melody that leaves his lips. He doesn’t even seem to pay attention to it, his eyes focused on his hand’s work more than the tune. You listen to the sharp pick of skin, nearly louder than the familiar tune, and try not to move. 

“-found the trial o’ mountain mist, but ne’er a trace of baby o,” He hums, his lips twitching with pain as he digs his nail too deep. Mactavish looks up towards the bow of the ship and you follow his eyes as best you can, watching Gaz and the Captain speaking in quiet tones.

Gaz holds a telescope to his eye, nodding and directing course when he brings it down. The air waits for them. There’s a near silent beating of wings, and the captain holds out his arm for a black bird to perch on. He strokes its beak with a finger, the creature clicking pleasantly before it alights again, back the way it came. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. The threat of land never closer than it is when the Captain turns to the ship and announces,

“We’ll be sleeping in beds tonight, lads.”

Mactavish smiles to himself, his head bowed, while the rest of the crew cheers. You don’t share their excitement.

-

The port you dock in is nothing like you expected. Mactavish offers you a hand to help you off the ship, and though you reach for it instinctually, you ultimately spurn the gesture. You’d rather make a fool of yourself tripping over your skirts than take help from that man. Again you see his fist clench, dropped heavily to his side as he stares at the space you used to occupy. The skull faced viking directs the unloading of cargo, barking orders to the others while you look out at the town.

It’s not what you thought it would be. There’s no dismal hopelessness to the buildings that dot the grassy landscape. Women and children move between the houses without fear, and market stalls exchange their goods for coin under colorful banners. In the distance you can see sheep grazing, men fish along the shore, farms and gardens dot the landscape. The dirt path that winds around town works its way inward, all roads leading to the center, a longhouse built up on a hill. It reminds you too much of your own home. Bigger perhaps, but twisting the knife in your heart as clearly as your mother’s face might.

A viking carrying a heavy crate bumps you from your observation, and your arm is caught by another. You give a shout of surprise, looking around for Mactavish and finding the Captain instead. He all but drags you along the dock, his grip firm and unyielding even when you struggle against it. You’re deposited in front of a woman. There's darkness under her eyes, runes in coal over her cheeks, and bone woven into her red hair. She smiles at you warmly, and you jerk back away from her. 

There’s something unnerving in her smile, in her movements. 

Her brows draw together, concern coloring her expression. The black bird that you’d seen greeting the ship rests on the staff she’s holding, its beak clicks curiously at you. You ignore it. Birds like that are only good for eating.

“One Læknir,” The Captain presents you, he says something else, a word you don’t understand that makes the woman laugh. She looks more alive when she laughs.

“You are-” She seems to struggle for the word, your language ill-suited to her tongue, she asks the Captain something uses that same word “Læknir” and he responds with his correction:

“Healer.”

“Healer,” The woman finishes, you glance at the captain and give a small nod. She speaks to the captain again, speaks past you, you try not to take offense. You’re starting to get the feeling this woman isn’t used to people let alone talking to them.

“Need a translator?” Mactavish’s voice jolts you from your thoughts, too close beside your ear. He grins when you glare at him. The woman seems almost relieved to see him. She speaks to him now, and you hear him say it again:

“My catch, Völva, I’ll watch ‘em.” His eyes dart to you as you bristle. The woman, the Völva (you heard him use that word before, you file it as a proper noun, a title maybe), glances at you as well.

“You stay with -” She says a word and you frown.

“Soap,” Mactavish fills in, leaning to murmur it by your ear.

“Soap,” You confirm, “I’m staying with the lye.”

“You’re stayin’ with Mactavish,” The Captain tells you, no hint of amusement in his tone, it startles you still to hear your own tongue so proudly fallen from his lips.

“Not a proper name,” You grumble.

“Needed a bath when we caught ‘im.” The Captain sniffs, “If he’s smart he’ll give you one too.” You stiffen, any humor you may have found in the nickname lost with those words. You don’t look at Mactavish, at Soap. You keep your eyes on the Völva. She must understand that they can’t force you into lodgings with a man. She tips her head, smile blank. You can’t hold her gaze for long.

“You wanted responsibility,” The Captain pushes you towards Mactavish, “there it is, your catch, your watch.”

You suppose it makes sense, you stay with the person that caught you, but it still drops like a rock in your stomach. Mactavish may speak your language, but as far as you’re concerned he’s a viking through and through. You’re not safe with him, not safe in this village. Mactavish settles his hand on the small of your back, and leans close for a third time, his voice is softer but still rings like a death knell.

“Let’s go Vaenn,” He must take your hesitance for exhaustion because he adds, “it’s nae far, then ya can rest.”

You very much doubt that.

#x reader #cod x reader #x oc #cod x oc #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #slow burn #enemies to lovers #sort of #one sided crush #soap mw2 #soap cod #viking!soap #f!reader #oc: witch #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #viking au

[snoozepotato]

We’ll Be Fine -14- (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader)

Disclaimer: I do NOT own the original source material or any of its characters.

she/her pronouns + female anatomy

Category: slice of life, slow burn, mutual pining

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, swearing, eye contact, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, over-stimulation, multi-orgasm, creampie, soft Ghost, anxiety, scars, tattoos, fluff

Masterlist

Summary: Ghost shows up at your room late at night, he just got back and has been gone longer than expected. You missed him a lot and things get out of hand (≖ᴗ≖)

Part 14

~UNDONE~

You’ve been trying your best to keep the negative thoughts at bay, it's not abnormal for missions to take longer than expected. But Ghost's vague estimate of a few weeks left you unsettled, even more so as time started to pass. A few weeks had turned into a few months, as life slogged by on base around you. Keeping yourself weighed down with busy work while your mind drifts.

Things take time, hell, you know that from experience. Even so, you’ve been worried about him, it's started affecting your already inconsistent sleep schedule. And dammit, you missed having tea with him in the morning!

You'd been brooding in your room since completing your work for the day, curled up in bed wearing Ghost’s hoodie. You're thankful he never asked for it back, in moments like these it was one of the only things that kept you grounded. Snuggling into the garment and taking a deep breath. It's been a while but somehow his scent still lingers in the fabric, or maybe it’s just some wishful thinking on your part.

Fuck, you're a wreck…

A sudden knocking on your door startles you from your position on the bed. Staring perplexed, why would someone be here this late? There's a sudden spark of fear that shoots through you, with the odd hour, what if it's bad news? You're frozen there for a moment, feet dangling off the edge of the mattress. Anxiety sitting cold in your gut as you just stare blankly through the darkness.

Until another knock erupts from the other side of the barrier, louder this time. You spring from the bed, the fear overtaken by curiosity. Whoever it is better have a good reason for waking you… Well, you technically weren't asleep, but you should be. You hastily unlock the door to peek your head out, only to be greeted by a broad chest.

There in your doorway, looking a little worse for wear is Ghost.

You're struck by the view of him standing there clad in that worn mask with the skull face plate. You've seen him wearing it on more than a few occasions, usually when he's on his way off base for work. It's rather intimidating, you're sure it serves its purpose out in the field. But if you're being completely honest, it's always left you feeling a little heated.

“You’re home,” dazed words escape you, feeling foolish at your choice of phrasing.

“Did I wake you?” He's grasping the door frame with a gloved hand, peering down at you with mild concern. Did he strip his gear off and immediately come looking for you? When did he even get back?

“No, I couldn't sleep… You can sit down,” you mutter, turning on the light and motioning him in. Taking one last glance out into the vacant hallway before closing the entry after him. Leaving you alone in the quiet of your room with Ghost, who's stripped off his jacket and taken a seat at your desk chair. Your frazzled mind is racing while you try to keep your rapidly slipping composure. The space grows quieter by the moment as he sits there staring at the ground between you.

“Everything ok?” You ask, but his mind is somewhere else, “Simon?” Stepping forward you stand in front of his seated form. The sound of his name coaxes his gaze up to meet yours, and fire erupts in his dark eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“I was worried about you,” the words fumble from your lips as you take another step forward to stand between his widened legs.

“That why you're moping about your room… In my clothes?” He's smirking beneath the fabric of the mask, very obviously taking in your form before him. You can’t help but feel naked under his heavy gaze despite the oversized garment.

Observing wordlessly as he removes his gloves, and rests a now bare appendage at the hem of the sweatshirt. Your eyes are locked, as he searches for any sign of hesitation. Caressing the delicate skin of your thigh before trailing up to halt at the waistband of your shorts. Heartbeat hammering away in your chest as he dips a finger beneath the thin fabric. Dragging it down till the garment slips, pooling at your feet. A shaky breath escapes you as his lingering touch skims back up your leg to rest on your bare hip.

“Nothin' under those, you waiting up for me?” He murmurs darkly, eyes burning into yours.

“I missed you,” the words slip out as he lazily pulls you down to settle into his lap without resistance.

You reach out to caress the side of his face, thumb brushing over the rigid material of the weathered mask. He's watching you, curiously eyes meeting yours. Embarrassment creeps in as he catches your dreamy stare. Looking away with blushed cheeks and shifting restlessly.

“You seem to like this one,” he coaxes, tugging you further against him, putting an end to your weak attempt at retreat.

“I never said that,” you mutter defensively, caught off guard by his accusation, not that it wasn’t true…

“Don’t have to, I've caught you staring at me,” he pauses, “guess I never thought that was why.”

The dry words only further your embarrassment, as your head slumps against his shoulder to hide your feverish complexion.

Suddenly you’re hoisted upwards, choking down a shaky breath as the stiffness of him presses against you. Your legs braced around him as he makes his way over to your bed, lowering you onto the cot and caging you beneath him. As your body sinks into the thin mattress pad your mind is suddenly plagued with doubt, insecurity sparking in your chest.

“You're sure?… You were gone a while” you murmur awkwardly, propping yourself onto your elbows as you peer up at his looming figure.

“I’ve been waiting so patiently, love,” his words drip with desperate sincerity, that fire smoldering in his eyes as he descends upon you.

His hands work their way up your sides to snake beneath the material of the sweatshirt. Pulling the garment over your head and tossing it onto your desk chair. Your bare state would have felt unjust if his own shirt hadn't followed suit immediately after.

Leaving you laying there trying not to gawk, while nimble hands make quick work of his belt. Freeing the beast that's clearly trapped within the confines of his pants. To say the scale was daunting would be an understatement, but lying there beneath his toned figure, you were more than willing to accommodate.

“You ready for me?” He drawls, stroking his hard cock as he gazes down at your exposed form, like he's about to devour you.

“I’m all yours,” you coo as he brushes your entrance. Slowly teasing his head in and out of your already dripping slit, taking care to drag across your needy flesh till your thighs are twitching with building anticipation. A tightly coiled spring ready to burst, trembling and desperate for more.

The impatience quickly takes hold, hooking your knee over his hip to pull him deeper into you as he hisses out a curse. Consumed by the satisfying pleasure of being filled to the brim, his name uttered as a breathy sigh escaping your lips. Glazed eyes half-lidded as he admires your blissed expression, all for him.

“Fuck, you're tight” he rasps, the pressure building as your release begins to spill over. Gripping your knee, he pushes your leg up to split you open for his greedy length.

Gasping out in desperation, you arch to meet the friction of his rhythmic thrusts. Chasing that perfect angle, body tensing as you pulse with crackling pleasure. Riding out your orgasm all the while swimming in his murky gaze. The feeling of unraveling in his hands, fallen apart and at his mercy.

It's overwhelming.

Catching notice of your unrest, his pace slows as you try to catch your breath. But your eyes are downcast, suddenly afraid to meet his stare.

Icy doubt licking at your chest.

“Keep your eyes on me love,” hushed words murmured against your ear. You suck in a sharp breath, swallowing down a whimper as his heat leaves you. He grasps your chin with a firm hand, forcing you to meet his sharp gaze. Expecting to face the reaper, only to catch sight of his bare stumbled jaw. Your eyes lock for a long moment, the mask is gone. You're left gaping at him, eyes wide and startled.

“You alright?” His words are short, concern sparking in his stare.

You're so used to anonymity, it's easy to never see someone's face when you're sitting behind a computer all day. There was always that sliver of secrecy with Ghost until this moment, and it had always felt normal. Even so, it's still his eyes that draw you in, his trust in you is so blatant now. Every ounce of anonymity was stripped away, Simon caging you beneath him.

“I’m good,” you mutter through a sigh, leaning into his touch as his hold relaxes to caress your flushed face. His tense features unwinding at the view of you smiling up at him.

“Bend over for me love, I want to look at you, all of you,” he murmurs, your eyes held in his tender gaze.

Pulling you from your lying position, to bend you over the bed before him. Anxiety creeping in again as he admires your form from behind, feeling utterly vulnerable under his heavy gaze. But this heat washes over you, like he’s engulfed you in the fire smoldering in his eyes.

“Pretty little thing,” he breathes, running a hand down the length of your back, thumb tracing along the curve of your spine. He can feel the scars that lie beneath the white of your tattoo, a reminder of where you've been, how you got to him.

“Look how easy you’ve come undone for me,” he teases, an evident smirk in his tone.

Your back arches as he drags the head of his cock over your already sensitive flesh. Entering you again from your position bent over the bed. Your leg lowers to the floor to retain your balance as he presses deeply into your soaked folds. Simon letting out a low grumble of a moan as he thrusts to bury himself completely within you.

“Fuck, you're so wet,” he groans.

A strained wine escapes your lips at the friction, vision losing its focus momentarily. Craning your head to the side, catching his dark stare out of the corner of your sight.

“Your eyes… Do something to me,” you gasp breathlessly, your heated words gripping him as he continues relentlessly thrusting into you.

“Sensitive,” you sputter, bucking against him as the walls of your heat twitch with building pressure. Rough hands pulling you by the waist to meet his pounding length.

“Good,” he pants, “let go for me.”

Snaking a hand around you to rest the pad of his finger on your swollen clit. The action alone causes your hips to spasm involuntarily from overstimulation. Trembling wrists nearly give way as he circles the tender flesh.

Biting back a gasp as you're pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching around him as another orgasm rolls through you. His large hand cradles your breast, arching your back further as his thrusts grow frantic, cock pulsing as your heat spasm.

“Fuck,” he rasps, groaning as he jerks stiffly within you. Release spilling over, your body pressed against him, his breath hot in your ear. You shudder as his cock throbs, filling you with warmth, and you're unable to suppress the soft moan that escapes your lips.

His fingers curl into your side as he buries his face into your shoulder, thrusting sharply into you once more, completely drained.

You knew he'd eventually have to leave, but you couldn't help but drift off to sleep nestled against him. Simon's back to the door as he gazes down at you, keeping watch over your resting form.

The mask has returned when you wake sometime later, to a hand brushing the stray hair from your face. He murmurs something but you don't quite catch it through the haze of your slumber. In your foggy state, you completely miss him nabbing the mug off your desk before heading out the door.

The sound fully rips you from your stupor as you sit up in your cold bed, realizing you're once again alone in your room. You contemplate letting sleep take hold, but instead get up to re-clothe yourself in the sweatshirt he'd discarded on the chair. You feel kinda pathetic laying there sulking again in his absence, missing the furnace of a man in your bed...

But your thoughts are halted by a firm knocking on the door. Before you can second-guess yourself, you're already yanking the entry open. And there he is standing outside your door again, but now holding two cups of tea. Changed out of his dirty clothes from earlier, but still wearing that mask… 

What a fucking tease.

“Told you I'd right be back,” he states plainly, making his way back into the small space and taking a seat at your desk.

Watching amused as you settle back onto your bed. It's quiet as you sip your tea, mask left discarded on your pillow. His short-cropped hair lay disheveled, pressed against his head from the long hours of wear. Calling your name softly, he looks so tired but there's this levity in his eyes.

You might have made a lot of mistakes in life, but meeting Simon Riley wasn't one of them. Looking at you with that tender gaze, it felt like home. Somewhere to return after the horrors of the world take their toll, hands to guide each other through the darkness.

WELL then, I hope you enjoyed (′ꈍᴗꈍ‵)

Thank you so very much for reading, this is all I have planned for this section of their story. I've got a few related fics/oneshots mulling in my brain so be on the lookout for those and more art!

@tallrock35 @violet-19999 @hypernovaxx @k4marina @sebsbee @d4z01 @ramadiiiisme @embers-of-alluring @enfppixie

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x female reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #mw2 x reader #cod mw x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #call of duty mw2 #x reader #female reader #cod x reader #slow burn #slow build #fluff #romance #heated #eventual relationship #eventual romance #smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader smut #fem reader #x female y/n #x female reader #x fem!reader #cod smut #unprotected sex

[darkeraurora]

Admissions - Chapter 5

Trigger warnings: Discussion of SA. The OC finds out about Simon's assault.

Minors DNI

It was confounding how a person so little could cause such problems.

Propped up on one elbow, Simon looked down at the sleeping woman in his bed. Sound asleep with her caramel curls spread around her and almost obscuring her face. Out like a light. 

His morning erection raged, this need for her becoming excruciating. He could feel his tip dripping every time it throbbed and knew he’d have to slip out of their bed to go fix his not-so-little problem.

Never had he felt such a need to touch another person. Sereza was different, as always. To hold her, to feel her skin, breathe in her scent, run his fingers through her hair, and other romantic nonsense he would never have imagined himself in the same sentence with before now all sounded like heaven to him.

Just as strong though was his need to claim her. To have every bit of her bare skin pressed to him as his hands and mouth explored all of her. Find all the places that made her lose her senses. Feel her writhe in his hands as he showered her with every pleasure of which he was capable. To take her and make her fully his.

Sereza hadn’t done anything to cause his current… situation. In fact, she had made no mention of intimacy or sex or hinted that she even wanted to do anything with him at all.

Everything happening to him was his own fucking fault.

Intense desires he had suppressed in himself for a long, long time had now awakened with a vengeance and were almost undoing him. Simon’s own body and instincts were acting entirely on their own and he felt fucking vile because of it.

Sereza rolled over in her sleep onto her back. The soft sigh she let out was intoxicating along with sight of her right beside him… looking like that. Simon’s eyes hungrily took in the sight. Sweet, plump lips, down to the smooth curve of her neck, the ridge of her collar bone, and the fullness of her breasts. His mouth started to water when he noticed her white tank top couldn’t hide the hardened tips of her nipples.

A visual feast.

His hand nearest to her was trembling. Just the smallest movement and her breast would be in his palm. So close and tempting.

Fuuuck how he wanted to lean down and wrap his lips over those stiff peaks under her shirt. Run his tongue across them and see her squirm while he ground his engorged cock against her. No doubt in his mind that she would taste simply divine.

Simon blinked the fantasy out of his lust-addled brain. There was no way he’d allow himself that. Aside from his obvious reasons, she was fucking sleeping and he would be damned if he was going to take advantage of her in her sleep. 

He swallowed hard and palmed his pulsating cock through his pants.

With his head full of confusing thoughts – some quite erotic, others most definitely not – Simon carefully slid out from the blankets, adjusted himself, and headed for his bathroom.

XXXXX

Every fucking morning the rest of that fucking week had been the fucking same.

Ghost would wake up early in the morning excruciatingly hard, making a mess in his pants, and would have to sneak off to fix it. Blessedly, Sereza didn’t seem to know. Or he hoped she didn’t.

God the things she would think of him otherwise.

It hadn’t been long since the night Ghost admitted to Sereza that he loved her. Calculating quickly in his head, Ghost determined it had been about two weeks. Maybe he was being a little old-fashioned but he felt that two weeks was a little soon to be thinking about getting between her legs as much as he was. To Simon, his thoughts and desires felt horribly disrespectful to Sereza and that was something he just could not abide, yet he wasn’t able to stop them. He wasn’t in control of how his mind reacted around her and he despised not having control.

He wondered, not for the first time, if telling Sereza how he felt about her was a mistake after all. The way he saw it, he would have to either end his relationship with Sereza - which would kill him to do, but if it meant protecting her, even from himself... then so be it. Or he would have to come completely clean and tell her everything from his vulgar thoughts and fantasies and the reason why he couldn't bring himself to act on his desires for her was because he’d been….

Ghost felt nauseous. So much so that he had to lean forward with his hands on his knees a moment. Bile rose into his throat. He couldn't even bring himself to say the word in his head. How in the name of fuck was he going to say it aloud to Sereza?

Nevertheless, his honor necessitated that he be open and honest with her. Especially before bedding her. 

He would have to tell her.

Or let her go. 

Simon continued absent-mindedly loading the weight plates back onto the rack after a brutal set of deadlifts. He didn’t want to think about any of this anymore and had reverted to one of the few coping mechanisms he had – completely destroying his body in the gym.

XXXXX

From the windows high above, concealed by the hallway's darkness, Sereza looked down at Simon. Special forces operators weren't the only ones who could sneak around unseen. A skill she'd learned out of necessity while growing up. Often her survival had depended on not making a single sound as she moved through the house, sneaking food or water late at night.

Her brother's teammates often teased her for how silently she moved, calling her a tiny ninja and the like. But none of them knew.

Arms crossed, expression set in grim concern while she watched Ghost push his body to its limit over and over. She frowned harder when he bent forward for a second then ran his hand up and down his chest as though something bothered his throat.

She wasn’t naïve and knew a frustrated male when she saw one. After all she was a physician and was able to zero in on problems brewing below the surface, both the physical and the psychological. And there were subtle signs of other things going on inside that masked head that were much more complex, dangerous even, than just needing physical release. 

An explosion was coming. Soon.

XXXXX

The following night Ghost sat listlessly on his bed, posture rigid, mask dangling in his hand. Sereza’s shift was running longer than usual and Ghost just had another one of his unwelcome daydreams pop into his head again.

Seconds after he sat down the vivid mental image of Sereza on her knees between his legs appeared. Her tongue flattened along the underside of his cock. Hollowed cheeks as she sucked and moaned around him before he fucked down into her throat. It felt so real he almost came then and there.

A shiver wracked his body and Ghost's eyes rolled at the feeling of more fluid oozing from his tip. Black eyes squeezed shut in repulsion.

This was becoming a problem his hand wasn’t enough to fix anymore.

XXXXX

It wasn’t until almost one in the morning when Sereza finally finished in surgery and returned to Ghost’s room – though it had essentially become their room since she slept there most nights.

Unsurprisingly, he was still awake. Clothes from the day still on. “Hey handsome-”

The tension in Ghost’s shoulders dropped as soon as he saw her. Before Sereza could finish speaking he strode over to her and enfolded her into his arms. She hummed in delight at the feeling of being surrounded by him and his warmth. Her personal furnace.

Getting up on her tippy-toes, Sereza kissed along the side of Simon’s neck until he dipped his head a bit lower and allowed her to reach his jawline. Her body pressed against him when he slid his hands down to her hips.

She paused. Peering down she saw his hands practically glued to her hips, trembling. Every single muscle of his was tight. Looking back up as he lifted his head from her shoulder. The pupils of his eyes were almost completely blown. His entire body alight with barely contained need.

Sereza felt him against her. Unmistakably aroused. She pressed her lower body against his erection – hard.

A deep, reverberating growl rewarded her as Ghost swiftly pushed her against the door and slammed his lips to hers in a brutal kiss. His mouth greedily swallowed her sweet moans, hands shifting on her hips to lift her up against him, grinding his erection into her core. Low rumbles vibrated from his chest at the sensation and the heat from her radiating through their clothing.

Slender legs locking around his lower back broke through the fog of his lust and Simon stilled.

“I’m sorry.”

Sereza blinked up at him as she tried to piece together what on earth he was saying sorry for.

“You, you deserve... so much better– it’s...” His expression crumbled. Dark eyes shifted around, looking at almost everything in the room other than the woman in front of him.

“Simon, there’s something that’s been bothering you, right? Something you’re not telling me?”

Mustering all of his willpower, Simon removed his hands from her and stepped away. “It's… it's over. I can’t hurt you like this,” Ghost rasped, trying to keep himself together. Sereza reached toward his face but Ghost backed away before she could touch him. His heart broke when hurt wavered in her auburn eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. It's wrong,” he whispered brokenly as he shook his head. She took a small step toward him but that only made him back up hurriedly. "You-you should go," his voice wavered, feeling his heart shatter further as he uttered those words to the woman he loved. "I'll… I'll just hurt you… so go."

“Keeping what’s bothering you to yourself is hurting you - and that’s the only way you can hurt me. I don’t want to pry into your life Si, I really don’t. But when it comes to intimacy between us… it’s really, really important for me to know if something isn’t right. I swear to you that whatever it is won’t leave this room. So please, my love… talk to me.”

Ghost let out a shuddering breath hearing her call him her love. Trying to end their relationship and push her away... telling her to leave when what he truly wanted was the exact opposite... It was no good. His efforts were only killing him faster. 

She was right and he knew it – there could be no secrets between them if they were ever going to be together intimately.

He had to tell her.

"Do you really want me to leave?" his beauty asked.

Looking at the floor, Simon's eyes shut tight as he gave a single small shake of his head. To see her walk out of that door, out of his life, Ghost honestly believed that would kill him. What he wanted more than anything was to hold her. And for her to hold him in return. But he knew he couldn't have either of those until he told her the truth. For as much as he wanted to protect her from his darkest secret and the filth that he felt he was, the drive to be honest with her had proven to be far stronger. 

The Brit took a deep breath, “I, I was-” he retched and turned his back to her. With Sereza behind him, unable to see, he bit down on his lower lip until the tang of blood hit his tongue as his body dry heaved. He was trying his damndest to not throw up in front of her as the memories invaded his mind of being held down on the rough cement floor of a cell with unwanted hands all over his skin, unable to fight back as they stripped him of his clothes and did what they pleased.

“Simon…?” she whispered, taking a slow step closer to him.

Ghost roughly shook his head at her, glancing fleetingly at her over his shoulder with red-rimmed eyes. Sereza reached out to him, but the second she laid her hand on his shoulder he hissed and violently flinched away from her as though burned by her touch. Shaking as though he was almost to freezing to death.

It clicked.

Everything fell into place, small details coalescing into a tragic realization.

Sereza gasped. “Oh God, oh my God… Si...S-Simon-” Her shaking voice held as much anguish as Ghost felt.

The sound of pain in the voice of the person he loved most in the world penetrated his own and forced him to look back at her. Her next words confirmed his fear…

“… I know.”

Ghost’s anxiety soared as his iron control fell, every alarm bell in his head rang. It felt like his heart had clamped down on itself, refusing to beat as fear threatened to overload his system. “Y-you-you know? …You know…?!” A devastated sob broke through. His logic, his rationality gone – mind no longer under his control anymore as his grip on his emotions finally failed and panic began to overtake him. If he'd been stronger he could have told her a somewhat sanitized version of what happened. Instead he was pathetic and weak, just as his father had said, and failed to keep her protected from his vile past.

She nodded. “I know enough, you don’t have to say any more. Not if you don’t want to. I am so, so sorry Simon.” A single tear fell down her cheek.

That was all it took.

Ghost broke.

Lightheaded, his body crashed backward into the wardrobe, banging it against the wall, before the strength in his legs gave out and he dropped to the floor. Clenching fingers dug deeply into his hair then at the skin along the back of his neck and shoulders. Nails carving into his skin, drawing blood. The muscles and veins bulged underneath the reddened skin of his arms and his heaving chest. All the while heart-wrenching guttural sobs from years of repressed pain, fear, shame, and outright emotional agony erupted from his burning throat.

From the pit of his soul.

The thing Simon feared above all was somehow hurting Sereza. And seeing her tears fall when she figured out his past… he came apart.

He couldn’t breathe.

Cool hands tenderly caressed his fists. Gently urging them to relax their hold. Delicate fingers caressed his burning skin.

“My love,” her soothing sweet voice called to him, “Simon, you’re hyperventilating-”

Ghost’s arms shot out and snatched Sereza to him fiercely as if she were about to be spirited away somewhere beyond his reach. With every ounce of his strength, he held her against him and hid his face in the crook of her neck. Tremulous, quavering breaths blasted heat onto her throat.

“I’m here Simon,” Sereza whispered near his ear, “I’m here, I love you, and you’re safe,” she consoled. "In through your nose, and out through your mouth. I've got you, my love, and I'll keep you safe."

“…safe,” Simon faintly muttered between them.

"Yeah, you're safe. I've got you Si." The position forced her to straddle his legs. One of her hands rubbed up and down Simon’s back while he clung to her for dear life, her other cradled his head. She began to rock them from side to side as she combed her fingers through his messy hair and kissed the side of his head, thoroughly uncaring of the cold sweat.

“Safe,” a choked, shaking voice repeated.

“That’s right, my love. You’re safe with me.”

XXXXX

They sat on the cold floor for – Sereza didn’t even know how long. Nor did she care. Her legs were cramped and falling asleep from what felt like hours in the same position – she knew it was at least one full hour – but she didn’t care about that either. The sole thing that she cared about was the man still crushing her to him as if his life depended on it. Everything else she couldn’t give less of a shit about.

Simon had regained control of his breathing and seemed calmer. His energy no doubt drained by the break down. He hadn't moved though and his hold hadn't let up any but Sereza was willing to sit there with him in the silence for as long as he needed.

Whatever was needed afterward was not a concern for right now.

“How?”

He was so quiet she almost missed it. “Med school. I figured it out because," she paused; the next words needing to be chosen extremely delicately, "certain things create certain responses.”

“I’m s-sorry…"

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for Si. It wasn’t your fault. None of it, or this, was your fault.”

"I-I'm- I'm sorry.... I'm so sorry"

“You have nothing to be sorry for, this was NOT your fault.” Sereza felt his jaw clench hard as another few sobs tore loose from his raw throat.

“I can’t… we can't sleep together…”  

"We don't have to think about that right now, but I want you to know this doesn't change how I feel about you or being with you. Okay?" 

“I-I was… used... Se-nnnngh, h-he... used me.”  It was the smallest, most vulnerable, most pain-filled whisper. A tiny thing with monumental power behind it that threatened to start the cycle all over as his body began to shudder again.

Her arms tightened around him, shielding him from the hurt. “You were assaulted, my love. That does not make you used. Or weak, or dirty, or anything else. You are NOT less because of someone else’s actions, understand?" Mindful of her movements to minimize possible triggers, Sereza slid her palm over his shoulder to pat Simon's upper chest. "This body and the person it belongs to – I love both every bit as much as I did just a little while ago.”  

Sereza wiped the mess from his cheeks with the back of her fingers then cupped his face and lifted it up slowly, hoping to both convey the sincerity of her next words and refocus Simon's mind - even if only a little. “I love you so, so much Si. Nothing is going to change how much you mean to me or how much I love you. Nothing is going to make me not love you.” 

Simon at last looked at her, albeit for only fractions of a second. Lashes along his bloodshot eyes full of tears. "I can't... do that with you. I'm not- I'm so sorry-" His words cut off again as his throat seized up.

"I still choose you," she assured while she kissed his forehead, letting her lips linger there as she spoke, "Back a few weeks ago - when you told me you love me, at the door earlier tonight, and here right now. I will always choose you Simon." 

The hushed tones reached through the constricting bands suffocating his heart and Ghost felt the weight of everything he had carried inside for the better part of a decade begin to crack.

She still loved him. He was a broken mess with his darkest secret laid bare before her. Everything that had turned Simon Riley into Ghost. And yet she still wanted and accepted him. Simon drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Air hissing through his teeth. "...I love you," he murmured next to her neck.

"And I love you," she whispered. "Let's lie down, yeah? Just to rest."

After a bit of fumbling around on the floor, they both managed to get themselves upright and hobbled on half-asleep legs over to the bed. The second they were settled under the sheets Simon pulled Sereza to him and buried his head into her chest. The effort seemingly taking from him the last remaining bits of his stamina. He could barely think straight at this point. His head felt like it might split apart and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Sereza wiped at his face one last time using the bedsheet before tucking them in and tracing lazy patterns across his tattooed arm. His favorite touch, she remembered. "Sleep, my love. I'm here."

Soothed by her angelic voice and tender care of him, Simon gave her a small squeeze and drifted off.

XXXXX

A savage yell jarred Sereza awake.

Simon thrashed on his side next to her. His incoherent shouts filled with visceral pain while he fought against some invisible aggressor in front of him.

The petite female was undeterred – it wasn’t uncommon for panicked or delirious patients to become combative with their doctors; there were ways to handle them safely. Rising to her knees to give her more mobility so she could dodge his flailing arms, and keeping her head well clear, she approached Ghost from an angle almost above his head. Less likely he’d be able to land a good punch. Grab at her sure, but not punch. Her pillow between them was decent protection against arms and elbows that flung against the side of her legs.

She yelled Simon’s name and shook his shoulder. That plus the loud pounding on the door from woken soldiers was enough to break through Simon’s nightmare and he shot upright. 

Dark eyes were so wide they looked like they might fall out of his sockets. Heart palpitating chaotically in his chest and sweat drenched his skin. His panic-stricken mind was still reeling from the hell of his dream, hindering his ability to make sense of his surroundings. “It’s okay! We’re fine!” Sereza was yelling toward the door. “Just a dream, everyone go to bed!”

Simon’s eyes were so wide they looked like they might fall out of his sockets. Heart thundering painfully in his chest and sweat drenched his skin. His panic-stricken mind was still reeling from the hell of his nightmare.

“Simon-”

Sereza had the air almost knocked out of her as Ghost’s massive body barreled into her, wrapping her into his arms with fevered desperation and slamming them both into the mattress. He buried his face against her chest and inhaled her scent, listening to her heartbeat as he tried to calm his own.

For a long time she patiently allowed him to hold onto her. Combing her fingers across his head, over his nape, and down his shoulders. Unbothered by the 220 pounds of solid muscle crushing her into the mattress.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Simon mumbled brokenly against her chest as he dampened her shirt, “I don’t want to be like this… I just want everything to stop, but-but it’s just... Every night it’s the same thing… It-it happens all over again. Every night... And I want it all to end because I’m tired… I’m-I’m so fucking tired.”

Sereza listened silently with increasing unease. What he was saying set off alarms in her mind. These were words of someone who wasn’t just nearing the end of their rope – they were at the end and it was unraveling over an abyss. They would sound innocuous enough to most – ‘I’m tired’ - but their innocent nature was what made them insidious and not always recognizable to others as the desperate plea for help that they were. And Simon being unable to sleep only amplified everything he was feeling.

Once his breathing and heart rate came down and he was coherent again, Simon told Sereza everything. His capture and torture at the hands of the cartel, his life growing up, his family's murder… all of it.

Every dark detail of his life Simon shared with her while she listened without interruption.

Eventually Simon began to yawn. His vision blurred and words slurred every so often as mental exhaustion took hold, but he wasn’t sure he could go back to sleep, even if he wanted to, knowing what nightmares awaited him.

Sereza had a suggestion. It would work, but she wasn’t certain that he would agree to it. “I hear you, my love. I know you're tired. You are exhausted – beyond exhausted – in every sense of the word, am I right so far?” Simon nodded his head. “I can see that and I think the way you're feeling is natural and justified. It is exhausting to fight against your own mind every minute of the day. To carry on fighting it at night too... that would overwhelm anyone. It's a battle you feel like you can't win and you can't escape from. But you aren't alone Si, not anymore. I'm here and if you’ll let me, I can help you.”

He thought for a moment before nodding again. At this point he was willing to try almost anything just to feel even a little fucking normal. They walked over to the pharmacy together through the mercifully empty halls as Sereza made her suggestion. What she had in mind was non-habit forming, would leave him rested without feeling drugged or groggy, and shouldn’t allow him to dream. Once at the pharmacy, Sereza dumped the contents of a bottle onto a tray and counted out a few. Just enough for Simon to try them out for a couple of nights.

Little yellow pills clattered into a small bottle and she slapped a label across it. “Simon, I want you to know that this isn’t some symbol of weakness. Or a crutch. It isn’t for forever either. This little bottle is a tool that will help you get out of where you don’t want to be anymore. And the same will be true if you decide to try something for anxiety later. It’s not weakness to ask for help, okay?” Sereza spoke seriously as she handed the blue bottle over to him.

Back in Simon’s room he opened the lid and dropped one of the tiny yellow squares into his palm. Panic began to fester in his chest as he stared at the pill that would force him to sleep. And he both craved and dreaded sleeping.

"It’s okay if it scares you,” Sereza’s voice cut through his building anxiety, “but I’m here with you and if you want, I’ll stay awake to make sure you don’t dream, okay?”

“I don’t want you to not sleep just… just b-because of my fucking dreams,” Simon countered with another yawn.

She smiled back at her ghost. “We’re two halves of a whole, aren’t we? Part of a team. And we take care of each other. I’m perfectly happy to spend the night awake for you. You're more than worth that to me.”

Ghost leaned down and kissed her.

He sniffled as he downed the pill with some water before scooping his little love into his arms and climbing back into bed with her. Anxiety growing at the knowledge that sleep, and all of its horrors, was coming for him again, Simon burrowed back into her embrace.

Sereza held him closely, using all of the motions that soothed him most. Calming his shaking and his racing heartbeat. “If you start dreaming, I promise I’ll wake you up again. Everything will start getting better once you’ve gotten proper rest. I’ll be right here, watching over you, the entire time.”

Her dainty fingertips glided through his blond locks and scratched down to his scalp. Simon’s heart thundered while he waited to find out what nightmares sleep had for him this time, what terrors it would force him to relive. But between his little one's presence, the sound of her beating heart, and the kisses she pressed to the top of his head, combined with his sleeping pill, Ghost dozed off just minutes later.

No fear.

No tormenting memories.

No nightmares.

Just dark, dreamless peace.

XXXXX

Abyssal eyes peeled open. Pleasant stretches roused his cold muscles.

Simon rolled his head around on the pillow until he spotted Sereza sitting in the chair at his desk, scrolling on her phone. “You’re here," he muttered, voice heavy with sleep.

Sereza shot him a brilliant smile. “I am. Here just like I said I would be.” She stood and came to sit beside him, Simon sitting up and resting his forehead on her thin shoulder. “Did you dream?”

Ghost's head shook slowly, not quite fully awake yet and her nails coming through his hair threatening to lull him back to sleep until the dark window finally registered with his still-sleepy brain. His heart sank. “It’s still dark. They didn’t work?”

His little one giggled beside him, “Ohhh they most definitely worked. It’s dark again.”

“Agai- I slept through the day?!”

“You did,” Sereza laughed at his complete dismay. She checked the time on her phone, “You slept... almost fifteen hours.”

"Fifte-... fucking hell!”

“Fucking hell indeed! You were a sleepy boy!” Sereza laughed.

Ghost's eyes snapped to hers. “Price?”

“I took care of that, don’t worry about him. How do you feel after your nap?”

“I… I feel good,” he said in disbelief. For the first night (day?) in years, Simon felt well-rested. He hugged his little love tightly while kissing everywhere he could on her cheek. "I feel really... really good.” 

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x original character #simon riley #simon ghost riley x oc #Ghost just wants a little touch #eventual smut #this will get spicy #slow burn simon riley #starts off slow but gets spicy #imagine simon ghost riley #imagine #ptsd is a bitch #i want my v card back so he can have it #ghost call of duty #cod mw ghost #ghost #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #ghost simon riley #simon “ghost” riley #simon riley smut #ghost smut #cod smut #smutty fanfiction #masterlist

[bluegiragi]

work it out (part 2)

early access + nsfw on patreon

#simon you asshole #he knows exactly what he's doing #slow burns gotta slow burn and buddy we are at barely a simmer #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #monster 141 au #giragi art #promise next couple parts will be action packed #have to maintain a mix yknow

[the-whispers-of-death]

Reader is male & his hair is described to be long enough to reach his nape (long hair symbolizes a time of peace in his culture). I just made up kingdom names. Part One, Part Two

**

After a morning in council with your advisors, seeing to your subjects and their grievances, you were in desperate need of some stress relief. So you put on your armor and made your way to the training courtyard where veteran knights and trainees alike where training, your hands itching to have a sword in them.

"My king!" Several knights around the training courtyard cried out at the sight of you, bowing. But your eyes were trained on Ghost, who ha stopped the training match he was overseeing.

"Sir Ghost, I wish to spar with someone. And I figured you were the best knight of mine to spar with," you said, walking over to Ghost. You smiled at him, able to look him into the eyes easily since you were around the same height. "If you're up for it, of course. If not, I can spar with someone else."

Ghost shook his head. "No, I can spar with you, my king." He gestured for someone to bring you both training swords and shields. "It would be honor to help you keep your swordsmanship skill sharp."

You laughed at that, placing your hands in gloves before taking a training sword out of the two you were given and taking a shield in the other hand. "Are you keeping my swordsmanship skill sharp or am I keeping yours sharp?" you teased, waiting until he held a sword and shield before getting into position.

"How about both, my king? Neither of us can get rusty."

You nodded in response and those were the last words spoken between you two as Ghost strikes first, swinging his sword. You parried with your own and pushed him back, quickly striking back just as quick as he struck first.

Since they were training swords, they barely made dents into either of your armors. Still, the act of swinging and wielding the sword was enough for you, enough for you to love the thrill it gave you to spar with your knight.

Parry, block, strike.

The movements seemed so rhythmic, your sword and shield an extension of yourself. Even then, exhaustion was wearing on you both as you could feel it settle in your bones and see his balaclava and white mask start to get soaked with Ghost's sweat. Your movements were starting to slow down, but neither of you were giving up yet.

That was, until Ghost unarmed you. One second you were thinking of parrying his upcoming strike, the next he was sending your sword flying in the air and away from you. You heard it clang against the ground, signaling the end of the match.

"Well done, Sir Ghost," you said, panting. A small smirk made its way onto your face. "Though I'm quite glad that my knight is good enough to best me. Means I'm placing my life in the right hands."

Ghost straightened up from his hunched stance, nodding. "You gave me a run for my money, my king," he said, though that might've been to make you feel better about losing the match.

You chuckled and followed him to where his canteen of water was, watching him pull up his balaclava enough to reveal his mouth. You greedily watched him take a sip of water, a few drops dripping from his mouth and down his chin.

He must've seen you watching him because as soon as he finished drinking from the canteen, he didn't cap it again, instead he offered it to you. "Are you thirsty, my king?"

"Oh, I can't drink from your canteen, it's yours. I'll be fine," you replied, trying to refuse the canteen, but he wasn't having it.

"Nonsense, you must be thirsty after out sparring. Drink, I don't mind," he murmured, his gruff voice softening just softly.

Ghost didn't let you hold the canteen, instead tilting it himself so you could drink from it. Your eyes closed as the water hit your tongue. It was an intimate gesture, but everyone else in the courtyard was too busy training to watch you two.

You made sure not to drink too much of his canteen, pulling away when you were done. "Thank you."

You watched him cap his canteen again, nodding in response to your thanks. Silence washed over you two for a few seconds and you were about to excuse yourself when he spoke.

"You seem troubled, my king." Ghost turned to you once his canteen was set down on the bench again. "Come, sit with me please. Talk to me."

He sat down on the bench and you hesitated before sitting down. Your weary bones felt relief at sitting down. Sure, you best the morning sitting on your throne, but you hadn't relaxed since you woke up, not until now.

"My advisors are worried that I don't know how to rule this kingdom during a time of peace," you murmured, your voice soft so no one else heard word of your advisors basically thinking you were unfit to lead the kingdom during an era of peace.

It was true that when you took the throne from your father when you were twenty-four, Eridies had been in war with Loria for at least a year and the war lasted until six months ago which meant the kingdom had been at war for eight years. Your reign had started with war and a warrior king was what you had been for eight years. Just because you ushered peace to the kingdom, didn't mean that you knew how to keep peace.

Ghost huffed at that, clearly thinking differently. He hesitated for a few seconds before he rested his gloved hand on your knee.

"My king, you've been doing a wonderful job of ensuring the peace you've won stays. You might have been a warrior king for the past eight years, but you've had a kind heart and a heart of a peaceful king. You care about Eridies, its people," he said, rubbing his thumb against your knee. "I have no doubt you'll continue to keep the peace alive."

Your eyes flickered from his hand on your knee to his own eyes, holding eye-contact.

This man, a man you had never fully seen his face, was a steady presence by your side for the past eight years. You never went into battle without knowing he'd be covering your back, your own personal shadow. You knew him like you knew yourself, he was like a sword; an extension of yourself. You didn't know what you were like without him and you found, you didn't want to know what life was like without him by your side.

A smile graced your lips and you rested your hand on his, squeezing it gently. "You know, I think as long as I have you, I won't mind listening to the people's grievances over one farmer stealing the other's crops," you said, intending on lightening the mood.

Judging by the soft chuckle, a sound only you managed to get from him, your response had its intended effect. Ghost turned his hand over so your palms were facing each other and he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

He knew what he was doing was dangerous. He should be keeping his distance from you, but you pulled him in like no other. Every time he wanted to pull back, his heart drew closer to yours. It felt like your soul was intertwined with his, trying to come together to form a whole soul.

"I'll be by your side for as long as you need me to, my king. As long as you'll have me."

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x male reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x male reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #knight!ghost #king!reader #I think I'm unable to write a proper slow-burn but that's neither here nor there #:)

[lovingapparition]

i’ve got a river running right into you.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn

Warnings for descriptions of medical gore.

Ghost gets hurt. Ghost is touch starved. You just want to help. It’s awkward. 

NOT COMPLETE / NO BETA

It's loud in the medical bay. The lights overhead buzz, adding their hum to the sound of clinking medical instruments, shouted calls for supplies, and the pained sounds of the injured. No set of hands are still as the wounded are wheeled in on gurneys or dragged in by their fellow soldiers. There's too much iron in the air to really adhere to the stricter medical protocols, and it's a scramble for everyone to assess and treat the damage in front of them. Each doctor's movements are efficient and practiced; stitching a wound just as a soldier would clean a gun. 

Just another day on the job.

You were hustling from one sectioned off bed to another, caught in the flow of all the action in the medical bay. The thin curtains between beds did nothing to muffle the chaos of the situation. Too many bodies were moving in and out of the area, it was almost dizzying. Your section of the unit had been chaotic for the better part of three hours, leaving you no time to stop and breathe. It seems things had gone south on the recent mission. The details of which were lost on you, but they didn’t matter now.

Stepping behind a curtain, you immediately get to work assessing the situation the soldier on the bed has found herself in, and you set about putting her back together. She's only caught minor fragments of shrapnel in her upper arms and chest. Nothing deep and nothing dangerous. It doesn't take you long to patch her up, thankfully. As you work, your brain vaguely registers that your medical team must be shifting focus to the less severely injured of the bunch.

You and the soldier both breathe a shared sigh of relief as you finish up her sutures. She only needs a few, and you tell her to return in about a week to check in before they can be removed. As you fill out her paperwork with a quick hand, you notice that the sounds of the room have hushed. You must be reaching the end of the torrent of injured soldiers.

Though small, your team was incredibly efficient; working like a machine during frenzied moments like these. Every second counted, nothing could go to waste.

You briskly step into another curtained area to see a broad, masked man on the gurney. The poor bed looked like it might strain under the weight of his bulky frame and plethora of equipment. For a moment, you can't even tell what's wrong with him. Stepping closer, the scent of fresh blood hits you just as you notice the dark wetness blooming on the upper right thigh of his gray fatigues. It looks like he’s used his own belt as a tourniquet. Your eyebrows scrunch down as you move to his side, your gloved hands automatically moving to his mask.

"Are you awake? Hey-" you're interrupted with a stiff, gloved hand gripping tightly at your wrist. Looking through the skull mask's eye sockets, you can see the whites of his half-lidded eyes starkly against his eyeblack. He's staring evenly back at you.

"I'm awake," he rumbles, low in his chest as if through water, "leave the mask." The directive is clear, even through the murk of his discomfort. You're not sure who this guy is, but from his tone he clearly expects to be obeyed. You knew there was a special operations unit active out of the base, and you can only guess that he's a part of it. Those types tended to be.. odd. This guy fit the bill.

The exchange doesn't last long though, and you immediately move down to visually assess the rest of his body as you open a new emergency medical kit. "Can you feel anywhere other than your legs that you've been injured? Have you hit your head at all?" you ask, running through regular questions since he seems to be lucid enough to give clear answers. He watches you intently, blinking slowly and almost lazily when you look at him, trauma shears in hand.

He simply shakes his head, grunting what sounds like a negative response. Great, how very helpful. You sigh as you work the shears beneath his pant leg. Without even looking up at him you slide the shears up, cutting half of his pants away to reveal the mess of both fresh and congealing blood on his thigh. Without a second thought, you cut through his briefs, pushing them aside just enough to allow him privacy as you get a better view of his injuries. The belt stays for now, it’s probably the only thing keeping him from passing out. 

It's not great. He definitely needed to be seen sooner, and you're worried about exactly how much blood he's lost. Some of these wounds are deep and still bleeding. Small bits of metal are visible through the clots. You can see bruising already beginning to form on the skin around the lacerations. The hot iron scent of his blood floods your nose, thick in the air between you.

"I need help in here- I've got shrapnel, heavy blood loss and I need extra hands!" you shout to your team without looking up, busy flushing his wounds with saline to clear any loose debris. Your hands are practiced and steady, one hand deftly wiping the blood and saline as you work. The man shifts, a strained breath escaping him. You spare him a sympathetic glance, knowing this part made many uncomfortable. Why had no one tended to him? He should've been among the first.

Evidently, so is the man in the bed. 

Before you can ask, your colleague steps in and immediately gloves up before getting to work with you. Together, you clean and stitch the man's wounds. He remains almost totally silent for all of it, save for the soft grunts as he's sewn back together. Even with the local anesthetic, it's still a bit uncomfortable. Throughout it all, he peers at you, his pale eyes flitting between your hands and your face as you work. At one point his gloved hands twitch at his side like he wants to move them. He doesn’t.

Your colleague quickly removes the man’s vest, knowing just as you do that there could be more injuries beneath it. The vest goes in a chair by the bed for later. The black shirt shirt he's wearing beneath it isn't torn or bloody, but you’re aware of your colleague’s intention to begin feeling for broken ribs as you get his IV drip ready. 

His hands catch your colleague’s wrists with a quickness you wouldn’t have thought possible given the amount of blood he’s already lost. “That’s enough,” he hisses. Your head snaps up, and you can only see the tight narrowing of his eyes through the mask. Before you can react, your colleague jerks from his grip. 

"I need to get these pants the rest of the way off, and then we're done. I'll get you cleaned up and finished for the night," you explain, falling back into your doctor mindset and practiced speech to ease the tension. He makes no response to this, so you take his silence as the go ahead. It's not like his pants were salvageable anyway.

"Are you gonna be okay in here? I have to go check on someone," your colleague asks, clearly annoyed. It wasn’t anything new to have a rude patient, but everyone’s nerves were fried after the hectic shift. You couldn’t blame them at all.

You wave them off, tired. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got him. Shouldn’t be much longer anyway.” They head off, and you turn back to the man, sighing. He’s clearly had a rough night, maybe he could use the benefit of the doubt. You were certain that you’d be a bit pissy after catching some shrapnel. 

"Do you think you can get into a clean bed without ripping those stitches?" you ask tiredly as you remove your gloves. Without looking up, you move to unlace his boot. You swear you can feel him watching your fingers loosen the laces, watching your hand wrap around his ankle as you pull the boot off. His stare holds a weight in it you've never experienced before. When you look up at him, he's ready looking away.

You offer him a fresh towel for privacy as you cut his pants and briefs the rest of the way off and gingerly slide them from beneath him. They go straight in the red trash bin specifically for biohazard waste. You gingerly clean his thigh one last time and apply a thin layer of ointment to his sutures to encourage healing before you wrap his thigh in gauze. He helpfully spreads his legs enough to allow you to securely tape the gauze in place. His skin is warm, even through your gloves.

You blink once, twice, forcing the thought away as you finish up. 

"I can." is all you get out of him. You sigh, it's been a long day. His boots join his vest in the chair, and you roll a clean cot into his room. This one has a thin cotton sheet and a blanket on it. You could almost swear his head is cocked, ever so slightly, with a question, and you answer it without thinking. "You're sleeping here tonight. You've lost a lot of blood and you'll need IV fluids to recover. It's not much, but it's better than that gurney."

He huffs, you can only guess he’s annoyed, but he looks the bed over. The cushioned pad was minimal at best. He would definitely feel it in the morning in addition to whatever pain arose from his stitches. “Look, I’m going to override whatever authority you think you have here. It’s safest for us to be able to watch you, just for tonight.” It’s your turn to leave him without room to argue.

For a long moment, he looks at you indignantly, like he’s not covering himself with a thin towel and your sutures aren't in his thigh. Then the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders, and he nods once.

You don't look away as he slides his legs around to the edge of the gurney, one massive hand still covering himself with the towel for decency. It's nothing you haven't seen before, and you're more concerned with whether or not he's okay to stand without support. You step closer, clearing your throat to cut the silence.

You roll an IV pole to the side of his cot and hand the fluids you’d prepared earlier on it. “Okay, last thing and then I’ll fuck off for the night, I swear,” you tell him dryly. He huffs, a short sound that’s close to a laugh, you think. 

"I'm here, if you need a hand," you tell him, more confidently than you feel. Seeing him standing now you realize he's nearly a full head taller and twice as broad as you. Your hand finds his elbow, and to your surprise he doesn't tell you to back off as you help him ease into the bed.

A low, cut off groan escapes him as he sits tentatively on the edge of the bed. When he eases back to lay down, his shirt rides up just enough to hint at the bloom of a purple bruise draped over his side. His eyes are pinched shut as he slowly settles into bed.

He doesn’t get the chance to try to help himself get comfortable. “Here, just let me. I’ve got it.” You tell him quietly, batting his hands away from the sheets. You gingerly help him maneuver his legs into a comfortable position and tuck the blankets loosely around him. Another stolen glance at him tells you he’s still got that dreamy half lidded look. It’s enough for you to not exactly trust him with getting settled in bed on his own.

“I’m going to give you an IV to replace the fluids you lost and some light pain medication. Then we’re all done,” You tell him as you add more of those shitty military issue pillows to the bed. It’s the least you can do to make him comfortable. The local anesthetic won’t last him the entire night, and you’re certain the rest of his body must be sore from the aftermath of the mission. 

Placing his IV goes without fuss. He's slumped back against the pillows, breathing evenly as you fill out his paperwork for his overnight check in. You'd managed to fill out most of it, but you still didn't know his name or what unit he belonged to. "Hey, what's your name and unit? I need to fill this sheet out for my records,” you ask, not even looking up.

"Ghost. One four one," each rumbling word has you bristling, your face paling. Oh hell. 

"..Thank you sir." Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You don’t even bother asking for his actual name. You’d heard about a Ghost on the base, but you’d never seen him; never thought you would. It was all just rumors, something to shoot the shit about over dinner in the cafeteria. 

You wanted to sink into the floor. How could you have missed the literal skull mask? The hectic rush of the day coupled with your exhaustion must have completely cleared your brain out of any irrelevant gossip, and now it was biting you in the ass. For the last half hour you’d been practically ogling him and talking to him like he was any other soldier on the base. 

The rest of the shift moves by in a blur, it’s mostly paperwork and cleanup since everyone has been seen too. You luckily are not chosen to pass food out, so you’re saved the further embarrassment of having to interact with Ghost even more. With any luck tomorrow morning would be the last you two ever speak, and he could go back to being invisible to you, and you’d be saved from dying of embarrassment.

A low chuckle rolls from his chest, and your head sharply snaps up. You fight the urge to apologize and dig your hole deeper. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realize he’s laughing at you. You had heard rumors about his particularly efficient methods of combat and data extraction from captured enemies; some of the things you’d heard made your spine chill.

You can only smile nervously back at him and tiredly drag your hand over your eyes. You can only cling to the last vestiges of professionalism that you have left. “You’re all set here. Once things calm down someone will be by with some food for you, if you feel like eating,” you tell him, your mouth dry. He hums softly in response, and you figure the pain medication has started to take effect. “I’ll be back in the morning to check in, have a good night, sir.” 

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost #cod #cod mw ghost #touchstarved #medical gore #slow burn #fluff #this is SOOOOO SOOOOO self indulgent and that's why it's such a slow burn lol #sorry guys like nearly nothing happened #just some *gasp* charged moments* #anyways. i've got this pretty much planned out i just gotta write the rest of the goddamn thing now #AHHHH #it'll probably get spicy who knows ! #my writing

[constantcrisis19]

Bleeding Out - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I personally headcanon that Ghost has sociopathic traits, which is why he's a bit not good in this fic and I kinda see the dynamic between him and the reader being a "I hate everyone except you" type of deal. If that's your cup of tea (pun intended) then enjoy!

Main Page

Warnings: War, violence, bombs, blood and injury, very heavily implied suicidal intent.

Ghost carefully picked his way through the blackened rubble, avoiding the broken glass and tall flames that swayed in the warm breeze as he jogged by, steadily making his way back to where they’d set up base camp. 

The private that he had secured across his shoulders in a fireman's carry remained quiet despite how dizzy Ghost’s every step had to make him feel. The younger man was clearly concussed, the deep gash on his forehead dripping blood into his eyes and leaving a subtle trail behind them as Ghost walked. 

From what Ghost could put together from the private’s garbled attempt to explain what had happened, a chunk of concrete had been thrown by the explosion and had hit him directly in the middle of his forehead, knocking him out, which had probably saved his life. 

There were fairly blatant signs that other people had recently been in the area, as evidenced by the copious boot prints covering the fractured ground, so it was obvious that the enemy had assumed that he was dead during their initial sweep through the destruction for any survivors and had left him alone.

Others hadn’t been so lucky.

Ghost’s breaths were slow and even as his eyes scanned over the substantial damage around him, paying particular attention to the more sizable chunks of debris that were big enough for someone to hide behind.

The bomb that had gone off not twenty minutes ago had leveled almost the entire town, leaving behind only carnage. His gloves creaked as his hands tightened on his rifle, a feeling of dread sinking in his gut as he walked through what was essentially a graveyard.

They’d had two teams in the immediate blast range, one having accidentally come across the bomb, the leader only getting a short warning out over comms before a deafening explosion rocked the city. It wasn’t long after that that the gunfire had started, a frantic voice coming over the radio to warn the rest of the teams about the ambush.

Ghost recognized the voice as Bravo team’s leader, the very same group that you’d been assigned to.

Ghost felt something in his chest tighten when -after one last flurry of gunfire- everything had gone eerily quiet, the sound of static the only answer when he tried to get a hold of someone on Bravo team for a sitrep, the dead silence putting him more on edge than any gunshot or explosion ever could. 

"Bravo team, this is Karma in the blind, how copy?" Your voice suddenly broke through the white noise that had taken over the channel, weary and labored. “I repeat, this is Karma, does anyone copy?”

"I read you Karma, what’s your sitrep." Ghost spoke into the radio, pausing his determined march to let the private he had a hold of rest for a few precious minutes. Ghost didn’t feel relief at hearing your voice, that feeling of foreboding he had becoming stronger at how shaky you sounded.

"I got separated from the rest of Bravo team during the ambush and I'm running low on ammo. What's your position, maybe we could link up?" You asked, your breaths coming out heavy in between bouts of talking. It was abundantly clear that you were running on fumes and Ghost nearly shattered the plastic casing on his radio when his grip tightened.

He couldn’t abandon the injured private that he was carrying, no matter how badly he wanted to come to your aid, it was against protocol and wouldn’t be fair to the private.

“Negative.” He barked into the speaker, his helpless frustration making his tone sharp and angry. “I've got a private with me, WIA.” Ghost replied, and you both knew full well what that meant. 

He was heading out of the town in order to reach base camp, which meant that Ghost was traveling in the opposite direction of your position and wouldn’t be able to come back until the private was secured.

"Shit. How bad? Are they gonna make it?" You cursed over the line, but you didn’t sound angry or accusing, you just sounded worried. But not for yourself, all that concern in your voice being solely reserved for the random soldier that Ghost was hauling around, the very one that kept him from running to your side.

And that was just like you, wasn’t it? Painfully altruistic, even at your own expense.

He felt the inane urge to laugh -an angry, bitter sound- but he swallowed the horrible noise down because he knew that it wouldn’t make the shitty situation suddenly change to something a little more palatable. 

The sound of you loading a new mag into your gun sounded over the line, drawing Ghost’s attention back to you, before you spoke. “Ghost? You still with me?”

“Always.” Ghost replied as he began moving again, being careful not to jostle the private as he went, as if his extra caution could possibly make up for his overwhelming desire to just drop him to the ground and leave him for dead. 

If you were suspicious of Ghost for withholding the exact nature of the private’s injuries, you didn’t say, the only sound on comms for a moment being the subtle shift of clothing as you adjusted your position.

"I'll try to hold out as long as I can. Until then, stay frosty, Lt." You finally sighed through the radio, breaking the loaded silence that had descended over the two of you. 

"I'll keep the radio on me. Don't let your guard down." Ghost ordered grimly before the radio clicked off, allowing him to turn his focus back to his surroundings and the person he was carrying as he picked up his pace, returning to the light jog he was at before you’d contacted him. 

He was about ten minutes out from his intended destination when the familiar sound of distant gunfire rang out, the echoing crack of gunshots continuing on for a few minutes before abruptly cutting out, that knot in his chest seizing until he felt his breathing became labored. 

The image of your bleeding, broken body flitted through his mind's eye, taking inspiration from the various gorey scenes from all of Ghost’s missions that he had filed away in the back of his mind, making each new image his memory conjured up worse than the one before.

He could just begin to make out the perimeter of camp when Ghost's radio came to life, white noise filling the oppressive quiet, the soft static somehow more ominous than the previous silence.

Ghost freed one of his hands and snatched up the radio on his shoulder all without once breaking his stride. “This is Ghost, how copy.” 

"Fuck, Ghost. It’s not looking good.” You breathed shakily over the line and Ghost immediately picked up on your distress, cataloging every tiny scrap of information he could glean from just your voice as he ran across the last few meters separating him from the medical tent.

He wondered if you were aware of the small, almost inaudible sounds of pain you were making with every careful breath.

“Head wound, severe concussion.” Ghost barked at the medic that tried to protest against him depositing his cargo onto one of the first empty cots he came across while aggressively pointing at the barely conscious private, watching as the medic took a step away from him at his curt tone, eyes wide as they warily watched him.

He turned his back on the medic and the private he’d hauled to safety, stalking back out of medical. He ignored the painful-looking double takes that the soldiers milling about shot his way as they scrambled out of his warpath. 

He didn’t care about the looks he was getting or that he was making people nervous; his skin felt too tight -like an ill fitting suit- and it made him feel unstable… inhuman.

“Sitrep, now.” Ghost growled at you as he stalked over to the tent where they had set up a supply cache, loading up on grenades, ammo, knives and anything else that he thought would be useful in case he got cornered at any point during his journey. 

“I got pinned down by enemy fire and had to shoot my way out. A lucky bullet took a fucking chunk out of my thigh. I can’t move and I'm pretty sure our little confrontation signaled my position to everything unfriendly within a five mile radius." There was a moment of silence before you continued with a rueful laugh. “And I've only got eight bullets left. What a fucking shit show." You muttered the last bit to yourself, snapping your mag back into place.

"What other weapons do you have?" Ghost asked, already mentally running through several different strategies and contingencies for every plan he came up with as he double checked his gear before marching back out of the tent. 

"A couple knives and two grenades. Though I was saving the explosives for if I was surrounded with no way out. I figured that I could at least take a number of the enemy with me if push comes to shove." There was a tense pause before you audibly swallowed. “I’m not going to let them take me.” You added with a grim determination, more than prepared to use the grenades to keep that exact thing from happening.

"Give me your location." Ghost demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he passed one of the pairs who were assigned with patrolling the perimeter of camp, neither woman daring to stop him.

“Negative, sir.” You responded without hesitation, your bold refusal to comply with a direct order bringing him up short, his dark eyes narrowing as he glowered into the middle distance, watching the plumes of dark smoke from the destroyed town rise up into the sky.

“Private-” Ghost began, his voice holding a thinly veiled threat, but his warning was cut short when you spoke again.

“I'm in the middle of enemy territory. This place is crawling with hostiles, there’s no way-” 

“That changes nothing.” Ghost shouted to be heard over your useless protests, his chest heaving as the radio in his hand creaked threateningly in his fierce grip. 

“It changes everything, Simon! Coming after me at this point is suicide!” You raised your own voice as much as you dared in response to his outburst, still aware of the danger posed by potential enemies in the area, and the uncontrollable anger wound tighter in his chest at the mere implication that he should leave you, his closest friend -someone he couldn’t bare the thought of losing- behind to die.

“The way I see it, you can either give me your location now or I can wander around the warzone until I find you.” Ghost was forced to stop and focus on his ragged breathing in order to rein in his fury when the darkness roiling just beneath his skin bled into his voice. And, once he felt more in control, he continued, his voice ice cold. “Though I feel inclined to warn you that, if you refuse me again, I’m going to make you regret not following a direct order and, mark my words, I will find you.”

There was a long moment that seemed to stretch on for hours, though it had to have been only a few minutes, where all Ghost heard was your breathing. He closed his eyes for a couple, calming seconds and focused on the rhythmic sound as he stared out at the wreckage, using it to ground him as he waited for your reply. 

Though, it honestly didn’t matter what you decided in the end because he was coming after you either way, a location would just make his trek to you that much faster.

"I'm holed up in what I'm pretty sure used to be a gas station on the south side of the town." You begrudgingly replied, every syllable that dripped from your lips laced with fury at Ghost basically forcing your hand. 

“Copy, hold your position” Ghost ordered, his eyes snapping back open before he impatiently input the coordinates you followed up with into his GPS device, letting it load the map before he spoke into the radio. “I’m twenty mikes out.” He gave you a moment to process the information, standing there until he realized that he was wasting the already very little time he still had to get you to.

"And if anything- if I don’t-" Ghost cut himself off as he began to make his way back into the rubble, various scenarios playing out in his head. You bleeding out all alone or -even worse- being found by the enemy and promptly executed, your precious, beautiful mind splattered all over the uneven ground as you stared sightlessly up at the smog-filled sky.

If he let himself think about it for too long, he began to quickly unravel, so he bottled up every emotion except for the ones that would be useful to him as he gave his rifle and gear one last through check.

"Use your grenades if I don't make it.” He finally settled on, his tone grim.

"Affirmative, sir."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mw 2022 #sociopath simon riley #morally grey simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #reader is in the 141 #reader is Ghosts bff #friends to lovers #slow burn #pining #getting together #he may be in the middle of a warzone but he's not gonna let that stop him from finding love #lol #fair warning #it's gonna get worse before it gets better #ongoing series

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 15: teasing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: maybe I got a bit too carried away in this one but yeah, let me know what you think

CW/TW: mentions of loss, violence, jealousy, dubcon, touch/assault, use of petnames, guilt, regret

wordcount: 4.3k

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"So, you're doing it?", the female voice rang through the speaker. "It's a mission, of course I'm doing it.", your voice was determined but still a bit shaky. Maybe you were just too exhausted. The sleepless nights sapping on your energy. "We know it's a special operation, so we at least want you to choose your partner yourself.", Price’s voice was soft but still firm. "I'd recommend Riley." Laswell's words instantly let your stomach take a turn. You couldn't choose him for too many reasons. So many you totally wouldn't share with your literal boss. Still Laswell continued. "He would act on it with the most professional interests." - "But the mask." - "Even better. Nobody knows who he actually looks like and if it's an order he wouldn't even hesitate." You felt like throwing up. Price looked concerned at you but tried to keep his face clear.

"No, no way. I respect his boundaries. I'm going with MacTavish.", you answered bluntly and quick before the discussion could go anymore in a direction you didn't want to. "You sure about that?", Price’s voice was a bit surprised, but the situation was a special occasion. Such operations were never easy and never a thing because the 141 handled such situations differently. They had their own ways to get the insider information that was required. Mostly this way was harsh and bone crushing. But now they had an ace up their sleeve. They had you on the team, a woman. And therefore, a really beautiful one. That opened a new door of possibilities. "Alright. So, Sergeant MacTavish it is. I'll arrange everything." The line went dead, and you looked at Price. "You know how this op will go." - "I'm familiar with that kinda thing. Yeah. Gonna talk with him tomorrow." - "Thank you, Skadi." - "No need to thank me, sir. It's my job." Price knew that those missions were nerve-wracking for everyone included, and he swore to himself, that he would only sent you out on it if you were fine with it. "You know what I mean.", he simply added before following you to the common room to be reunited with the rest of the 141.

That was yesterday, and now you found yourself in the shared office, figuring the best way out to tell Johnny about his luck. Your mind was racing. Once for the situation that you again fell asleep in the common room and got carried back to your room by one of the boys. How Beth explained later it was Simon, again. Only the thought of the situation let your stomach ramble. No, we won't call it butterflies, we just don't. For the second reason it was definitely the whole situation you found yourself in. You didn't mind the operation itself nor the fact that Johnny was to be by your side. It was just the fact that you were never the type to enjoy social gatherings that much, especially such big and fancy ones. You hated it back then, the hand shaking, sweet talking and complimenting just to get approval and support from rich people which thought of themselves way too much. Back then you played already a role, but this time would be different and more difficult. Pretending to be a completely different person with a completely other life plus of course your beloved boyfriend, Johnny had to pretend to be. Invading enemy terrain to get intel in nothing more than a fancy dress which would reveal way too much skin. No gun in your hands, no knives strapped to your body. You would be served to them on a silver plate. Those missions were triggering your anxiety more than infiltrating an enemy base the offensive way.

"Slept well?", a deep teasing voice ripped you out of the haze your thoughts were. You blinked utterly confused at the Lieutenant who just placed a cup in front of you. Hot steam leaving it in dancing movements upwards till they vanished. You could see how his mask moved, and how he had to wear a smile beneath it. A deep blush made its way onto your cheeks. Since when was he so cocky with his comments? What did change in the last days? And worse did you do something embarrassing? Hells bells, did you speak during your sleep?

He let out a nearly inaudible chuckle while taking his place at his desk across from yours. Your reaction was enough answer for him, still he wanted to push it. It was only the two of you in the office by now, so he would take advantage of it. "Will ya keep fallin' asleep 'n me? Just out 'f curiosity." His voice was so cocky, so teasing. You wanted the ground to open and swallow you right now.

After Simon's anger about the intruder vanished, he saw a chance of being just a bit more offensive with you. Only jokingly teasing, only the way like you would do with Johnny or Kyle all the time. It wouldn’t change a thing he believed. He wanted to test the waters but seeing you all flustered and overwhelmed did something to him. And maybe there was a chance that you would call him 'darling', just the way you did with him. He didn't know how he would react; he didn't know what it would take you to grow this comfortable around Simon, but he would try to find out. Maybe it would be his doom, but maybe his elysium.

This was the moment Johnny walked through the door. "Good morning everyo..." - "MacTavish, just the guy I was looking for.", you yelled out and before he could react, you jumped up from your place, took the cup of tea Simon brought you in one hand and the other hand grabbed Johnny's wrist while dragging him outside. Shoving Kyle aside while he tried to enter the office and just looked dumbfounded after you two and then at Simon. The taller Brit just shrugged, usually the situation would kind of bug him, but right now, he was too satisfied with your morning encounter and started on the reports. A victorious smile well hidden behind the mask.

"So, yer gonna be my wifey, eh?", Johnny looked with raised brows at you, wearing a cocky smile. You dragged him into one of the empty briefing rooms where you explained everything to him. "Fiancée. And stop the teasing. Bloody hell.", you rolled your eyes while he nudged your foot with his. He stood in front of you, not too far away but also not really close, leaning against one of the tables. "Fiancée.", he repeated mockingly.

"We should talk about boundaries. Lines we shouldn’t cross, things we're fine with and things we're not.", you stated while crossing your arms in front of your chest. Johnny nodded, and suddenly some thoughts flashed his mind. Thoughts he pushed aside for now. Of course, Johnny knew how important that mission was, but he still was a teasing piece of shit. It took you a few to sort things out and to get him to take this talk serious, without any more teasing and jokes. You were professionals after all.

"That's only the emergency exit. Ya hear me?", you looked serious at him while taking the last few sips out of the cup and ending your talk. You did really go through any possibility that could happen. "Got it. And now we're talking about Lt making you, and only you, tea and why you didn't choose him for the fake dating mission. Eh?", he raised his brows once more at you, this cocky grin back at his lips. You felt the heat back on your cheeks and wished you could just throw the cup after him. Instead, you rolled your eyes and raised your hands in a warning gesture. "Already thinking about divorce now.", you laughed, and Johnny pouted jokingly before each of you went after the preparation for this special operation.

It was around six in the evening as Laswell helped you with your hair and makeup. She told you, that she always had to doll up her wife and you had to admit, she did an amazing job. You were standing in the bathroom of the fancy hotel just some blocks away from the benefits gala. Putting the jewelry and dress on, Kate had prepared for you. The jewelry was made to be your decent communication device for the night. It would keep you in contact with Price and Ghost who were arranged as guards for the gala. So, Johnny and you wouldn't be completely out in the open.

You slipped the dress on and cursed to yourself. It was tight just at the right places and hugged your curves perfect. It hadn't a huge cleavage, but a slit up to your leg, nearly too high for your liking. Somehow you were still glad that this fabric was divided there because otherwise you weren't even able to move properly. The silky fabric moved delightful as you took a turn in front of the mirror. It definitely wasn't something you despised wearing, you felt pretty of course, but you'd preferred your cargo pants and a turtleneck. You could say you felt too much like eye candy, but that was what you were supposed to be today. A decoy to attract the hopefully right persons to spill some intel.

You went with Kate to the room the boys were put to. Kyle was already on the computers to invade the security cameras, that you could be a step ahead. Just in case. Ghost seated next to him, wearing an all-black suit with a pair of unholy tight pants, and a completely black balaclava. Going through the process over and over again. Price was in the same suit, helping Johnny to adjust his bow tie. He wore a casual and elegant suit, that matched the color of your dress. Simon was the one to open the door for you and Kate as soon as she knocked and how happy he was to wear this god damn mask.

His breath hitched as soon as he laid his eyes on your figure. You just walked past him, trying to ignore the burning feeling inside of you. Your work brain needed to take over now. Kyle only whistled, looking astonished in your direction. You rolled your eyes while pushing your hands in your hips. "Zip it, Garrick!", you glared at him, and he only rose his hands in defense. "If yer saying something against my wifey I'm gonna end yer.", Soap said while slipping a hand around your shoulder. Maybe Johnny was already a bit to comfortable in his role.

Simon stood still in place, frozen, mesmerized by your presence. The only thing that brought him back was Johnny's hand on your shoulder. The shoulder that was stained with a fresh scar of your latest meeting with a bullet and guilt came up his chest. His eyes travelled down to your hips, the place where another nasty scar would stay forever now. Scars were part of the job, nothing special but thinking about how your beautiful body was stained with them.

Just then he realized how perfectly fitted the dress was. Literally nothings were left to the imagination, his imagination. His eyes lingered just there, hoping that his brain would be able to remind him of this picture as often as possible. He’d love to change the picture of your blood-stained body into this one. And he made sure to be as close to your side tonight as possible. "Fiancée. Johnny. Fiancée.", you corrected him annoyed. "Why is that even so important?" - "We need a good story with enough personal information to spill. Because only then people will spare theirs. We have to be convincing." Johnny playfully rolled his eyes at your correction. "Alright ladies. We must go!", Laswell clapped in her hands and Price pulled an identical balaclava, like Simon already wore, over his head.

The start of the evening went off smoother than expected. Johnny didn't leave your side, always having an arm around your waist or on your back. It was quite reassuring, and his constant presence made it easier for you to entertain the people. Johnny did most of the talking and you just had to look pretty. That wasn't hard at all. Plus, you always felt save feeling the intense glance of Ghost on you. No matter where you were, you knew he was close. Sometimes you couldn't even see him, like a real ghost hiding in the shadows. You wore an earpiece on the side that was covered by your hair. So that you could at least got some hints from the boys. No matter if it was from Kyle observing the whole place or your two guards. And it was somehow funny that wherever you looked all the waitresses and securities wore those masks. Of course, you were a bit disappointed when you found out that he gonna keep the mask on even now, still you didn't want to cross his boundaries, that’s why you didn’t choose him for the mission and that is the reason you told Johnny. From time to time, you heard Price's or Gaz' voice over the earpiece, commenting on stuff people said. Simon stayed silence most of the time. Johnny had no earpiece, because he simply had nothing that could hide it, so he had to promise to stay close. At least in the sight of Price.

It was in a moment when Soap and you weren't surrounded by anyone, just then you caught him. Simon standing afar, next to a pillar and staring continuously at you. But something in his glance was different. Was it a hint of jealousy? Your eyes met for a second before a genuine smile flashed over your face. Johnny stood close to you, still an arm around you his eyes searching for your next victim, and you couldn't prevent the words to slip over your lips. "Lieutenant.", you said calm averting your gaze to not make it too obvious. Leaning a bit further into your fake fiancé. He hummed in confirmation over the comms. Still staring at you, not daring to look away. Too scared that it would be a dream and the image in front of him would be gone as soon as he blinked. "You’re staring.", you said with the most teasing voice you could and just then you could see from the corner of your eyes that he abruptly looked away. "Just observing.", he cleared his throat. It led to a sweet and satisfied laugh. The game he started could be played by two.

"Says the lass that shamelessly checked his arse in those tight suit pants out.", Johnny's cocky voice was heard, and you instantly buried your face deeper in his shoulder. You hoped that nobody at the other end of the comms could hear him. He started to laugh and patted your back. "Yer secret's save with me. Dinnea yer worry, bonnie.", he smiled while your face was drowning in embarrassment and you just prayed to everything you hold dear, that Johnny would keep his promise.

The evening became a bit harder when you decided to split up, to get as many people to talk to you as possible. It was after an unpleasant talk with a way too drunken man, that you took a little break excusing yourself to the bathroom. He at least gave a few things away that could help you. Still, you felt a disgusting shadow creeping over your skin. Men were easy to manipulate, still you hated it. You just hoped the night would be over soon and that you could wash yourself clean with a cold shower.

As soon as you stepped out of the bathroom you couldn't help but felt another shiver run down your spine. Another guy seemed to have followed you, because just then you felt an unfamiliar hand creeping around your waist. You immediately tensed and needed to fight the urge to throw him over your shoulder. He lowered his head to your ear that wasn’t covered by your hair. "There is someone who wants to meet you, doll." It made your hair stand to an end, but you needed to suppress it. Whoever wanted to see you could be a very helpful informant. You were lucky that he couldn’t see your face that was coated in sheer disgust. He let his hand wander further down, and the feeling to just break his wrist became stronger and stronger.

But you weren't the only one that had this urge, just to the misery of the poor guy. Ghost snatched his shoulder and yanked him with full force away from you. He nearly growled at him before standing in front of you. Shielding you away. "Leave 'e lady alone. She's already expected.", he hissed through gritted teeth and the douchebag ran away as fast as possible.

You looked in disbelief at him as he turned around to face you properly. Making sure nobody else would watch, you glared at him. "What the hell?! He could have led to important information.", you crossed your arms. "That wasn't appropriate. I needed to intervene!", he only hissed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. He would never raise his voice at you, still he needed to clarify his point. "I was completely okay... that's how those things work. It's the most efficient way.", you paused for a moment. You didn't want to scold him for something that would be the right thing to do, because indeed it wasn't okay how the man treated you. Still, he interrupted a chance of good information.

"You really need to let myself decide if I'm fine or not." Simon clenched his fist. He knew you were right, but watching how that guy touched you without your consent, without your approval that made him furious. Seeing the discomfort in your eyes. He wouldn't let anything like this happen, to no-one, but especially not to you. You could feel how tense he was; he didn't answer to your outburst. You sighed; one more look around before your arms dropped to your side. "You trust me?", your eyes searched for his and he nodded slowly, not averting his glance. "Let's agree on a sign.", you exhaled not braking eye contact either.

You went back in the main hall, still the burning gaze from Ghost on your back, you moved through the groups of people until you caught a word that completely caught your interest. "He changed since the incident." - "Well, Camilo was his brother." You took a place in the circle, greeting everyone with a sweet smile. Camilo had a brother. "He was his twin! You know how twins have this weird connection..." A twin, that made sense why you thought you saw Camilo running around that chem factory. Price and Simon assured you millions of times that Ghost took him out before he caught that bullet.

People started starring at you, so you took a sip out of the glass in your hand. "I heard from the tragic accident.", you chimed with fake sympathy. "Oh, my dear. That wasn't an accident.", an older man touched your shoulder and left his hand there. Squeezing it softly. "He was taking care of.", you looked faked bewildered at him. And another woman joined. "He even moved the plans back, you know, to grief properly. Even gave him a funeral after finding his body. So, he has a heart after all." You nodded in understanding. Just then you heard a static voice over the comms "We got visitors.", Price announced and soon you could sense a different group of armed men entering over the higher up floor. They also wore balaclavas, but they moved differently.

You looked with a worried face around, searching for Johnny. That's when the hand of the older man started rubbing circles on your shoulder. "Don't worry my dear. They're here to protect us. I believe there is an uninvited guest." He looked at you with those lust blown pupils and it made you sick. If he would call you 'my dear' one more time you needed to throw up. "Those uninvited guests are you. Maybe we should leave.", Kyle's voice rang over the earpiece while he tracked every enemy. "Those Italians are always so impudent, but family is their highest good."-"Aren't they Mexicans?" - "Mexicans, Italians, Brazilians, Spanish. Aren't they all the same?!", the old men next to you chimed and all around started to laugh. You forced a laugh out of your throat as you saw another bunch of armed and masked men approaching the lower level. Your eyes searched for Soap. Kyle was right, you had to leave now. "Excuse me. I'm missing my beloved fiancé. Will be back soon.", you stated before moving through the mass of people. Johnny didn't hear anything the boys said due to the missing earpiece. You needed to find him.

It was Price’s voice that helped. "He's at the west entry. Gonna make sure you leave save. Ghost take care of the car." You moved as fast as possible without drawing any suspicion to the place Price described and Johnny was there. Discussing eagerly with no one else then the man from your hallway encounter with Ghost. That wouldn't end good.

"Darling, I'm feeling unwell. You think we can go back to the hotel.", you chimed with a cooing tone while your hands searched his. He looked at you and gladly understood immediately. The man looked surprised at you and insisted of you staying a little while longer. Somehow you made your way to the hallway, the only thing that separated you and the SUV that brought you out of here. Price made sure the way was clear and Ghost sat in the car, engine already rumbling low waiting for you to enter the vehicle.

"He's still following you and it seems like he got friends", Kyle declared over the comms. "Shit.", you hissed out while walking in those fancy heels. "We aroused suspicion, especially with our sudden leave.", Johnny said while trailing close behind. A thousand thoughts were rushing through your mind. There was only thing that might help, you sighed. Your eyes found a little corner, and you turned, taking Johnny's wrist, dragging him with you around.

"Yo, Skadi, wrong direction.", you could hear Kyle over the comms. "Emergency exit.", is all you said before muting the earpiece and Johnny immediately understood. That was the first moment he felt uneasy tonight. You pressed yourself against the wall, wrapped your hands around Johnny's neck while bringing him closer to you. His face just a breath away from yours. You looked in his eyes and he nodded, giving silently permission and you closed the gap between you. Your lips brushing over his, a bit stern but still eager, the intense feeling couldn't be denied. His hands were frozen on your waist, till you took one of them and placed it over your thigh. The leg hooking behind his body drawing him impossible closer. It needed to be a good show for them to buy it. Johnny's grip on your bare skin was tight, as his lips moved over yours. It felt nothing like you remembered a kiss, but that wasn't even one of those lust filled actions. It was your emergency exit.

"Bloody hell.", Kyle breathed out in utterly shock, staring at the screen in front of him. "What's happening?!", Ghost nearly barked through the earpiece while the grip around the steering wheel tightened. "Even when I told you, you wouldn't believe me.", Kyle chuckled not daring to blink. Ghost stayed silent, but his heart was pounding.

The man went around the corner and abruptly stopped as soon as he saw the image in front of him. Every suspicion leaving him, as he felt uneasy to watch. To your luck, he had some respect for the privacy and intimacy you just shared. Well, that's at least what you thought. That was the second time tonight he should feel a misfortune. But you couldn’t care. He left you alone and that was all that mattered.

Johnny and you broke away and he looked weird down at you. Somehow his face was full of concern, and regret and at the same time his cheeks burned, and he smiled oddly.  “Keep it steady.”, you punched his chest while turning the earpiece on again and rolling your eyes at the Scot. "Just bought us some time. Sorry. On the way out now.", you said while walking back where you left your path. "Dinnea believe that this actually worked.", Johnny hissed a bit breathless next to you and you could hear Kyle joining with a "Same, you lucky bastard." You just rolled your eyes once more as you climbed into the back seat of the car next to Johnny while Ghost already navigated it to the hotel. You couldn't look at Johnny, so you simply stared out of the window. Johnny just stared into the distance in front of him. You agreed on it, you both did and still it left you in an awkward state of mind.

Simon's eyes trailed to the driving mirror, observant as always, he immediately noticed the stains of the red shade on Johnny's lips. His grip around the steering wheel tightened, letting his knuckles turn white when he had to force his eyes back onto the road.

"Good work!", Price said once more as he pulled off the mask, but all of you in the car stayed silent.

taglist: open just lmk

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#cod mw x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #task force 141 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost jealous #fake dating #death of peace of mind #cod fanfic #slow burn

[ghouljams]

There is No Pavement, My Love

Professor Love makes an observation, Professor Riley misinterprets it.

"I'd like to add your book to my syllabus." Love says leaning against Ghost's desk. He glances up from his grading, his eyes darting between the way she pushes her tits out and the way she smiles, before returning his attention to his work.

He'd worried about this after the conference. He already had enough requests rotting in his inbox for reprintings of his book. The whole thing was more trouble than it was worth, raised more heartache than he ever wanted it to. It was better left buried with the rest of his past.

"No."

"Why not?" He can hear her pouting, he stuffs down the smile it threatens to raise in him. How is it one woman can be such a balm for his melancholy?

"Never find enough copies," he circles a glaring comma splice and underlines a misquote, "it's out of print."

"Well then it's a good thing someone uploaded all of it to the internet in pdf form." Love wiggles in her seat, attempting to draw his attention again. Ghost gives a quick glance, his eyes fixing on the strained buttons on her shirt. Weak. He is a weak, weak, man. Always has been, that's exactly why he's in this mess in the first place.

"Cheeky little thing aren't you." He looks away, but his voice is thick and labidinous. The soft noise Love lets out make him think it's not an unwelcome tone. Cheeky indeed. She leans a little more heavily against his desk.

"What about just the forward?"

Ghost sets down his pen, taking off his spectacles and laying them neatly beside it. He knits his fingers together and rests his hands heavily on the papers he'd been grading.

"Why do you want to teach my book?" He asks, leaning to match her pose.

"Mostly just the forward," Love amends. Ghost shakes his head with a smile, drags his teeth over the scar splitting his lip before he can look at her again.

"Why do you want to teach my forward?" He asks again.

"Its a love letter."

Ghost freezes, his brain running through every word of his book looking for anything that could be interpreted as something so... romantic.

"Explain," he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest as he sits back in his chair. Love blinks, her expression softening in a way that makes Ghost feel like he's dying. His heart clenches in his chest. He squeezes his bicep, his fingers tight to keep himself from pulling her over the desk. If he could kiss that sad softness out of her smile he would. She laces her fingers together.

"My mum lived through Hell every day of her marriage to my father, I wish I could rest comfortably knowing she's somewhere better, but then I wouldn't be here, and neither would you." Love recites, and some long dormant crack in Ghost's chest aches. Her voice is softer, when she speaks again, and that hurts all the worse, "You spend 250 pages talking about grief and our comfort in the afterlife; talking about your time in the service, and losing people. Just because you wanted to make sense of your mum's death. How is that not a love letter?"

Ghost swallows the lump that threatens to choke him. He fixes his eyes on hers, hard and unyielding even when he can see sincerity shining through her expression. He can't stand it. Tenderness is a privilege, she should never assume such a softness about him.

"It's a book," He tells her firmly, "one that's better off buried."

"It's part of you," She tries, "an important one."

"If you're done teasin' me,"

"I'm not-

"You can get out," Ghost powers through her objection, nods towards the door. Love opens her mouth and her raises a brow, "Go on, be cute for someone else."

There's a hurt in her eyes when she closes her mouth, her lips drawing together tight. It hurts as much as Ghost thought it would, but he can't have her poking around at scars like this. There's too much about her he should have nipped in the bud, too much he's let her get away with, too much he's deluded himself into hoping for, she can't have this too. She can't think he's more than he is.

She stands, and shuts the door tight behind her.

And it's worse somehow.

#simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost mwii #professor!Ghost #professor au #is it really a slow burn if it doesn't hurt a little bit? #oc: love #I'll fix it in the next one #Ghost is tender about his trauma but who isn't?