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spectrerie · 1 year

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Ok I have no idea if your requests are on or not because I literally never request but I love your writing so here I am! Anyways I can’t stop thinking about ghost x hacker reader who works with 141 and they have to go with the guys on a mission to like hack through security systems or something (idk) but ghost absolutely refuses to let them go like he is so against it. And maybe while they’re on the mission the reader gets hurt or something idrk I haven’t thought that far ahead but I thought you would do so good with this idea!!! Thank you!!

Hello!!!!!!! This request is so good! I got a bit carried away and wrote 3.5k words on it lmaoo, but I'm happy with it now, so I'll post it as an answer to this ask

If you die, I swear I'll kill you.

Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Please enjoy this anon, and anyone else who reads it.

TW: injury, slight workplace bullying, enemies(?) to friends

“With all due respect, sir, no. I don’t need to babysit some egg-head while I’m in the field.” Ghost sat with his arms crossed, knees apart, filling his chair and the room with his presence.

You glanced at Price, you’d both expected this reaction, but it still hurt to hear him say it so easily. For nearly two years you’d put your best foot forward. Did everything to get him to like you until it became clear that he never would. You were ready to settle for respect, for a crumb of acknowledgement. Though soon that too was clearly out of your reach. Now you were just happy to keep out of his way. You weren’t part of the 141, no matter how much information you’d stolen for them, no matter how much data you mined for them, no matter how many sleepless nights you’d given them. You weren’t a soldier. Ghost made sure to remind you of that at every chance he got.

At every debrief he treated you like you were just a piece of the furniture. He ignored you with ease, asking questions to everyone but you. Making plans and strategising with everyone’s strengths in mind but yours. Any information he needed about what you could do he’d obtained through Captain Price. Often with you in the same room, going over your head like you were some machinery he’d be crazy to speak to.

You typed and looked through files. You were a glorified intern as far as he was concerned.

“Well Lieutenant, it’s not up to you, is it? Owl is going with you, and that’s final.”

A part of you cringed at the nickname despite the joy it normally filled you with. You’d felt honoured when Soap had coined it. The night owl of the 141, playing with mice and bringing veritable feasts of information back to the nest. But hearing it used in front of Ghost felt wrong. You could feel his eyes roll without even looking at him.

You didn’t need a call sign.

You didn’t need to be closer to the 141.

You didn’t even need a name, because they didn’t need you.

“Yes, sir.” He said as he stood to attention, mumbling his acknowledgement to the Captain as he prepared for his dismissal.

“Final brief at 0400. Wheels up at 0500, understood?” Price barked out at the two of you. You both gave your acknowledgement and he nodded, satisfied for now.

“Alright, dismissed.”

Ghost made a quick exit, as though being in your presence was more than enough to make him ill. You sighed and began to move, but a hand at your shoulder stopped you.

“Owl, don’t let him get to you. You’re a part of this team, and you’re needed on this mission. I wouldn’t send you out if I didn’t believe you needed to be there.”

You nodded, dropping you head to pull back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Your intel has always been good. We don’t have the time to wait for the boys to bring the drives back, if they even knew what to look for, time isn’t on our side.”

You knew that better than anyone. If only Lieutenant Riley would admit that you weren’t an incompetent civilian, maybe things would go along quicker.

— — —

“Alright boys, this one should be simple, yeah? We go in, subdue any hostiles, grab the tech and get the fuck out. I don’t want any mistakes, I don’t want any problems,” Ghost’s eyes stopped at you as he said the last word, “I don’t want any bad news, understood?” He said as his voice boomed over the sound of the plane's engine.

“Yes sir!” The group called out as one. This would be easy, as he said. You didn’t have to do too much, just follow the group and live long enough to break through the encrypted drives. From their you could relay the information back to Price and Laswell. Simple.

Your eyes drew closed as you took in a breath, trying to centre yourself. Get in, get the drives, get out. Job done. You repeated your mantra until you fell into a fitful sleep.

You woke with a start as your name was barked out.

Lieutenant Riley stood over you, arms crossed. An obvious scowl beneath his mask.

“Gotten enough beauty sleep, sunshine?”

The plane was empty, your teammates stood out on the makeshift runway, watching your change out of earshot. The late evening sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows into the plane.

“I’m sorry sir, I just wanted to be rested for the mission.”

“Well, aren’t you considerate, thank you so much, Pigeon.” His voice dripped with a saccharine sarcasm that cut you to your core. You hate that he’d made a mockery of the callsign you were so fond of. You were sure other people had slept on the flight over. Why was he singling you out so cruelly?

“Are you still on your bloody arse?” He barked out, loud enough too draw the attention of your teammates. “Sorry, sir!” you replied as you jumped up. Your body was yanked back with a start, bucking against the fastening that had kept you in your seat. Your head knocked back against the body of the plane, tilting your helmet over your eyes.

“Oh fucking hell, Pigeon. If you get yourself killed on this bloody mission, I’ll murder you.” His hand made quick work of your seatbelt, snatching it off you in one sharp motion, sending you lurching forward.

If only you’d had the confidence to tell him off.

If only you had the kind of easy relationship with him that he had with everyone else, one that transcended rank enough to quip back at him.

If only he didn’t hate you.

If only he could see you. Not just look at you scornfully, but see you. See your efforts, see your strength.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” You said with your eyes focused on the floor. Your gaze could have cut two pinholes in the undercarriage of the plane. You grabbed your gear and rushed down the gangway, thankful Ghost hadn’t pointed out all the things he found wrong with your apology. With your posture, with your face, with your breathing, with your existence.

“Alright. It’s 30 klicks to their base, but we’ll have to trek the last 5k. Johnny, you get us in, Gaz and I will clear a path while you watch our six. You,” Lieutenant Riley said with derision, “don’t die and find the drives after we’ve swept the place, understood?” You nodded sharply.

“Alright lads, this one’s easy. Any hostiles will be eliminated on sight, in and out, home in time for Eastenders.” Soap and Gaz laughed easily at Simon’s joke. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to show any crumb of happiness in front of him. Maybe he’d yank your tongue out if you so much as chuckled and bring it home for his dog.

As you made your way to the jeep Soap fell into step with you.

“Ye alright?” He asked, a gentle smile playing on his face. How could you be alright? He was always so kind to you, and Kyle always treated you with respect. Even the KorTac boys said ‘hello’, or ‘thanks for the intel’ once in a while whenever you ran into them. Ghost seemed pissed that he had to breathe the same air as you.

A short sigh escaped before you could regain your composure, “yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… I don’t want to mess up. It’s my first time really out in the field and—” and Lieutenant Riley, your best friend and our commanding officer hates my guts and doesn’t care to hide it. “And I just want to do well.” Soap nodded, though he couldn’t really understand. He’d been a soldier since he was 18. He’d proven himself time and time again even before he ever saw active duty. His abilities were undeniable.

You, as Ghost loved to remind you and everyone around you, were a desk jockey egg-head recruited after you’d been caught ransoming credit card companies and running stings on pedophiles with your ‘internet pals’. Caught or betrayed, the thought still plagued you, though the end result had been a job offer from the British Army in lieu of prison time. Soap and Gaz thought you were a genius, some sort of cyber Robin Hood fighting the good fight from smokey internet cafes or 6 monitor supercomputers. Captain Price saw you as a clever kid with good intentions but questionable methods.

Ghost… well Ghost made no secret of the fact he thought you were an egg-head. An energy drink guzzling college drop-out with a lot of free time and no common sense. A basement dweller with more waifu body pillows than real life friends. A useless kid with no place in battle, regardless of the fact that your intel was what told him where to go more times than not.

“He doesn’t hate you, he’s just… well he’s just Ghost. He’s never worked with you, I’m sure things will change after this.” You nodded, thankful for the reassurance though you didn’t really buy much of it. As you opened the jeep door and slid into one of the back seats you noticed Ghost’s eyes were trained on you through the rearview mirror. Watching for something to pick on you for, of course.

You held his gaze as you closed the door and dropped your gear bag between your feet. ‘That’s right Lt, I can sit down without strangling myself on the seatbelt’ you longed to say to him. You settled for holding his gaze and raising your eyebrows at him. As the jeep rumbled to life you could have sworn you heard a laugh.

— — —

Ghost glanced at the pistol holstered on you thigh, as well as the knife sheathed at your hip. The urge to ramble about your right to protect yourself and defend your teammates bubbled up in your chest, the citric need to bite back at him almost won. Thankfully he spoke before you did.

“You do know how to use that, right?” He whispered to you, crouched to your right, Gaz to your left. You’d gone through basic gun training and safety as well as first aid at Captain Price’s insistence once you’d begun working more and more with the 141. A fact you were sure Ghost knew. He’d never let you carry a weapon without a direct order from Price. A direct order not to snatch it on sight and send you to sit in a corner and think about how stupid you were.

“Of course, sir,” you quipped back. Your sarcasm was cut with anxiety. This was real. You didn’t have to kill anyone, you just had to keep up and not die. But this was so real. A gun range was nothing in comparison. The slide of the gravel beneath your boots, the heat of your comrades beside you, the dull green of the night vision. This was real.

“Ghost, do you copy? 30 seconds to detonation.” Soap’s voice was tinny through the comm on Ghost’s shoulder.

30 seconds?

Seconds?!

Your heart pumped a punishing beat as the reality of it all sunk deeper and deeper.

A hand on your knee brought you back to the moment. “Look at me,” the last voice you’d ever expect to comfort you was all that filled your ears. The surprise washed away the fear for a moment as you looked into Ghost’s eyes.

“The second you hear the blast, stay low and follow us, okay? You’ll want to jump up, don’t.”

“Okay.”

His dark eyes stared into you as he spoke. “Keep your weapon in your hands, keep your eyes on me, keep up, and keep calm. This is the fun part.” A low chuckled from Gaz calmed you further.

“I’ve got your six, just focus on moving with the group, okay?” Gaz whispered beside you.

“Okay.”

All you could do was agree, any eloquence you’d had before had long since dissipated.

A deafening boom rang out and the urge to run flooded every nerve in your body. You watched Ghost.

Keep your eyes on me

You focused on Ghost’s broad back as you moved with him. Focused on keeping close. On surviving.

The next minutes were a blur of gun fire and barked out commands. The muzzle flash of the weapons around you was enough to make the night vision useless and so with shaky hands and shallow breaths you pushed the goggles up as you moved through a maze of rooms with Ghost as your guide.

A heavy hand against your chest stopped you before you had a chance to run into your Lieutenant.

“Gaz, now.” He barked quickly as a heavy boot made contact with the door, pushing it from the frame. Garrick fired as he moved deftly into the room, sweeping the corner as Ghost fired at a figure hunched over a laptop.

Everything was happening too quickly. You were pushed into the room, or pulled, you couldn’t know. As your body entered your mind stayed back and watched as a figure rose from a position under the desk. Before you could even see their eyes they hit the floor with a thud.

A wave of nausea spread through you as you moved to where they’d been, pushing the bodies away from the computer as you grabbed it and began to type a series of commands into the terminal. Your hands shook as you pushed a thumb-drive into a port and watched as your code froze the deletion process. You left that to work as you pulled open desk drawers and riffled through their contents, shovelling everything in sight into your pack.

“Hurry up!”

You obeyed, moving quicker as you grabbed files and thick plastic drives with greedy, shaking hands. The final drawer was locked tight. You wanted to call out for a key but shame held you tongue. You pulled at it and it held firm. Ghost could have yanked it open with one hand, you were sure. His presence in the room motivated you to think like a soldier. Think like him.

‘I’m not useless. I’m not useless. I’m not useless.’ You chanted to yourself as you reached to you side and gripped your knife. Jamming it into a gap in the drawer you pushed your whole weight onto it and heard a click.

Yes. You weren’t useless after all.

“Owl! Wait!”

With unbridled euphoria you yanked the drawer open and felt your body and mind reconnect with a violent snap. Like a spark to gas you ignited with something you couldn’t recognise. Warmth spread through your middle as you glanced down into the drawer. It was empty.

“Oh shit.”

“Soap call in a medevac, now!”

Why was it empty? Were they all shouting because it was empty?

Your hand dug into the wooden cube, patting around until you felt something give. You pushed up into it and heard something drop. Another hard drive.

“Owl, Owl you need to move, now.”

A firm hand grasped you by the shoulder and you shook it off. You bent down to pick up the drive and a white hot pain seared your abdomen. You ignored it, and with a sharp wince you grabbed the final drive.

Why were your hands shaking so much? Was it the excitement of war?

You turned to collect the laptop but it was already in Gaz’s hands. He was shoving it into your pack as Ghost grabbed the drive in your hand and tossed it to him.

“No! No, I have to decrypt the—”

“You have to move. Now.” Ghost retorted sharply as he angled himself to block your view of Gaz.

When had they stripped you of your pack?

Why was Lieutenant Riley suddenly pushing you out the door you’d all just come through?

How were you able to see your group moving through the halls? Watching the retreat from an unnatural vantage point, making note of the thick trail of something syrupy behind you.

Was that blood? Did your sloppiness get one of them injured?

— — —

The jeep you’d left 5 kilometres away speed into view in front of the compound you’d just sacked.

Was it moving or were you?

Hands pushed you into it and began pulling off the kevlar and fabric of covering your torso.

‘Is it bad?” Soap’s voice came from the front of the vehicle.

“No, its not too bad,” Ghost said to you rather than Soap. You craned your head down to look at the wound, but a strong hand tilted your chin away.

“I thought I told you to keep your eyes on me, Pigeon” he said lowly as you searched his face for some clue of what was happening. His derisive diminutive sounded odd now, it was laced with something tender.

“Sorry lieutenant, I just wanted to—” you didn’t know how to finish.

I just wanted to see for myself?

I just wanted to be a part of the team?

“— I just wanted to impress you. I’m sorry, sir.” You mumbled as your lids grew heavy.

The pressure on your stomach increased as Ghost spoke to you in low whispers. “Impress me? How? By falling asleep? We’ve already talked about that, soldier. I told you to keep your eyes on me. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

— — —

Your eyes fluttered open, catching a glimpse of a white stucco ceiling.

Shit.

Ghost would kill you for falling asleep again. As you tried to sit up your body barked out in protest. A dull ache blanketed your left side and pulsed through you.

A hand pushed you back down gently. Resting for a beat on your shoulder before pulling away.

“Slow down, kid. You’ll rip your stitches out.” You knew that voice. You turned your head to look at the Lieutenant. You’d already known it was him, all that surprised you was the lack of contempt in his voice.

You couldn’t speak. You just looked around, taking in the small makeshift clinic you’d found yourself in.

“The hospital was too far,” Ghost said, answering the question you mind was already forming, “so they set this up in a safe house nearby.” You nodded, laying back against the pillows. “Sir? What happened?”

You heard Lieutenant Riley sigh as you stared up at the ceiling above you. Too timid to look at him as he recounted your failures on the mission.

“The drawer was rigged. If you’d been taller, or wider, the shrapnel that hit you would have been fatal, Owl.”

The name drew your eyes to him before you could stop yourself.

“I’ve graduated from Pigeon?” You asked, trying to cut the tension in the small room. He laughed, and the sound was enough to make the pain in your abdomen dissipate.

You’d made him laugh.

You had made Ghost laugh.

“You got injured, and didn’t give up. That was a tough thing you did, Owl. I’m proud of you.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, it took everything you had not to let them fall. A warm on hand your head was what completely undid you. Hot tears slipped out of your closed eyes as Lieutenant Riley stroked your hair more gently than you’d ever thought a man of his size was capable of.

“You did well, don’t worry.”

You gathered yourself, remembering the objective of the mission. “How long was I out, sir? Has the operation window passed?”

He pulled his hand back slowly before he spoke. “Intel over here took a look at some of the materials before sending them back with Soap and Gaz. The boys back home will decrypt as much as they can while you’re healing up here. Doc said you’d be okay to fly within 48 hours.”

You nodded, trying to keep your disappointment in check. You wouldn’t even get a chance to do what you were good at.

“But,” Ghost said slowly, drawing your attention away from the pity party you’d already began throwing for yourself. “No one could make heads or tails of what was on the laptop.”

“So its useless then?” You asked, trying to push the hurt out of your voice.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Ghost let out a low chuckle. God, you’d become addicted to that sound already. “Whatever you plugged into it before you got hurt completely stumped everyone, they said only you’d be able to retrieve anything from it.”

A warm pride filled your chest. No one could do what you could. You weren’t useless.

“So… unfortunately for you, Pigeon. I’ve brought you some homework while I babysit you. Are you up for it?”

Ghost dropped the laptop onto your lap. Your thumb-drive was still plugged into it, filled with malware and viruses you’d cooked up over the years.

You smiled at him, beaming with pride as you opened the device. “Of course, just keep your eyes on me, sir. I’ll be done in no time.”

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 #modern warfare ii #modern warfare #ghost #ghost x reader #hacker!reader #mean!ghost #tw toxic relationship #but that changes by the end of the fic #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley requests #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost mw2 imagines

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spectrerie · 1 year

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Ghost: Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill

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spectrerie · 1 year

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Would you let me go? Even if I asked you to

Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader.

Requested by my awesome mutual @lululandd

Part One. ~ 3k words.

Simon meets a young woman on a night out with the 141 ft. Los Vaqueros. He's drawn to protect her and when she needs him, he makes a promise he's not sure he can keep. With one war over another begins, and his task: Protecting you, no matter what it takes.

POV alternates between Ghost and the Reader.

this is a stalker fic where Ghost watches over the reader and discovers that he's not the only one doing so. Eliminate the hostiles and fulfil his mission. Easy. Right?

TW: Stalking, kidnapping, murder, extreme depictions of violence, swearing and foul language, threats, minor character death. Possessive!Simon, Toxic!Simon

Additional parts to come, with additional warnings. This is just a general TW for the whole fic

“I swear lads, I swear I thought I was gonna die of laughter if he didn’t kill me first!” Drinks sloshed and laughter rang out around them as Gaz recounted some sage, albeit dodgy, advice Price had given him.

A night out with the 141 and two of the friends they’d made along the way was long overdue. The weeks of blood, sweat, and smoke had taken its toll on them. Killing came with a a cost, and they paid it gladly. For their countries, for the world. For themselves.

Life in battle was easy, everything came down to friend or foe. Friends were hard to make, and the latter easy to dispose of. Usually. Killing could be easy, if they let it be. If that made them bad people so be it, they’d be bad to keep the balance. But not tonight.

Tonight donned in their civvies they occupied a corner booth of a hole in the wall pub, a town away from the barracks. It was their last night all together, one of their first nights all safe. Before the Cowboys went back home to fight another day. Before Soap went back to Scotland to see the country he missed dearly. And before Ghost and Gaz went back to their corners of England. Before Ghost crawled back to the barracks, to the only life he knew how to live.

“Ah, will ye fuck off, ‘e didnae say that! ‘ E’s been up te his oxters in work.” Soap barked out as he clutched his sides. The group waited with baited breath, stifling peals of laughter as they waited for Ghost’s response.

“Christ, Johnny. In English?” The stoic blonde said from across the table.

“Eh? D’ye no ken what I’m sayin’ L.t? That was bloody English.” Soap whined back as he closed his bleary eyes. The first of the laughs began to eek out. When he opened them the blonde Lieutenant was staring back at him with his dark eyes. “Gaun'ae no dae that? That was bloody English! Fine. ’Oh emm gee, he did not say that. He has like totally been up to his armpits with work!’ THERE!” Johnny shouted back in a mock American accent.

The group fell about themselves with laughter as Simon shook his head slowly.

They needed this. This release. There’d been other nights for tears, for recalling the horrors they’d seen over the months, but not tonight. Tonight was only for good things. For accents coming out too thick, for drinking too much knowing you were in safe company, for friendship.

Ghost stood and pulled his dark cap lower, casting a shadow over his face. “Same orders, yeah?” He asked the group and he walked out of the booth. He had to good sense to leave the mask at home. Or so they thought. He had it folded in the inner pocket of his jacket, his armour against the world.

“I’ll have a Dom Perignon if you’re buying, whole bottle please.” Called out Gaz as Alejandro poured him another shot of earthy Tequila.

Ghost shook his head and huffed out a low laugh, chasing tequila with pints. They were clever chaps, weren’t they?

As he made his way across the bar, the din of dozens of conversations hushed as he walked by, the packed room parting in his wake. He cut an intimidating figure. Six foot two, almost six four in this heavy dark boots. A myriad of faded scars dusting his jaw and hands, the only part of him easily visible. The brightest thing about him was his blonde hair, neatly tucked away from prying eyes. He didn’t need the mask tonight. His crew knew his face, and no one in the pub could bring themselves to look at it, averting their eyes sheepishly as he moved by them. At most people glance up at the top of his head in awe, surveying the space he took up with his sheer bulk and height. He didn’t need to be Ghost. Not here.

He placed a hand on the bar and slid in, eliciting no complaints from the other patrons. What could they have said? Move? That’d be the day.

— — —

“So you’re not going crack a smile, baby? I thought that was a pretty good one.” The drunken lout beside you laughed in your face, the smell of hops, stale cigarettes and chips blowing at you.

“Ha. Ha.” You said dryly. Turning your attention to the bartender trying to get drinks for you and your ever-late friend. You felt an overly warm, sticky hand slide around your waist, tugging you back towards him. “Alright then, you tell me a joke, if I’m no good at ‘em.”

“I’d rather not, sorry.” You said with a terse smile, eyes drifting back to the bartender hoping to catch his eye.

“Okay, okay, let’s play a new game if you don’t like jokes. If I guess your name you buy me a pint, but if you tell me now I’ll buy you one.” He winked at you, or rather he tried to.

“How about I tell you and you go away?” You asked, before barking out your name and turning away, though his grip on you tightened.

“Oi, mate. Two Coronas, three lagers. Whatever’s easy, yeah?”

A low voice beside you called out to the bartender you’d been playing a one sided game of cat and mouse with.

“Is Carling alright?” The bartender’s attention went straight to the owner of the voice beside you, as did yours. You were about to tell him you’d been here first, as you looked up and you were met not with a face, but the middle of a wide set of shoulders. Was this a man or a mountain?

“Excuse m-“ craning your neck up you caught a glimpse of a face and your protests died on your lips. The giant was handsome. In a rugged, cold sort of way, but handsome nonetheless. He cast a glance in your direction that turned cold quickly. All the heat of your body pooled at the bottom of your stomach, you didn’t even notice the arm around your waist had dropped immediately.

“Hmm?” He grumbled in way of a prompt.

“Uhh, I was— I was just going to say I’ve been waiting.”

“I don’t know you.” He said curtly. A normal person would ask ‘do I know you?’, or rather a normal person would understand basic bar etiquette. Though it seemed this man had no need for niceties.

“Well no, I was waiting to order my drinks. Didn’t anyone teach you any manners?” You said, letting go of your decorum. Two could play at this game. You’d had enough of men thinking they could have whatever they wanted.

“What?” He said, turning away from the bartender. Your bravado dissipated as quickly as you’d found it. You felt your eyes grow round in shock and a heat creep up your neck to your face.

“I just-“ your sentence was cut off by a low laugh from him as he said “What, as in what were you going to order?”

“Ah… just two ciders, sorry.” Fuck. Where had all your confidence gone, he wasn’t going to hit you for teaching him manners.

His gaze grew cold again, well maybe he was.

“You let your girl do all the talking, do you?” He said, seemingly to the man who’d been pestering you for the better part of your evening thus far.

“I’m not his anything.” You said before the man behind you had a chance to speak.

The handsome one turned away from you again, “And two ciders, cheers.” He said to the bartender. When the man behind the bar asked what sort he angled himself back to you again, you sheepishly pointed to the tap of your choosing and said your thanks quietly.

You heard your name from the pest behind you and ignored it, watching the bartender pull your pints along with those of the only person at the bar you had any interest in.

“Fine then, be a bitch.” The man huffed and walked away, you only knew because your new companion’s eyes watched him closely as he left. Tracking him through the crowd. Something about him made your skin tingle. Made the hairs on your body stand. There was an edge to him that scared you.

“Sorry about him” you said at the same time, eliciting a laugh from you both.

“So, you planning on neckin’ two pints or are you waiting on someone?” He asked as he slid his card over to the barman.

“Oh, no you don’t have to pay for these. Please, let me ge-“

“Think of them as payment, for tonight's lesson. Anyway, are you alone?”

“Oh, I’m just waiting on a friend.” You shook you head, confused. “Wait. What lesson?”

He laughed, tucking his card back into his pocket, arranging his three pint glasses into a triangle, then balancing the two bottles on their rims. He’d never be able to carry these back to his table, at least not without spilling half their contents.

“In manners,” he said with a wink before grasping the drinks in his big hands and slipping back into the flow of the crowd, disappearing like a ghost.

— — —

“Bloody took you long enough, L.t” Gaz crowed, clearly they’d need less pints and a few glasses of water to offset all the tequila they’d drunk in Simon’s absence.

“Did you go to brew la cheve, Ghost?” Rudy chimed in, emboldened by the alcohol.

Ghost huffed and set the full drinks down deftly. “Shut up and drink.” He didn’t have to tell them twice.

The conversation and alcohol flowed easily as the boys cleansed themselves of the stresses of war. Minutes rolled into hours and their raucous laughs drew a few sidelong glances to their table, they couldn’t care less.

“Right,” Garrick said as he stood, clapping his hands together and rubbing them mischievously. “I’d murder a kebab right now. Have you lads had kebabs before?” He asked their Mexican companions. Soap stood and stretched, the promise of a trip to the chippers rousing him from his stupor. “Not a kebab on a stick, like… with lamb and cabbage and sauce, y’know. A kebab.” he chimed in, clapping Gaz on the back for his enlightened suggestion. Alejandro and Rudy shook their heads with a laugh, “teach us the British way, amigos. Where do we get this ‘kebab’?” Rudy asked as he and the other two men stood from the table.

The pros and cons of a kebab after a night out were being discussed as though life’s meaning could be deciphered after one drunken bite. As Soap and Gaz evangelised a groggy ‘no!’ caught Simon’s attention. The quiet pleads were mixed with a name that was new, yet familiar.

“One second, lads,” he said as he moved ahead of the group, instinctively making his way towards the source of the disquieting feeling growing in his chest. Something was wrong, very very wrong.

“No, I don’t— I want to go. I don’t— I’m too tired. I want—no,” the girl from the bar was pulling against the grip of the man who’d ran with his tail between his legs at the first sign of confrontation. Simon didn’t have to listen to the young woman’s garbled sentences to know this shouldn’t be happening. She didn’t know him. She didn’t trust him. Neither did he. The would be assailant kept muttering her name and steering her towards the door as she shook her head and kept glancing behind her.

“Oi. Is there a problem, mate?” Simon asked, as his friends caught up with him. The man blanched as he looked up at Simon, growing quiet as the girl's protests got louder, drawing the attention of the few patrons left in the pub.

“She’s wasted, I’m just trying to get her home,” a shaky laugh punctuated the lie.

“I’m sure. But she doesn’t know you.” Simon pushed the mans shoulder, sending him two steps back and giving the girl the chance to shake him off.

“She… her friend knows me, he told me to get her home. Right? David,” he reached out to the girl in an attempt to get her attention. The look in Simon’s eyes told him that wasn’t a smart move. “Hey, tell them that David told me to-” before the sentence could end Soap spoke up, putting himself between Simon and the man, as Simon stepped closer. Whether this David existed or not didn’t matter, the Lieutenant was ready to separate the man’s lying head from his body. A scene was ill advised, especially if the police ended up getting involved.

“Alright,” Soap said, he reigned in his brogue as best he could, “let’s not put words in anyone’s mouth.” He began trying to deescalate the situation, much to Simon’s irritation. The girl looked up at him and he watched as she took in his face and something dawned on her.

“Ah, manners,” she said, mumbling to herself as she drew nearer to him. Simon couldn’t help but soften at that, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her protectively. She’s been full of fire at the bar, a small part of him felt more sad than angry at the situation she found herself in. Maybe he should have stayed with her, at least until her friend came.

“Yeah, that’s me. Can you tell me your friends name, or what they look like? Maybe we can find-”

“The ghost with manners” she said weakly as she pressed her head against his chest, body going slack, knees buckling beneath her. Simon’s arms reached around her, his grip like a vice pressing her closer to him. The Ghost.

Ghost. How could she know that name?

He clung to her weak frame like a raft on a rocky sea. His fingers digging into the soft flesh of her as they both spiralled.

— — —

Weak pleads and careful promises swirled behind you, you couldn't hear them. Not really. Every fibre of your being was fixed on the man holding you up. The ghost from the bar with the big hands and scary eyes. But he wasn’t scary now, not anymore. Not to you.

“Hey,” his deep voice rang out above the world around you, though he spoke to you gently. A whisper that contained the roar of a distant sea. Who? Who was he?

“Simon, my name’s Simon.”

Shit. Had you said that out loud? Why couldn’t you tell? Why couldn’t you stand? You tried to take a shaky step back, to get free. To get a better look at this ‘Simon’, but your legs wouldn’t work, the muscles felt heavy and useless. How were you still standing, why couldn’t you remember how you’d gotten here?

You and David had been drinking, laughing. He’d gone to the bathroom. Said he’s meet you at the door and you’d get a taxi home together. Then the room began to slip away. A tide pulled you to the door. Sticky hands, a shake voice, and your name over and over again as you were pulled away. You’d wanted to fight but your body wouldn’t let you. You wanted to scream but your voice wouldn’t work right, your words didn’t fit together. The last few minutes became a puzzle somehow, and it terrified you.

Then Simon.

Like some vengeful angel, he appeared from nowhere. Pulling you close, holding you up though you felt as heavy as a star.

“Please, Simon… Simon,” you muttered, not sure whether he could hear you or if you were speaking in your mind again. Though a part of you felt like he could hear everything in there too.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Suddenly you were warm and weightless, drifting through the cold air. Fear beat in your chest, thumping against your ribs like a molten ball. You were going to die. You were certain. Your stomach rolled at the realisation.

“You’re not going to die, pet. You’re just a bit poorly now. But I’ve got you.”

His voice was closer now, warm lips pressed against your ear as he spoke into your mind. You wanted to believe him, so badly. You wanted to believe it was true.

“It is. I won’t let you die. I swear.”

“Don’t you let— don’t let me down. Are you gonna drop me?” please don't, Simon. Please.

“No, never.”

Simon.

Your ghostly Simon. The word shone bright in your foggy mind. “Never— don't hurt me.”

Something deep in you told you he couldn't.

— — —

The nurse at the desk was asking all the wrong questions. Simon could guess the answers she wanted, he could form a loose timeline in his mind. A version of events that made sense. But one thing was certain, he’d have to embellish the truth to get the right result. Civilian life was easier in someways, harder in others.

He gave her a name, gave an approximation of an age but he wouldn’t be allowed to stay with you unless he started filling in the blank spaces. He’d made a promise to you, and he’d keep it.

“I need a surname for the intake form, sir. Do you actually know this young lady?”

He sighed. He wasn’t the villain here. He knew how it looked, five men bringing a clearly intoxicated girl into the ER was dodgy. But he wasn’t the villain.

“Yeah, I already said that. Look, she needs help, and I have to stay with her, she’ll be looking for me when she wakes up.”

“I understand that sir, but only family are allowed to stay with patients overnight. And you still haven’t given me her—“

Surname and relationship to him. Yeah, because he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to be here, all night if it took that long. He had to be there when you woke up, so he could fulfil his promise. So you'd know you were safe.

“Riley. It’s Riley.”

“And you’re family?”

Was he?

“Yes, of course.”

Now he was.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #stalker fic #tw stalking #tw possessive behavior #ghost mwii #simon ghost riley requests #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost x female reader

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spectrerie · 1 year

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May I request a Yandere!Simon x Yandere!reader?

Any context you want

Or a Yandere!Simon x Shy and naive!reader?

(Sunshine x sunshine protector trope)

Where he just protects the reader from the bad guys she is naive to be aware of. Like friends and strangers and family with ill intention idk sjsjsnw 😭🫶 I just love the idea of being protected ig and maybe even possessive 🫡

I loooooooove this idea!! I'm working on a piece for a trade rn, but as soon as I'm done I'll be working on the prompts from my asks. The trade piece is kind of yandere/stalker!Simon x naive(ish)!Reader so the yandere x yandere sounds really interesting. I'm really liking the thought of yandere!Simon wearing down the reader, and being ultra possessive and jealous. Then the dear sweet reader follows Simon's shining example and starts developing yandere/possessive tendencies too 🥵🥵

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spectrerie · 1 year

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hewwo may i ask for maybe yandere or just possessive simon stalking reader and finding out theres apparently someone else doing the same thing >:3 what would our boi do >:3 (to the stalker and then maybe reader too?)

Omg this is SOOOOOOO uuuuugghhh so good!! I'll get started on this right away, would it be okay to tag you in the finished post? Also should the someone else be a male civilian oc or another solider, or even a member of 141 or KorTac?

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spectrerie · 1 year

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also!! i can doodle a little!! so maybe if you want we can trade? the request for a little drawing of your choosing? :3 no pressure ofc

YES!!!! Omg I would love to do a trade, your art is so beautiful! Thank you so much for the offer, ofc I accept :))

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spectrerie · 1 year

Text

Your Simon

Simon Riley x reader (gn I'm 99% sure)

TW: toxic!Simon, whump, captivity, psychological torture(?), kidnapping, yandere!Simon, maybe don't read this if you're only comfortable with fluff and light smut... even though there no smut in this (maybe I'll add an epilogue or sm idk)

Approx 2k words, random drabble. wrote this at 4 am, un-betad. Let's not nitpick, yeah? Cool.

Simon knew you were fragile, but he didn’t think you could be so easy to break. This was his third deployment since he’d met you. The third since he’d pulled you into his life. At first you’d been panicked, indignant and ungrateful. You didn’t understand the significance of his actions. Every detail meticulously planned out, every minute aspect of your stay without him accounted for. You just had to stop fighting him and start fighting for yourself. Fight to stay alive, just like him. He just wanted to share this with you, why wouldn’t you let him?

“Don’t worry, Love, I’ll be back in no time. You won’t even get a chance to miss me.” His hand stayed on the back of your head, fingers locked in your hair, holding your head up so you could look into his eyes. So you could watch him lie to you. You knew the routine well at this point.

First the devil may care Ghost would ply you with cheeky taunts to smooth out your concern. His abrasiveness would wear you down, polish you into a reflection of himself.

Despite yourself you began to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. In the beginning it wasn’t him you had missed. It was the promise of regular meals, and fresh water. Baths. Heating. Freedom. Now he was the centre of your world. He was your everything.

While he was deployed you didn’t know how long you’d be left to stew in your own sweat and the grime of the basement he’d thrown you in. The smell of dust and mold hung heavy in the air down here. Soon the smell of your body would join them creating a fetid blend that would stay in your nostrils for weeks after your release. If you lived that long. The single hanging bulb barely illuminating your surroundings, not that there was much to see.

Gallons of water lined one of the walls, at least a dozen of them neatly tucked from one dusty corner to another. You’d count them in earnest when he left you. Your mind was to panicked now to begin the frantic calculations of how long you could stretch your supplies. Just in case.

Two boxes of hardtack biscuits and cans of god only knew what were neatly pressed up against another. At times you feared he’d been feeding you cat food. You’d opened cans of greying meat floating in gelatinous gravy, other times the cans contained some kind of soup. Either way you’d choke it down cold.

A part of you loved it here, you felt closer to him. You were a soldier too. This is where you’d live or die. Your battlefield.

His hand left your head and he went to the centre of the room where a small metal cot with a thin mattress stood. No pillow or duvet, but at least he’d given you a thick itchy woollen blanket. Army surplus to complete your private barracks. You’d earned the cot after weeks of good behaviour, no crying, no useless begging, no disobedience. A luxurious upgrade from the sheets of cardboard he’d left you to sleep on during his previous deployments. You followed before he even turned to call you, taking a seat on the mattress.

“Will you miss me, pet?” He asked, coaxing your chin up with a gloved finger.

“Yes, of course” you said between sobs. He huffed out a humourless laugh, and stroked your head.

He hardly had to grind you down anymore, soon Ghost gave way to Simon. The mask he wore over his soul fell away, leaving behind the raw and broken boy he’d been before he learnt being someone else was as easy as covering his face. Part two of your dance begun.

The tears you thought you’d controlled began to fall again, pouring out of your tired eyes as you looked up at him. Your protector and captor. The man who told you everyday he’d die without you, the same man who held your life in his hands.

“Please, please, Si… don’t forget about me here. Please.” The last word came out as a choked sob as you pressed your face against his thighs. Begging him to let you go was useless. You knew the steps now. Let him lead you, let yourself need him. Let him have something to control, someone who wouldn’t disappoint him. Someone he didn’t have to pretend with, unless he wanted to.

“All you have to do is survive, pet. Same as me.” He knelt down in front of you, dark eyes shining with a mania that told you he was past pleading with. “All we have to do is survive. Think of me while you’re fighting in here, yeah? And I’ll be thinking of you out there. You’ll think of me won’t you? Hmm?”

You nodded.

“So say it.”

Gathering yourself, you pulled away from him, eye to eye it was easier to believe the words that tumbled out of your mouth.

“I’ll be thinking of you Si, so please, please,” your voice began to quake with unshed tears, “please come back to me. I’ll die without you.”

You knew he was smiling beneath his mask. His hands came up to cradle your head, his grip too tight to be anything but a reminder of the control he had over you.

“Of course you would. We need each other, don’t we?”

You nodded and said your well rehearsed line. “We love each other.”

He watched you weep for a while, and you knew a part of him felt sick with himself. If he returned, if you lived, he’d tell you as much when he came home.

The realisation that this was your home hit harder down here, puling more tortured sobs out of you as he watched. You weren’t sure if the ragged breaths you heard were yours or his.

“Simon, Simon” you chanted his name over and over as you cried, like a prayer to a long dead god. He stood above you, within reach. One touch and you’d know he was real. But you cried out his name, and he watched. Until watching became too much and the sound of his name was punctuated with the sound of his boots ascending the stairs.

The sound of a key turning.

And then the silence.

— — —

You counted the days by litres of water, cold canned meals, and fitful slashes sleep.

One of each a day.

No cheating.

You recited songs in your mind, the lyrics painted dark by the deep gravely voice of your thoughts. Simon’s voice.

You imagined a life with Simon, a life different from this. Those dreams were all that kept you sane. If this was sanity.

A life with sunshine and tenderness that didn’t have to be earned. With music and hot food, baths together. The warmth of his body against yours. Every dream began and ended with the sound of a key turning, the creak of the old cellar door, deep lungfuls of fresh air.

After meals and before sleep you’d press your nose to the tiny blacked out window. Taking deep breaths of the English countryside before closing it again. Air when were awake, warmth when you slept. These rules and rituals were what kept you alive here. Hell was rolling green hills and cloudy skies. Hell had no one around for miles. Hell and home were two sides of the same coin.

The same countryside he’d offered to show you when you’d first began dating him. You recounted those first few dates with him often. Combing your mind for any sign of the man he’d turn out to be.

It had been too soon for a weekend away, you told yourself this time and time again. Turning your captivity against yourself in your darkest moments was a game you hated but still played. What fool would take a trip with a man they barely knew.? You hadn’t even known him for two full months when you went away with him. Your 6th date. This may have been the longest date in history.

Sometimes you thought of your friends and your family. Were they worried? Were the little dribs and drabs of communication Simon let you have with them enough to keep them satiated. Had they stopped caring, like Simon said they would.

He often told you the family a person was born into was rarely their true family. Like his. You knew pieces of the life he rarely spoke about. The father he hated, the mother he pitied. The brother he held complex, painful feelings for. You hardly heard about him at all. You suspected he was the only person outside of the 141 Simon cared about. Maybe the only person he truly loved.

Did he love you? Actually love you?

Could he?

Another litre, another can. Another day.

— — —

The creak of the old cellar door woke you, as usual. You’d long since stopped running up the steps when you heard it, not trusting your mind to be honest with you.

“Baby? Are you awake, Love?”

You didn’t believe it. You couldn’t. The disappointment would hurt to much.

The sound of heavy boots descending the stairs drew something out of you, but yet you still couldn’t let yourself believe it was real. That you had survived. Again.

Warm fingers caressed your cheek, tracing the shape of your eyes and nose, until they finally settled on your neck, below your jaw. A beat passed in tense silence, you could still be dreaming.

A shaky breath that wasn’t yours filled the room, “thank god.” You opened your eyes, and he was there. A dark figure against the light, stoic among the swirling flecks of dust in the air.

“Si?” Your voice was weak and hoarse from who knew how many weeks of disuse.

He nodded, lifting you from your cot with ease. Holding your body against his tightly as he brought you up the stairs. Your eyes fluttered against the light, the early evening sun cutting through you until you help your eyes tightly closed.

You heard him shush you softly before you realised you’d been crying.

“Si,” you said again and you felt him hold you closer.

“I know baby, I know. I’m so proud of you. We made it.”

He set you down on the edge of the bath and began the careful work of peeling your filthy clothes off.

The final chords of this tragic, disgusting song had begun, and your dance was ending.

He washed you gently, tears in his eyes as he rinsed away the layers of pain he’d caused you.

He spoke to you in gentle tones, barely above a whisper, as though any loud noise would send you into shock. He didn’t wait for your responses, knowing you were too exhausted to give any.

“It’s okay, pet. It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re out. You’re out.

“Were you scared? I know baby, I know how scary it was, but you’re safe now. I’ll never let anything happen to you, never. You’re too important, I love you so much, pet. Too much.”

You let the hot water and his words baptise you, remaking you under the heat of his love for you. He washed every part of you, yet nothing felt as intimated as when he washed your hair, stroking your head gently as he cried and promised you things you weren’t sure would ever come to be.

When you were clean he wrapped you in a towel and left to get you something to wear.

Was that you? Was that really you in the mirror? Chapped lips, large sunken eyes, your cheeks were hollow and your skin dull, your natural undertone wiped away and replaced with a pallid grey. When he came back you still couldn’t look away from the person in the mirror. He placed a pair of sweatpants and one of his t shirts on the heater and closed the door, giving you time to settle back into yourself. Your new self.

You hated him. You hated him for doing this to you, making you this person.

You opened the cabinet and went through the minor motions of humanity. Brushing your teeth, brushing your hair, and pulling the t-shirt on mechanically. You left the bottoms folded, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep them on no mater how tightly you tied them. He was just too big, and you were just too small.

You clutched a hair band in your hand, knowing he’d want to tie your hair back. He loved doing those small things for you. And you hated him for it.

When you shuffled into the bedroom you stood in the doorway, watching you with a grief in his eyes as though he hand’t done this to you.

He pulled you close, picking you up and laying you gently on the bed. The mattress felt obscene after weeks on the cot, you wept again and hated him for turning you into this person, a person that cried at everything. A person who knew what it felt like to sleep on the floor. Someone who felt blessed to have a bed.

He took his place beside you, and you pulled yourself close, holding your body to the curves and edges of his. His arms wound around you and pinned you to him, his lips brushed your forehead and you felt his tears fall, running down your cheeks and mixing with yours.

“I was so scared without you. I really thought I wasn’t gonna make it this time.”

“Me too, Si.”

You understood how much he needed this, how much he needed to be the villain, how much he needed to hate himself before he could go into hell and be a good soldier. So he could come back home a hero, a rescuer. Your protector.

Your Simon.

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