#My friend: I love that Ghost is always going to be Soap's shadow

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

In Every Trio, There's Always A Duo

John Price X Reader

You were following behind Soap and Ghost, keeping a close eye on your surroundings while watching their six. Soap was on Ghost’s left, you were on his right, so how could they have gotten to you so easily?

A/N:this is probably the angstiest fic I've written in a while lol, the idea popped up in my head after scrolling tiktok and now I'd like you all to suffer with me(also I know I promised the Gaz fic first, it is coming! I promise!) warnings:mentions of blood, injuries, wounds, gore, depressive thoughts, thoughts of suicide, mentions of death

Price had been the one to introduce you to everyone, saying that you were the newest member of their team. Gaz welcomed you with open arms and even offered to show you around so that you wouldn’t get lost. Soap was happy to greet you, talking too quickly for you to understand even half of what he’d been saying. Ghost was a little more closed off, friendly enough to say hello and introduce himself but didn’t go out of his way to be your friend. It was something you were used to, men in the military were one of three things. Friendly, flirty, or standoffish. While Ghost wasn’t your typical “I’m better than you” military meathead, he wasn’t an open book.

It was all fine though, you had gotten close to the rest of the group and made friends with all of them quick enough. Alejandro and Rudy were much friendlier during the first meeting, Rudy and you swapped recipes and talked about your interests. Ale joked that you would end up stealing his best friend right from under his nose. Of course you would never do that, stealing someone else’s best friend was a big no no in your book.

“I would never steal him away from you! Best friends are sacred.” You smiled over at Ale, watching the way he became flustered ever so slightly.

“Well, thank you then.” He wasn’t sure what to say, most people teased them for being such close friends, this was a nice change.

“Of course, no need to thank me.” Rudy pulled you back into the conversation, explaining how to properly cook one of his mother’s best dishes.

It went on like that for months, you making friends with everyone on the task force, along with Ale and Rudy. When everyone would go home for break you didn’t leave, assuring everyone that you would leave the following day. No one needed to know that you didn’t want to go back to your family, their toxicity pushing you to where you were now. Your mother had been an alcoholic your entire life, your father no better when he actually bothered to come around. Your brother had up and left the moment he turned eighteen, leaving you behind to suffer.

No one needed to know what happened in your past, to them things were good and you had a loving family. They didn’t need to know that you had nothing left waiting for you, no family, and no friends for if you succumbed to your death during a mission. You’d wanted to tell them the truth so badly, that you truly weren’t alright, but you couldn’t.

You were out at the bar with everyone, sitting between Gaz and Soap. The Scot had interrupted you nearly five times now, voice booming as he recalled a tale about how Price had embarrassed himself during a mission. You bit your lip, sinking into your seat and not bothering to try and speak up anymore. The night continued on like that, everyone talking about different things as the drinks flowed. You’d even learnt a little bit more about Ghost, how his parents weren’t the nicest of people, how he’d done what he could to help them. It reminded you of your own situation, abusive parents that refused to take accountability.

It continued on like that for months, you would head out with everyone and continue to turn into nothing but a shadow. Seven turned to six, six turned into five, and soon enough it was only you, Ghost, and Soap going out. Price was too busy with paperwork, Ale and Rudy had their own duties to attend to, and Gaz was seeing someone. You were happy for Gaz, he was a total catch and anyone with eyes could see how attractive he was. Though you missed his corny jokes at the tables when you’d go out. Soap was the main jokester, Ghost throwing in a few from time to time to throw the Scot off his game.

It was strange seeing Ghost without his mask, the first time your jaw dropped open but you refused to comment. Nothing more humiliating than bringing up someone’s scars to them when you’re in public. He ignored everyone who tried to flirt with him, shutting down their advances with a “not interested” before they could utter another word. That same night they left you behind at the pub, you’d gone to the bathroom to relieve yourself before heading back. When you walked out the table was empty and cleaned, surely they were waiting outside. However once you stepped foot outside you noticed the truck you’d all driven in was gone as well.

Your throat closed up as you realized they had completely forgotten you, the base was over ten miles away. Refusing to try and call them, you tugged your jacket closer to your body and made the journey on foot. Price was still awake when you arrived, feet nearly bleeding from the blisters you now had, and tears running down your face.

“Sweetheart? What’s going on?” Price abandoned his paperwork to rush over to you.

You lied and told him you were simply too intoxicated and had forgotten you had gone to the pub with Soap and Ghost, the two men soundly asleep in their own rooms. He didn’t look as if he believed you, but nonetheless he let it slide. You would tell him the truth when you finally felt ready. Instead of pushing for more answers he helped treat your wounds, and gave you some warmer clothes to sleep in for the night.

Your sleep had been restless that night, struggling to get over how much pain you were in physically, and emotionally. Maybe they had just forgotten because you hadn’t talked the entire night? Sure, that’s what it probably was.

Price kept you on light work for the next two weeks, letting your feet heal before putting you into weapons and basic training. You were being sent out on a mission in a few days and he wanted everyone to be prepared. You stuck close by Gaz and Price for the most part, not wanting a repeat of the pub again. Training was easy, you excelled with each weapon you were given and surpassed everyone else, even Ghost.

Laswell was happy with the progress you’d made since joining, happy to know you had integrated so well with everyone else on the team. It didn’t matter if she didn’t know the entire truth, or that you were miserable deep down. She lead the briefing for your next mission, you were to get the intel required and get out, taking out any hostels if needed. You were a little nervous, the last firefight you’d gone into had nearly gotten you killed. Had Rudy not yanked you down behind the pillar you wouldn’t be standing there.

The helicopter hovered as you rappelled down onto the ground, unclipping your belt and grabbing your gun. There was no one as far as you were able to see, though you couldn’t be too careful, enemies were trained to hide in plain sight. Price and Ghost lead the group, guns raised as they begin a slow but cautious walk towards the building. No one noticed the enemy as they slid from behind their own hiding spots. 

The bullets were raining down on the group before any of the guys or yourself could take cover. Price had thrown Gaz behind one of the pillars, Ghost doing the same with Soap to help prevent his teammate from becoming swiss cheese. Alejandro wrapped his arms around Rudy and tackled him to the ground, laying completely still until the sound of the enemy reloading calmed his nerves. It wasn’t until they realized that you were laying out in the open, screams ripping the air apart as you began to slowly bleed out. Ghost’s heart stopped, how the hell did they completely forget about another person! 

“Shit!” Soap turned to run around Soap’s bulky frame, grunting as Ghost grabbed the collar of his tac vest.

“You do that an’ you’re both dead!” Ghost couldn’t risk someone else getting injured, they needed to neutralize the threat.

“We need to save her!” Soap couldn’t watch you bleed out, it would destroy him.

“Stand down!” Ghost winced as the gunfire drew closer, they needed to retreat before they lost anyone else.

The group slowly retreated, watching the way your frame became smaller and smaller with each step they took. Ghost was gnawing the inside of his jaw, angry that he’d let something like this happen under his watch. Shit, they’d have to figure out how to get you back before you ended up bleeding out on the field.

“Ghost!” Gaz was staring over at the older man, eyes wide with terror.

The enemy had grabbed you, running off while they seemed to be too preoccupied figuring out a plan to stop them in their tracks. His blood ran cold, they were surely going to kill you if they couldn’t rescue you soon enough.

“Stop them!” Ghost raised the gun in his arms, aiming down the scope to try and get a shot off.

It was with a sickening realization that he noticed they were all gone, nothing but dust kicked up in the air as they fled. He’d always kept everyone safe, or as safe as he could when they were in enemy territory. This? This was his worst nightmare come to life, someone getting injured and captured because of his actions. How the hell had he not realized you were near him? While you were quiet when needed you always made your presence known.

“We’ll get them back, but we can’t go in with our heads up in the clouds.” Price was angry, they were split up into two groups. 

You were following behind Soap and Ghost, keeping a close eye on your surroundings while watching their six. Soap was on Ghost’s left, you were on his right, so how could they have gotten to you so easily?

“You let her get hurt, you were too busy keeping an eye on Soap that she got hurt!” Gaz stood up harshly, stomping over to where Ghost and Soap were crouched.

“Hey! Let’s not start going at each other’s throats.” Price grabbed onto his tac vest, stopping him before he could reach the other two.

“I saw it, she was walking too far from Ghost and instead of remembering that she was even there he saved Soap instead, and now she’s been taken by the fucking enemy!” Gaz was angry, angrier than he’d been in quite a while.

Ghost wanted to deny it, that he had been keeping an eye on you the entire time, but it would’ve been a dirty lie. It had been obvious over the last few months how little attention they ever spared you, especially him and Soap. The three of you would go out during your leave together and it was simply as if you didn’t exist to them. You were the third wheel during their conversations, trying your hardest to speak up only to be ignored.

Everyone had gone out for a night of drinks and dinner, mainly because Price all but demanded on getting off base for at least one night. Things had been silent for a little while and he needed to release some tension. You and Gaz were up getting drinks for everyone at the bar, the waitress already swinging by to get everyone’s order for food. Price had seen how sullen your expression was, the sparkle your eyes usually had seemed so dull now. Maybe this would help bring it back and things would go back to normal. You were his favorite(don’t tell Simon)and he would do his damndest to make sure you were okay.

“Sorry about the wait, bar was a little busier than expected.” You and Gaz set down all the drinks, being careful not to spill any liquid onto the, for now, clean table.

“No worries love, food won’t be out for a little while anyway.” Price smiled at the way your face flushed, proud that he could still have you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

The conversation seemed to flow easily with everyone, Gaz was telling a story from his teenage years that had everyone laughing. He’d embarrassed himself trying to impress a girl and refused to even look her in the eye afterwards. You opened your mouth to make a comment before Soap cut you off, the entire table echoing with laughter. Clearing your throat quietly you took a quick sip of your drink. 

The chatter died down once the food was brought out, everyone eating in near silence, save for the bustle of the restaurant around you. You wanted to talk about something, anything, but the timing never felt right. So instead of opening your mouth to talk you kept eating, your stomach turning slightly as you pushed the food around the plate. The chance to strike up a new conversation was dulled entirely once Ghost started talking about something. You didn’t bother to listen, eyes locked onto your plate as you tried to muster up the energy to keep eating.

Everyone was pulled into the conversation, offering their own bits and pieces here and there, everyone except for you. Why bother speaking to people who clearly didn’t notice when you did anyway? It would be a waste of energy and you needed to worry about what would happen on your next mission. Only you didn’t notice the way Price’s gaze lingered on you, a frown marring his nearly perfect features.

“If you don’t get them back, then I sure the fuck will.” Gaz knew the risks that rescuing you would entail and right now he was willing to take that risk.

“Kyle, if you go running in there you’ll be dead before you can get to her. I’ll go with you.” Price was willing to do whatever it took to get you back.

“Sir.” Soap felt terrible, had he kept a closer eye on you this wouldn’t have happened.

“No, we need to start thinking about how we’re going to rescue her, I’ll call Laswell.” Price turned and walked off without waiting for anyone to follow.

Ale and Rudy were horrified, they’d known the men for quite a while, having only just met you a few months prior, and watching the way this had gone down? It sickened them, but they wouldn’t voice those opinions out loud. They’d do whatever needed to be done to rescue you, to make sure that you came back home alive.

You, Ghost, and Soap were all sitting in the cafeteria, trying to enjoy the MRE’s that had been given to you earlier that day. A new shipment wouldn’t be in for a few more days so you were suffering through what had been left over. They weren’t terrible, but it was obvious why these were the ones left over from everyone else. Ghost and Soap had been keeping conversation going between them from the moment you sat down. You didn’t bother to say a word, simply ate your rather dry and tasteless food and waited for it to be gone so you could leave.

It was becoming more obvious as each day passed how little they liked having you around, from the way they would simply ignore you, to even brushing you off when you tried to join the conversation. It had stung in the beginning, but this was something that happened quite often, and you weren’t going to sit there and whine like a child. No, instead you learned to hide the disappointment and hurt deep down inside. If John ever found out how you were mentally, he’d have you discharged before you could even blink and stop him.

“‘M tellin’ ya! You nevah believe me!” Soap was laughing at something Ghost had said, you were sure of that, but the effort to even pretend to listen was too much.

“Oh will you stop with that? I don’t need to believe ya if I don’ want to.” Ghost rolled his eyes, shoving another forkful of…something into his mouth.

Neither of them had so much as glanced at you in the twenty minutes it had been since you’d sat down, another reminder that you weren’t wanted. Your throat closed up slightly, a sickening feeling clawing at your chest as you tried to keep the negative thoughts at bay. That was all wiped away when Price walked in, your back straightened immediately. It was a habit you had tried to break so often but never seemed to be able to.

“At ease soldier, just here to let you know that we’ll be headed out at 0400, so I suggest you get ready to go.” Price nodded at you before heading out.

You would all be debriefed on the plane ride over, it was something Price had begun to do so you went into the mission with the details fresh in your mind. Unless things were sensitive, then he wouldn’t run the risk of the wrong person hearing. Maybe this would finally be the mission you’d be left behind, a girl could have dreams right?

Soap was pacing the room, mumbling to himself to figure out how he could even try and get back on your good side. It was his fault that you were not only shot, but also captured. Price had gotten into contact with Laswell the moment they were back to safety. She was furious, asking how you’d managed to get captured when it was a simple recon. Gaz had exploded then, telling her how Ghost and Soap had been too caught up in each other to keep an eye on you. Price had to calm him down, nearly threatening him.

“There’s been an update, and before any of you say anything I need you to watch this and not rip out each other’s throats.” Laswell turned towards the screen, hitting play.

The screen was blurry for a few seconds before your slumped over form became clearer, it was obvious they’d done a shitty patch up job to your wounds. Your wrists and ankles were bound to the chair, blood dripping down your temple.

“If you want her back, we want something as well.” A voice, presumably someone behind the camera, spoke.

You laughed loudly, the sound surely causing your head to throb as you struggled to sit upright in the wooden chair.

“You couldn’t have picked anyone worse to ransom. Everyone knows I'm expendable on the team, nothing but a throwaway.” Your smile tore at Price’s heart, you looked defeated, ready for the comforting embrace of death.

They growled in anger, fist colliding with your jaw as a sickening crack echoed through the speakers. You groaned, spitting blood onto the floor with a huff.

“You don’t understand, they’re never going to come back for me. You’re better off letting me just die.” Your body was begging for death now, pain surging through every nerve ending.

The man turned towards the camera, angry that you seemed so unwilling to help get whatever they were so desperate for.

“You have two days.” The screen suddenly went black, leaving the room completely silent.

Price walked over to Laswell, afraid of what answer he was going to get for the million questions running through his mind.

“How long do we have?” The video wasn’t brand new, they would never actually give the men enough time to properly plan.

“Less than twenty four hours, we found her location from that bracelet you gave her a few months ago.” Ghost’s head whipped around, why was his captain giving you gifts?

“Everyone gear up, we need to get her back before it’s too late.” Price wasn’t going to waste another second, not when you were so close to death.

The plane was fueled up and ready to go by the time everyone headed out, briefing over the plan during the flight. Gaz would go in guns blazing if it meant saving you, and he’d force Ghost and Soap to wait until they got you. It was reckless to think that way of course, and being angry with his teammates wouldn’t do him any good either. Once you were back and safe with them he’d reprimand the other two. It didn’t matter that Ghost ranked higher than him, he’d give those two an earful they’d never forget.

“Rudy, do you have eyes on her?” Price walked over to check the monitor, a small sigh of relief when he saw your outline.

You were still breathing, the motions slow and labored as you struggled with each breath. Rudy was going to stay on the plane, keeping an eye out to make sure no one tried to sneak on. It was a risky move, especially considering he’d be sitting alone, save for Nikolai. They each geared up, checking their weapons ammunition to make sure everything was loaded.

“Hold down the fort til we get back.” Price slapped a hand against Rudy’s shoulder, nodding towards Gaz and Ale to follow him.

Ghost knew better than to argue, Price was their leader and right now he was definitely on his shit list. Soap wasn’t getting off scot free either, it had been both of them that caused this entire situation. No, the focus was solely on you, Ghost could deal with the repercussions later on when you were safe.

Their footsteps were silent, Gaz lockpicking the door before heading inside behind Price and Ale, guns drawn high as they looked around for enemies. The air was thick with tension, sweat beading up underneath Price's hat as he tried to keep his breathing steady. The sound of fists colliding with skin they picked up pace. They’d managed to find you quicker than expected, but what awaited them beyond those doors?

“Tell us where they are!” It was the same voice as your abuser from the tape, they were enraged at how you simply laughed at their anger.

“I’m tellin’ ya, don’ know shit.” You groaned as his fist collided with your stomach, doubling over in the chair as much as you physically could.

They’d been interrogating you for hours, doing whatever they could to get any information from you before they’d finally send you into the afterlife. The pain was excruciating, resonating through your body like a livewire. How long would you last before you would finally succumb to the wounds that adorned your skin?

The sound of gunshots echoed inside the tiny room, deafening you as the pain in your skull amplified by a thousand. You’d surely had a concussion, if the amount of times you’d been punched had anything else to do with it. The scent of gunpowder and blood filled the air, though you were positive almost half of the blood was yours. A hand grabbing your face caused you to flinch back violently, a terrified screaming ripping from your lips.

“Please! No more!” Whoever had killed your captors wouldn’t have the best intentions for you.

“Sweetheart it’s me, we’re here to get you.” Gaz’s voice was calm, even if his heart was nearly beating out of his chest.

“Gaz.” Your eyes filled with tears, staring back at your teammate and friend.

Price stood right behind him, eyes filled with worry at your state, they needed to get you to a medic immediately. Gaz cut through the ropes binding you to the chair, helping you to stand up. It became obvious that one of your legs was broken as you stumbled in his hold, grabbing onto your thigh with a vice grip.

“Fuck, I’m gonna let Price carry you to the plane, we’ll get you hooked up to an IV to get some fluids in you, alright?” You could barely nod but it was enough of a confirmation to hand you over to Price.

He lifted you gently, cradling you in his arms as Gaz and Ale lead the way back out. Ghost and Soap were checking for any stragglers, not wanting to leave anyone else alive. They hadn’t managed to find anyone, or anything else of importance when they met back up with you. Soap could see the way Price was holding you, as if you would turn into dust in his arms. The two men wanted to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness but with Price it wouldn’t be allowed. You needed to make that decision on your own.

“Alright, we’re gonna get you back to base soon enough,” Price had let the team medic take over, checking your vitals and setting up an IV drip.

Ghost opened his mouth to apologize before Gaz’s glare stopped him in his tracks, Soap quietly sat down in a seat without so much as glancing at you. Clearly some things needed to be worked out, and right now they weren’t going to be talked about. Ghost never backed down from a challenge, not when it came to his teammates. He’d gotten enough shit from Soap to last him a lifetime, lord knows the other man never knew when to stop.

That was the whole point though, wasn’t it? He was being taught a very important lesson about how blind he’d become. Maybe not literally, but Ghost was focusing on the wrong things and it was biting him in the ass now. Soap didn’t seem any better, silently sulking in his seat as he went through a million different scenarios in his head. How long had you been suffering in silence while they simply ignored you? How terrible of a friend was he that he didn’t even notice what was going on.

“We left her at the pub one night.” Ghost nearly missed Soap’s words over the engine of the plane.

“What?” His head whipped around, when the hell had they genuinely forgotten you during a night out?

“Remember O’Malley’s? It was that one.” Soap felt the guilt eating at his soul.

Everything began to hit him like a freight train, they were neglecting you both and off the battlefield. You were an amazing teammate and an even better friend and they’d completely taken you for granted. They didn’t know anything about you aside from that you’d joined the army at eighteen and were now with the task force. The first thing Ghost would do was apologize and do whatever he could to help ease your pain.

“We’re about to land, already let them know we’ve got injuries.” The routine medic, a man named Jacob that couldn’t be any older than twenty two, began to prep you for departure.

You’d need surgery to set your leg properly, the break was most likely a shatter which would cause an intense infection. Nurses ran out to grab the gurney, rushing you inside to get you prepped and ready. Price stood at the top of the ramp, back turned towards everyone else.

“You will not go near her at all, she’s going to need space to process and heal. Do I make myself clear?” Price glanced over his shoulder at Soap and Ghost.

“Sir I-” “I said, do I make myself clear sergeant?” Price couldn’t let his emotions take over, but losing a teammate because of someone else’s negligence.

“Yes sir.” Soap straightened up in his seat, ignoring the way he felt like a scorned child.

“Good, we’ll have a debrief once she’s out of surgery.” You wouldn’t be joining, but once he knew you would be alright Price could finally relax.

The doctor and nurses worked quickly to fix the broken bones littered across your body, extracting pieces of bone that had dug into the muscle of your thigh. It took them over five hours to fix you completely, relaying the news to Price. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, the worry that you wouldn’t pull through finally gone. Now it was all about making sure you healed properly.

Laswell called them to the debriefing, waiting until everyone was seated before beginning with getting every piece of information. Her expression didn’t give away any emotion of how she felt, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, getting attached to the task force. She was a little upset with them though, being unaware of your surroundings could cost your life.

“Unfortunately, she’s going to have to be discharged..permanently.” Price slammed his hands down.

“Absolutely not! You are not sending her off after everything that’s happened.” How could they just throw you away so easily?!

“I’m sorry John, this is even outside of my own jurisdiction. She got injured during a mission and might not be able to walk properly for a few years.” Fuck, you were going to be devastated hearing this.

“If she’s gone, then so am I.” Price was risking a lot for you, but you’d saved his life countless times before.

Laswell sighed, running a hand over her face before heading off to contact god knows who and see if they could keep you as part of the task force. He hadn’t fought to get this team together for nothing, and he would do whatever he could to keep everyone together. Things would work out, they had to.

—---------

You’d been struggling through physical therapy, learning to walk after having your right femur reconstructed was not easy. Price had found you the best physical therapist in all of England, determined to make sure you made a full recovery. It warmed your heart that he was so willing to help, to make sure that you were safe. He’d been by your side for months, helping you settle into your apartment and all but moving into the spare bedroom.

“Sweetheart, you’re doing amazing.” Price was standing at the opposite end of the walk way, ready to catch you in case you lost your balance.

“Fucking hurts.” You winced, arms shaking as you struggled to keep yourself upright.

Price hadn’t wanted to tell you, but Ghost and Soap had wanted to apologize, to sit down and have a discussion about everything. He wouldn’t push the subject if you disagreed, you deserved to be treated with respect first and foremost. It would be better to wait until you were back in the apartment where you could relax. Maybe he could give you one of his sweaters to wear, you always seemed to relax when wearing his clothes.

Your physical therapist was happy with your progress, saying that you were exceeding expectations and could possibly go down to three days a week instead of four. It made you feel a little bit better, knowing you were doing so well. You hadn’t been in the apartment for longer than two minutes before Price was wrapping one of his jackets around your shoulders. It was something he tended to do when he had bad news.

“Now you have every right to say no, but Johnny and Simon want to come by and talk.” John waited to see how you would react, knowing physical therapy had been a good day he felt optimistic.

“What’s there to even talk about? That they don’t see me as anything other than an annoyance? John, we're having a good day, I don’t want to ruin it.” Your eyes were pleading with him.

He wanted to argue that this conversation needed to happen or else things would only get worse for everyone. So, instead of listening to your pleas of “don’t you dare call them” John let them know to come over. He’d make it up to you later with a great dinner and some dessert. After all it was the very least he could do after subjecting you to their antics. Hopefully Johnny didn’t end up saying the wrong thing and pissing you off even more.

—-----

No one had dared utter a word for nearly ten minutes once Johnny and Simon arrived. The taller of the two had forgone even his surgical mask, muttering how it felt wrong to hide. Johnny was twiddling his thumbs, waiting for someone to break the ice so that he could make amends. John had made you a cup of cocoa(extra marshmallows and whipped cream as always). Simon sighed to himself before straightening up in his seat on the couch.

“No amount of I’m sorries will ever be enough for what happened. We never truly realized how shitty our actions were because we’d gotten so used to routine that adding someone else didn’t feel natural. I’m not saying that as an excuse, you didn’t deserve what happened, and I fully blame myself for you getting taken and for all of this.” Simon gestured vaguely to where you were perched in what was apparently John’s favorite chair.

You glanced at Simon over the rim of your mug, sipping the warm liquid as you soaked in his words. Simon wanted to mention the dollop of whipped cream on the end of your nose, but John beat him to it. He reached over and gently turned your head to face him, wiping off the cream with his thumb. Your smile was radiant, eyes sparkling as you stared back at your captain. 

Oh.

Oh.

This was something entirely new, but it also explained why John had been so angry that you were going to be discharged originally. Somehow they’d convinced Laswell, and whoever else, that you were too much of an essential player to lose. You were in love, and here they were intruding on an otherwise very personal moment. John suddenly seemed to remember the other two were there, awkwardly clearing his throat before sitting back in his seat.

“It’s going to take a while before I can fully trust you guys again, I’ve been through a lot in my life but having my teammates basically throw me to the wolves? It fucking hurts.” Maybe it was time to finally come clean about your life and who you truly were.

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, telling them about your abusive home life growing up before finally making it out and finding a purpose in life. How on every break you would stay on base and make sure it looked like you’d left when they all came back home. You didn’t want their pity, you just needed them to finally understand why you were hurt by their actions.

John had carefully scooped you up and placed you into his lap when tears began to slide down your cheeks, comforting you the best way he could. Simon could understand your pain, having dealt with abuse from his own father growing up. It was a reminder that sometimes the strongest people were often hiding the darkest past. He’d done the same thing for years, refusing to open up and let anyone close.

“We really just wanted to apologize for treating you like shit, and wanting to make sure that you were doing better now.” Johnny could see that even being shot, tortured, and left for dead that you still had that shine to you.

“I know, I’m just going to need time to process everything, it hasn’t been easy.” You wanted to forgive them, but deep down the feeling that it would happen all over again ate at your mind.

“I understand lass.” Johnny nodded, he would gladly give you time to process and even see if you could forgive him.

John set you back into the chair so he could walk Johnny and Simon out, promising to keep in touch if anything changed. He wouldn’t disrespect your decision, and with the other two being on board he wasn’t going to argue. Now it was time to sit and think about what he could make for you to make up for everything.

“Hey, I just want to say thank you for everything you’ve been doing, it means a lot.” You pushed yourself off the chair slowly, stepping over to John who looked seconds away from panicking.

“You don’t need to thank me love, it’s my pleasure.” He kept his hands out, ready to help in case you needed it.

“You’re doing a lot more than you might think, so yes, I do need to thank you.” You rested your hands on his shoulders, slightly winded at how far you’d had to walk.

John’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. He wanted to lie and say it was only because he was afraid you’d stumble. How would you react to hearing about his true feelings? Knowing that he’d harbored a crush for frankly much too long than was appropriate to be honest. Your gaze landed on his face, lips parted as you watched the way his eyes dilated ever so slightly. John couldn’t stop himself before he was kissing you, lips pressed softly against yours. You would be a liar if you’d said you hadn’t dreamt of this before, hoping that John felt the same way towards you.

You were the first to pull away, face flushed and lungs desperate for air as you clung to the cotton shirt John wore. A small chuckle slipped through his lips, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled your bodies closer.

“I’ve wanted to do that for quite a while if I’m being honest.” Your heart was racing, had you really heard him correctly?

“So have I.” You rested your forehead against his chest, relishing in the warmth he exuded.

Neither of you made to move from the kitchen, simply wrapped in each other’s embrace. You couldn’t forgive Simon and Johnny for causing the damage they did. But maybe they helped push you into the right direction. tagging: @gaylemonshark

#john price #captain john price #captain johnathan price #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price angst #john price fluff #john price fanfiction #john price fic #john price mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rudy parra #kate laswell #tw wounds #tw injury #tw torture

[spooky-pomegranate]

Through The Door:

Captain Price x F Reader (18+) 🔥 Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Ghost doesn't trust you and when he hears you and Captain Price fighting in his office he stops to listen. But he hears and sees more than he ever expected.

It’s been ten days of this. Ten days of watching, following, and listening. And somehow it still hadn’t been enough time. Ghost still hadn’t caught you. But he knew he would. He just had to remain patient. He’d keep watching. You’d slip up eventually. He was sure of it.

Even if you did have everyone else fooled.

In just ten days, you had already made fast friends with Johnny. The two of you were always laughing and telling one another stupid jokes and stories.

The last thing you’d carried on about was music. You preferred old-school rock and roll. The Stones, The Who, The Beatles. But you liked classical too. You made fun of Soap for his favorite genre, cheery electropop. You called it music for “love-sick teenage girls” and teased him endlessly. He called you “a walking iPod shuffle” and said you were confused about your own taste. You playfully punched Johnny in the arm before you both laughed like hyenas.

It was like you were siblings, the way you constantly bantered and bickered. It set Ghost on edge. You both were so comfortable around each other. It was so familiar, so natural… It wasn’t right.

And Gaz, he wasn’t any better. You had asked him for additional training and on most days, Ghost found you two at the shooting range long after the recruits had left for dinner. At first, your conversations were shallow. In between firing rounds of high-caliber ammunition, you asked him about his life on base and how long he’d known Soap and Price. But the conversations eventually grew longer. And they grew deeper. Gaz told you about his family, his hometown, and his childhood. You told him about how difficult it was to leave the States and move to the UK on your own.

Ghost could tell that as the days were passing and as your conversations were growing more meaningful, the two of you were starting to trust one another more. And that frustrated him. Why couldn’t Gaz see what he saw in you?

He wondered if your skills were what threw the others off.

Ghost couldn’t deny that you were better than most of the other recruits. You were a natural at the shooting range. You picked up on techniques quickly and put them into practice almost flawlessly. And even though you pretended to be intimidated by it in the beginning you were especially good with a sniper rifle. You always asked the right questions about the winds, the terrain, and any potential bullet drop. And while Ghost found that suspicious, Gaz seemed to be amazed by it. Proud even. He joked with you about how quickly you could do math in your head and how that would come in handy if you were ever posted up in a sniper’s nest someday.

“Over my dead body,” Ghost had mumbled to himself as he watched you both from the shadows.

But you weren’t perfect. When Ghost did pull himself out of the base’s dark corners and did talk with you, you were always nervous. You spoke at breakneck speeds. Your sentences mushed together, like a quickly moving mudslide, totally out of control and unpredictable. You struggled to look him in the eyes. You fidgeted, stared at your shoes, and gave him any excuse you could to get away.

 “Sorry can’t chat, Johnny wants to train in the gym.”

 “I think I just heard Gaz call my name.”

 “Gotta go. Price needs me.”

And Price… you definitely had that man wrapped around your little finger. Or at least Ghost thought you did until one night when he heard you two fighting inside the Captain’s office.

“Price, why won’t you tell me what you and Laswell are planning for the raid?”

Your words had stopped Ghost in his tracks. He glanced down the empty hall to make sure no one was around before sinking to his knees and pressing his ear to the door of Price’s office.

“Come on, love we’ve been over this,” he heard the Captain answer.

“But I can help!”

Your voice was pleading. You were practically begging Price. But why did you care so much Ghost wondered?

“I want you to focus on training. You asked me to teach you to fight remember?”

“I know… but you also promised to let me take some of the weight off your shoulders too.”

“You’re too smart, you know that.”

“Price…” you whined the Captain’s name and Ghost rolled his eyes. He imagined that on the other side of the door, you were probably looking up at Price with doe eyes. Needy and wanton. God… you probably were pouting your lips too.

He could only hope that Price would see through you.

“I want you to be as prepared as you can be before then. I can handle this, I promise ya I’m fine. We’ve got more resources and men now. It’s not like before. We aren’t alone anymore. Ya trust me don’t you?”

Good man, Ghost thought to himself. Don’t give in to her so easily. As long as Price continued to keep his cards close to his chest maybe they’d all get through this in one piece.

“But what if he’s there? What if he has my briefcase there and he’s figured out how to use it? He’ll see you coming. Price what if this is a setup?” You were doing that thing where you spoke 100 miles an hour again, your words sloshing and sliding into one another.

“Laswell’s been surveilling the area. He hasn’t been there. Your briefcase isn’t there.”

“Price but what if-”

“Shhh. It’s okay. Come here, love.”

Ghost heard the sound of a chair scrape and footsteps shuffle away from the door. He knew you were walking over to Price. He could practically see you standing in front of him in his mind.

Then you sighed.

“I’m tired, Price.” Your voice was softer. Ghost could barely hear you now. He tried to press even closer to the door. The metal was cold against his ear. “I know I asked for this… learning how to fight. But it’s harder than I thought it would be and…”

You stopped.

“Go on. Say it.”

“Your Lieutenant…”

Shit. Your voice was muffled.

Shit. He needed to hear this.

Ghost slowly reached for the door handle and carefully, he turned the knob. The door opened the smallest crack. He peered inside.

You were sitting across the room, straddled on Price’s lap. Your head was buried against his chest. The Captain’s hands rubbed against the back of your t-shirt in lazy circles.

“Ghost? What about him, sweetheart?”

At the sound of Price’s voice, you pulled your head from his chest.

“He hates me.”

Price stilled and his jaw clenched. Neither of you spoke. Ghost held his breath before looking to his left and right. Thankfully, the coast was still clear.

“He doesn’t trust you,” Price eventually said, breaking through the silence.

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

You sighed loudly and moved to stand, but Price reached up and quickly pulled you back toward him by your hips.

“Don’t leave,” Price said, his voice low and firm. “I trust you.”

“Then why doesn’t he?”

Because I know there’s something else going on with you, Ghost thought to himself. Because I know there’s a secret you’re hiding.

“Because he doesn’t know you like I do.” Price replied, his hand moving up your spine to hold the back of your head. “He doesn’t know how smart you are. That you can build something from nothing. He doesn’t know that you’re a fighter, that you’ve been dealt a shite hand in life but you’ve always soldiered on.”

Price leaned forward and kissed you.

Ghost looked down at the floor. He should leave, he thought. He should go back to the barracks and sit behind his computer and look for dirt on you that way. It would be less awkward. He’d feel less strange.

But Ghost didn’t move. He couldn’t.

What if this was the moment you finally slipped? What if you said something? He needed to be more patient. He’d stay a little longer. If only for Gaz, for Johnny. If they got hurt because he missed something he’d never forgive himself.

He watched as Price leaned back, pulling away from your lips. A smile sprawled across his face.

“He doesn’t know how sweet you taste either, sweetheart.”

You laughed, running your own hands through Price’s short hair as the Captain dove into your neck.

“I mean it, love. If any of those boys got to taste you like I do, if they got to feel you like I do…” Price pulled back from your neck and looked you in the eye. “If they got to fuck you like I do… none of them would ever distrust you.”

“Price, that isn’t really reassuring. You’re just saying you trust me because we’ve fucked.”

Ghost’s grip tightened against the door knob. Was that what Price was saying? Was that really all you were to him? A plaything?

He opened the door another inch. He needed to see your face better. He had to know what this was between you and his Captain.

“Remember the first day I brought you here? And I took you to my room. And I showed you all my scars. Do you remember?”

Ghost watched as Price tugged on your hair. Your head tilted back toward the ceiling and the captain dove into your neck again, kissing you just below your ear.

“Yes,” you answered with heavily weighted breath.

“And do you remember how you kissed me? How you teased me before you slid your sweet little tongue into my mouth? Do you remember?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed in affirmation.

“And do you remember how good it felt when my tongue was in between your legs? How it felt when my beard brushed against your thighs.”

Ghost felt his face grow hot. The scene in front of him made him feel like an intruder, a dirty and unwelcome voyeur. He knew he should leave.

But he couldn't make himself move.

He needed the truth.

He watched as one of Price’s hands left your hair and trailed slowly down your body. His fingers moved from your collarbone. Lower. Grazing your breast. Lower. Lingering over your stomach… Lower.

“Yesssss,” you whined as Price’s hand slid underneath the waistband of your pants and disappeared from Ghost’s view.

“And do you remember how hard you made me? Just by tasting you? Tell me you remember.”

You whimpered. It was a sound Ghost had never heard from you. Sweet. High-pitched. Soft.

Price’s shoulder moved up and down. His hand still plunged between your legs.

Ghost swallowed against a lump in his throat.

“I- fuckkkk,” you bucked your hips toward Price, “I remember.”

“And tell me you remember how I fucked you. When I first pushed inside you… how was it? Do you remember was I fast, like this?”

Ghost watched as Price moved his hand quicker. In and out. His right shoulder rose. Up and down. Faster, faster, and faster.

You yelped. The noise was loud and short. Your hands left Price’s hair and dug into his shoulders. You were clawing into him desperately. Falling apart with every second, every movement.

“No… no you weren’t fast,” your voice wavered as you answered.

“Good. Good girl. You remembered. Yeah, I was slow, just like this. Wasn’t I?” Price eased his pace, slowing down the movement of his hand buried in your pants.

“Yes… just like that,” you moaned as your eyes rolled back. You were lifting your hips up and down on Price’s lap now. Matching his pace.

Ghost shifted on his knees. His hand tightened against the doorknob as he continued to watch you both from the dimly lit hall.

“Has anyone else ever made you feel like that before, sweetheart? Has anyone ever made you feel that good?” Price asked as his voice dropped lower. He was practically growling at you.

And you…your face turned pink. Your lips parted. Your eyes closed. And your breathing… it became sporadic. Each inhale became a gasp. Each exhale became more desperate than the last.

This was wrong. Ghost shouldn’t be watching this. This wasn’t his intention. He never meant to see this. His eyes fell to the ground. But still, he stayed. He listened.

“No,” you moaned.

“That’s right. And no one has ever made me feel as good as you did either. You felt so good, love. So fucking good. And you want to know why I trust you?”

Ghost eyes snapped back to the two of you. This was the answer he needed.

“Mmmm tell me...” you gasped. The Captain picked up his pace, his hand delving between your legs with greater force. God the sounds your body was making. They were so loud. “Please tell me, Price.”

“It’s because I love you, beautiful. I’m so in love with you. You’re so perfect. I trust you with my life because I love you. I want to fuck you like that all the time… because I love you. If anyone got to love you like I love you they would trust you. Forever. Always.”

Ghost heard enough. He quietly backed away and gently closed the door.

He had found a truth today. Even if it wasn’t his place to hear it.

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

(More from this story on AO3)

#call of duty #captain price #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price #cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x you #call of duty mwii

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Reader loves Ghost, but so shy to tell her feelings, at the same time he also has feelings for the reader but hesitates to talk. They just stare each other, all day long.

At that point Soap to Ghost: Just say that you like her!

Also to reader: Just say that you like him!

Matchmaker Soap, approved 👌🏻

Ayeee! Yes, I love this. Hope you enjoy this one🩷🙈

Soap, The Matchmaker

Simon Riley x Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of nervousness, fluff

"Lass, just tell him how you feel!” Soap pleaded with you. "You stare at the lad enough, surely you've got the confidence to tell him."

"Hell no. Johnny, he barely talks to me as is. I'd just end up embarrassing myself." You smiled sadly, waiving away your friends' attempts to have you confess.

"He doesn't talk to you, because he's nervous! Trust me, he likes you too." Soap was growing desperate.

"It's okay, Johnny. I'll settle with admiring him from afar." You gave the Scot a pat on his shoulder before making your way to the bar for another beer.

Johnny groaned audibly and let his eyes drift over to where his Lieutenant was standing. Ghost always had his eyes on you whenever you were around him. Johnny couldn't possibly understand how you couldn't tell he was interested in you. The man was your literal shadow.

He stood up abruptly, and made his way over to Simon, a cheeky grin forming on his lips. "Hey, L.T."

Simon regarded him carefully as he moved his gaze from you. "Soap."

"Don't think I don't catch you staring at her." He nudged Ghost playfully. "You should try talking to her, tell her how you feel."

"No clue what you're talking about Sargeant."

"Away and bile yer heid. You and I both know you're fond of the lass." Soap chided, narrowing his eyes at his masked friend. "She might be fond of you too, you know, just probably hasn't got the courage to tell ye because you're scary as shite."

Ghost only grunted in response but felt his cheeks heating from under his mask. It was true. He was fond of you and had been for a long time. The issue was that he wasn't used to these feelings and frankly didn't know how to act.

Truth was that you made him nervous. Anytime he was around you, he'd get butterflies in his belly, and his tongue became molasses, unable to get any words out. He felt like a damn school boy with a crush for the first time.

He looked over to Johnny, to find the mohawked man already smiling at him. "Fuck off, Johnny."

"Love you too. L.T." Soap chuckled.

By the end of the night, Soap realized his efforts were in vain. The two of you clearly showed no inclination to tell each other how you felt, and the Scot felt he'd be doomed to watch you two skirt around your feelings forever.

Little did he know, Simon was mustering up the courage to ask you if he could walk you back to base.

~

"Y/N." You heard your voice being called from behind you at the bar, and you turned your head.

"Lieutenant." Your cheeks turned a light pink, flustered under the masked man's heavy stare. "What can I do for you?"

"I was.. going to head back to base. Was wondering if you'd care to join me." Ghost's heart was beating rapidly, his palms sweating. He was so goddamned nervous.

Your smile from his words could've lit up the entire room, and Ghost could've sworn he felt his heart stop. "I'd love to, sir."

He gave a small nod, before offering his arm to you. You wrapped your hand around his bicep, and let him lead the way back to base.

The walk back to base was long, and was filled with a comfortable silence for the better part of it.

When you were about halfway to base, Simon had cleared his throat. "Nice night out here."

You giggled at his attempt for small talk, and nodded your head. "It is. I love when I can see the stars. Makes you feel so small."

He turned his head to you, a smile forming on his lips, unbeknownst to you. "My mum used to say that when I was younger. Said we are all like specks of dust when it comes to the size of the universe."

"Smart woman." You smiled.

"That she was." Simon nodded, coming to a stop, and turning to you. "Hey."

You stopped alongside him, turning to him with a bemused expression. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just.." Simon felt like he was going to pass out. He could feel a bead of sweat dripping from his head, and his hands started to shake. "Had something I wanted to tell you."

You gave him a soft smile, and nodded your head to encourage him to continue. "Okay."

"Y/N. I can't.. bloody hell.." He fumbled for words, his tongue becoming thick in his mouth. "I cannot get you out of my head. You're always there. And hell, it frustrates the shit out of me."

Your eyes widened, and took a step back from him. "Oh…I'm sorry." You didn't know what else to say.

Simon, seeing the alarm in your eyes, immediately continued. "Fuck, no no not like that. That came out wrong. God I'm not good at this." He rubbed the back of his head nervously.

And then it hit you. He was trying to confess that he liked you. Johnny was right all along.

Your lips upturned slightly, and you moved closer to him, placing a hand softly on his arm. "I.. I can't get you out of my head either, Simon. You seem to have a permanent spot up here." You pointed to your head with a smile.

Simon felt all the weight on his shoulders fall at your words, his eyes lighting up. He didn't know what to say next. This was beyond his area of expertise… God he wished Johnny were here to tell him-

His thoughts cut short, as he felt your fingers dance at the bottom of his balaclava. You looked up to him questioning if it was okay to continue.

He gave a short nod, and you started to slowly lift up the edge of his mask, stopping it just below his nose. You didn't want to overstep anymore than you felt you already had. You saw his lips curve upward before he slowly leaned down toward you.

You met him halfway, and pressed your lips to his. His lips were rough, and chapped, but the kiss was incredibly gentle. He sighed deeply against your lips, and his hands ghosted on your hips.

Pulling away, he gave you a cheeky smile, before pulling off the rest of his mask. You let out a small gasp, as your eyes trailed over his features.

He was prettier than you ever could have imagined. Even with the scars and marks, he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on. "You're so handsome, Simon."

You reached a hand out and placed it on his cheek. He nestled his head into your palm slightly, placing a kiss to your wrist.

He leaned down once more to capture your lips in his, this time fully resting his hands on your hips. "Think I owe Johnny a drink for this one. Mate helped me out." He chuckled as he pulled away breathless. He grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

"Think we both do. Who would've thought. Soap, the matchmaker."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Why do I want to write a smutty part two for everything😭😭😭😭😭

#cod imagine #simon riley imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader

[thetravelingtyper]

Miscellaneous Soft! Simon Headcannons!

The album Northern Attitude by Noah Kahan has wrecked my brain So please enjoy!

Masterlist!

Soft Simon likes being within grabbing distance. I feel he always has a hand on you but doesn't want to be overbearing. I think he still has his demons, how can he not, but through love and a lot of work he can manage and accept seeing the face behind the mask. Work yes he has it on 24/7 but Simon, your Simon, tries to keep the bitterness and freeze of Ghost away.

Soft Simon always has a hint of fear of you leaving. You wouldn't of course but there is always that want to run. The vulnerability of pulling down the necessary walls. It comes in nightmares. I think in turn if you suffer from an anxiety disorder (Like I do) he understands your fears, especially if you have trauma. And if you were gone somehow, he would dream of you with a wistful sigh as he tries to go on about his day.

Soft Simon has a dog who happens to love you. Be it you are a close friend or partner. He quietly cherishes you, honey eyes warming to yours as you bury your nose in his dog's fur. I am unsure about children but I could see a healed Simon as a good father.

Soft Simon who chats about you casually to Soap, Gaz, and Price. If you aren't together the boys do their best to push him to confess his feelings. They realized you, independent and gentle would be good for the man. Say you two part ways for honest reasons, he's too dedicated to work per se, his door would always be open.

As you dance the line between friends and something more there are signs. His dog runs to the door, your spare clothes in the guest bedroom, and spare boots are by your door. More intimate? The smell of him on your clothing as he lingers in the bathroom on leave. You're doing your skincare and he leans over you from behind, you huff his arms barring your work so you hand him something to keep him occupied.

Did you get sick? You better believe Simon is there, he lingers like a shadow. Physical? He'll bring you food or make it in your kitchen somehow having learned where everything was. Mental? Simon's been through hell, he understands those demons. He'll pop in over text asking if you took your meds. He keeps a packed kit for you at his place. If there is any anxiety he'll help you work through it.

He will watch if you start to spiral, especially if you are running from something. He is the lighthouse at the port in the storm. He encourages you with a guiding hand and will lead you back home into his arms. It is his hope you choose to stay. 

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader #fanfiction #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #cod mw2 2022 fanfic #soft!simon #simon 'ghost' riley x reader

[rascal-xo]

What's up! Umm, I got a request another actually ideas be popping in my head. For ghost x reader, where the reader is a world-class boxer and is like undefeated like the reader is pretty much female Mike tyson (BTW if you don't know who Mike tyson is he was pretty much a scary boxer who knocked people ass out , people were scared of him and he bit someone ear off ) and reader is like so deadly in the ring she almost kills someone or gets called this pretty sick nickname and everyone on the task force is afraid of her but ghost being ghost doubts the readers skills and challenges the reader in the ring and gets his ass beaten badly like a REALLY bad broken nose, jaw or like gets his ass knocked out. Just a thought: I hope this is acceptable 🙏. I love your writing.

Sunday Punch | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Chapter summary: You’re a lethal fighter in the ring, and a seasoned soldier in the field. The 141 get front tickets to your underground double life.

Warnings: Fights, bodily injury, blood, language

Tags: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasure @pukbadger

A/N: Ty for sending in another amazing request! you keep my brain happy lolll 🩷🩷 I hope you enjoy! (It’s a long one i’m sorry LMAO i got carried away)

P.S: Sunday Punch is just another way of saying KnockOut.

It’s no secret that you’re a talented soldier. With every move you make in the field, you showcases an unrivaled combination of skill, agility, and raw power. You holdheld quite the reputation around base, especially for your skills in combat.

Most of the younger cadets at the academy were also hesitant to be paired up with you, mostly afraid to get knocked out.

Whether it's engaging in close-quarters combat or taking down enemies from a distance, your every move is calculated and executed to your advantage. Your training has molded you into a formidable force, capable of adapting to any situation with ease.

But you haven’t always been like that. Going through the ranks before and during your recruitment to the 141, you were pushed beyond your boundaries and worked through.

Now you’re lethal, and one of the military’s strongest assets. But like anyone else, you have hobbies. Dangerous hobbies.

You step into the dimly lit underground arena, the air thick with anticipation. It's early, and the entire space lies empty, granting you a moment of solitude before the chaos ensues. The only sound is the distant hum of the overhead lights, casting an ethereal glow over the barren ring.

With a focused gaze, you tighten your fists and step forward. Your first strike connects with the bag, and the impact reverberates through the arena like a gunshot. The sound echoes off the empty seats, filling the air with the thunderous force of your blows.

The scent of sweat and anticipation lingers in the air, fueling your senses. Your muscles ripple beneath your skin, coiled and ready for action.

Your teammates on the 141 know you lead a mysterious life when you’re not at work, but have never seen you in action. You decided that it was time to let your most trusted friends in on your endeavors. Mostly because Soap was dying to see you in the ring.

The Captain isn’t very fond of you putting yourself into dangerous situations outside of your already severely dangerous occupation. He’s like a father to you, but he also understands and respects your talent.

Now as you sit in your dimly lit dressing room, the anticipation of the upcoming underground boxing match courses through your veins. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and determination, mingling with the faint echo of distant cheers from the eager crowd.

The mirror before you reflects the flickering glow of a single bare lightbulb dangling from above, casting shadows across your face.

You take a deep breath, the adrenaline surging within you as you run your fingers through your hair. The rhythmic motion of braiding your hair has always been a ritual before each fight or mission, a way to focus your mind and steel your resolve.

“Quite a crowd tonight, Bullet.” A voice breaks the silence. You look up to see Anchor, the man who arranges the fights. You’ve been fighting in his arena for 3 years.

He’s wearing his signature navy blue suit, his hair gelled and a championship ring on each finger. He throws you an envelope and you catch it on your bare lap. “Three thousand. Five when you win.” He winks, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve got Tank Gomez tonight.”

You open the envelope and glance at its contents, the crisp bills tucked neatly within. Anchors the only other person you’ve ever trusted besides your team. He trained your mind to always be lethal and ready, coming from a fighting background himself. “Copy that.” You say, a smile at your lips.

“When do you deploy?” He asks, crossing his arms. “People don’t seem to care about me when ‘Bullet’ isn’t in the ring.” You shake your head at the nickname you’ve acquired.

“3 days. So don’t scuff me up too bad.” You tease, getting up to put on your robe.

The crowd awaits, hungry for the spectacle that is about to unfold. But it's more than just a performance; it's a test of your mettle, an opportunity to showcase your mastery of the craft.

With Anchor's support, you step forward, ready to embrace the chaos and reclaim your rightful place in the ring. The anticipation builds, the sound of the crowd growing louder as you make your way through the corridors.

As you step into the ring, the air crackles with anticipation. The crowd roars, their excitement reverberating through the arena. Across from you stands your opponent, a formidable figure, a big man whose sheer size alone could intimidate the faint of heart.

As you take your stance, a flicker of movement catches your attention from the corner seats. Soap, Price, Gaz, and Ghost, are there, watching you intently. Soap sends an energetic thumbs up, cheering you on.

Yet, as you meet Ghost's gaze, you notice his eyes. The usual seriousness is replaced by a coldness, an intensity that makes it unreadable. He looks away. Ghost has never been one to support your hobbies, but watches along anyway.

The referee's voice cuts through the tension, signaling the start of the fight. The world around you narrows, and everything else becomes a blur. It's just you, your opponent, and the dance of combat.

You move with purpose, your training guiding your every step. Dodging, weaving, and countering, you navigate the ring with grace and precision. Each blow is calculated, your fists finding their mark with practiced accuracy.

The big man lunges forward, his power evident in every punch he throws. But you refuse to be overwhelmed. Your speed and agility become your greatest assets, allowing you to evade his strikes while retaliating with your own punishing combinations.

“Argh!” One of his punches land, striking you right under the eye. You curse knowing the bruise it’s gonna leave later. You feel a little blood drop down your cheek. Recovering quickly you bounce back.

With each passing second, the intensity of the fight grows, both you and your opponent refusing to back down. Sweat beads on your brow, mingling with the taste of blood and adrenaline on your lips. The rounds blur together, time becoming inconsequential as you immerse yourself in the battle, fully present, fully alive.

As the final bell sounds, the crowd erupts in applause. The fight is over, your opponent is out cold, and you've given it your all. You stand tall in the center of the ring, catching your breath, as the referee holds your victory arm up high.

After a grueling workout, you find yourself in the open gym on the military base, sweat glistening on your brow and a towel draped around your neck. Your bruised knuckles draw your attention, serving as a reminder of the battle you fought in the ring just a week ago.

As you examine them, lost in your thoughts, the door swings open, and Ghost walks in, his presence commanding attention. “Hey.” You say to him, with a nod.

“You’re here.” He replies, monotonously. His normal gear is now replaced with gym shorts and T-shirt. He trades out the full skull mask with a black balaclava.

“Why wouldn’t I be.” You chuckle, watching as he sets down a weight. You would normally work out with Ghost as you’ve got sort of a friendship that’s built over the years.

Today he seems awfully distant. You feel the tension growing between the two of you. You knew he was never a fan of you fighting for show, he was the first person you told about your endeavors, and he wasn’t too thrilled.

Ghost's eyes briefly meet yours before shifting away. You lean against the hanging punching bag, and cross your arms. It's evident that he's harboring a deep anger, his normally calm demeanor shattered by the concern that has festered within him.

“It was nice of you to come out the other night.” You say, testing the waters. His head turns in your direction as he takes you in. His gaze stops at your knuckles.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He says, looking right through you. You scoff a dry laugh.

“Haven’t yet.”

“You think this is funny?”

Ghost's voice cuts through the air, his anger palpable. You straighten up, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. The tension between you escalates, the air crackling with unresolved emotions.

"No, Simon, I don't think it's funny," you reply, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and defiance. "But I also don't think it's fair for you to dictate what I can or cannot do. This is my choice, my path."

Ghost's eyes narrow, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Your choice? This isn't just about you, Y/N," he snaps, his voice biting with a sense of betrayal. "Every time you step into that ring, you're not just risking your own life; you're risking everything."

His words hit you hard, the weight of his disappointment bearing down on you. You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to convey your own perspective.

“I've trained for this, I know what I'm doing."

Ghost scoffs, his disbelief evident in his tone. "Trained? You think a few months of underground fights make you invincible?”

“Fuck you. You never fucking supported anything I do!” You throw your towel down, needing to get away from him and get some fresh air into your system.

An hour later, Price calls you and the guys for the group training session. He divides the team into pairs for sparring, and to your surprise (or perhaps fate's twisted sense of humor), you find yourself standing face to face with Ghost.

The tension between you is palpable, the lingering anger and hurt casting a shadow over the training session.

Price's voice breaks through the silence, setting the rules and reminding everyone to "play nice." But deep down, you know that the emotions swirling inside you threaten to break through the facade of control.

The bell rings, signaling the start of the spar, and you and Ghost cautiously circle each other. As the seconds tick by, you feel the anger inside you bubbling to the surface, fueling your movements.

His movements are measured, his punches and kicks executed with surgical precision. He weaves in and out, his strikes landing with pinpoint accuracy, but you matche him blow for blow, refusing to back down.

The sound of fists meeting flesh echo through the training room as your strikes collided. The intensity of their spar escalates with each passing second, the energy between you crackling like electricity.

Without warning, you lash out, throwing a punch fueled by a mix of frustration and pent-up emotions. Your fist connects with Ghost's nose, the impact resounding through the air. Time seems to slow down for a moment as he staggers back, blood staining his balaclava from his broken nose.

The realization of what you've done hits you like a punch to the gut. The anger dissipates, replaced by a flood of guilt and regret. His eyes meet yours, raging and stone cold. “Fucking hell. You just don’t know when to stop do you?”.” He curses, his shoulder hitting yours as he leaves the mat.

“Si-wait!” You call after him, but before you can say anymore Price stops you.

Enough," Price's voice cuts through the air, firm and resolute. His gaze shifts between you and Ghost, assessing the situation. "Take a breather, both of you."

He gestures towards the side of the mat, signaling for you to step aside. You comply, your mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions.

A/N: That’s all I got for now or else imma be writing like 10,000 words just on this LMAO

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty smut #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #141 x you #141 x reader #task force 141 #modern warfare smut #simon riley x reader #captain price #soap mactavish

[mykneeshurt]

Breath work

Am I a ghost simp? Damn right baby, since I played that menace back in 2009. All the edits on tik tok have gotten me feral and frothing at the mouth. He could break my neck and I’d thank him, so have a quick one from me (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

I have other ideas I’m working on, but I work full time so please bare with ✨

Feedback always welcome, I DO NOT own the mask line we all know and love, it was too good not to put in here. I DO NOT own any of the characters mentioned. I do not own the gif, credited on the tag line.

Warnings - breath play, vaginal sex, rough, unprotected sex, quick sex, no minors! Get outta here.

I tried to keep him the silent type, and everything he says I said to myself in his accent first lmfao to see if it sounded good 😂

The first time you met Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was when you were introduced to Task Force 141, as a new Special Forces Sargent. The rest of the team welcomed you with open arms, keen to get to know you. John ‘Soap’ McTavish and you soon become good friends. But Ghost? Nothing. He barely even acknowledged you. You were all currently at base in Herefordshire, training whilst waiting for your next mission instructions.

Your down time was spent at the firing rage letting off some steam. It was early November so there was a chill in the air. As you led on your stomach lining up your target you took in a deep breath to steady your aim. Squeezing the trigger the shot fired and the butt of the gun kicked back into your firm shoulder. Bullseye. Smiling to your self you sat up on your knees taking in the clean morning air. ‘Not bad’ a gruff voice rang out behind you making you jump. Spinning around you saw Ghost stood before you, his intimidating frame casting a shadow with the morning sun.

‘Not bad?’ You asked completely offended, who does he think he is? He barely speaks two words to you and now he’s critiquing your marksmanship? You got to your feet in a huff and barged past him, placing your rifle on the table. He stood arms crossed against his wide chest, his biceps bulging underneath his khaki jumper. You stood drinking him in, all of him. He stood at roughly 6’2, towering above you and you 5’5 medium build. Thick strong thighs sat under his tight cargo trousers begging to be touched.

He let out a small sigh ‘yeah not bad, could do with brushing up on your breath work though.’ Was he actually doing this? You were a special forces Sargent who specialised in weapons? Sure he was good, you’d seen his record but was he as good as you? Surely not?

Scowling at him you crossed your own arms closing off your body, ‘fine, you can show me. Seeing as I’m clearly not up to your standard.’ Grabbing your rifle you walked back over to him slamming it into his chest. Fuck, you thought to yourself, his chest was rock hard. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you let go of the gun, catching his gaze.

If you’d have known any better you’d say you saw a slight movement in his eyes indicative of a smirk. Ghost led prone on the floor, his right knee bent parallel to his hips. His ass looked phenomenal in that position, it was only when you heard 3 rounds go off did you avert your gaze back to the target. Damn, fucker was fast. Seeing him do that in the flesh was … something else. He peered over his shoulder at you, the white skull detail was stark contrast the black paint he kept on around his eyes. ‘Try again, I’ll help you’ he gestured.

Rolling your eyes you led next to him on the floor, you’d never been this close before. Your left arm brushed against his as you took hold of your rifle, your hip in line with his as you brought you knee up to position. You took aim as Ghost took hold of your shoulders slightly altering your position. His grip was firm, his large hands encasing your shoulders with ease. He trailed his hands to your ribs ‘breathe in’ he commanded. Taking a breath in to steady yourself was torture, you felt like you were going to explode. ‘Hold it here’ he said as he gripped your chest, your heart was pounding at his touch. As you held your breath at his desired depth you squeezed the trigger, one, two, three times. Hitting the bullseye again but this time it felt cleaner.

‘Better.’ He said finally letting go of your ribs. You let out a shaky breath, ‘thanks, sir.’ You mumbled, feeling him slightly tense next to you. If there was one thing you had noticed about Ghost, it was his eyes. Dusky blue peering out of his black skull balaclava which he never took off. They always seemed so empty, glazed over and yet always full of emotion. He never outwardly showed much emotion during missions, he and Soap were close and he trusted his team. Soap always told you about his great sense of humour, but he was yet to share that with you. You were nearly always paired with Gaz or Captain Price in the field.

Ghost got to his feet before helping you up, his firm grip on your hand and the ease he pulled you up with further made your heart pound in your chest. He’s your lieutenant, your superior, you shouldn’t be having these feelings … these thoughts. Your mind wandered to what his hands would feel like around your thro … ‘alright love?’ Ghost asked interrupting your train of thought. Flustered you let go of his hand and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. ‘Oh, yeah, sorry, not with it today.’ Your hair was normally slicked back into a tight bun, as per regulations. But no one bothered you out here this early, so you’d wear your hair in a loose plait instead.

‘That was a good shot, hold your breath just like I showed you. You’ll be making cleaner shots in no time.’ You smiled up at him through your thick lashes. ‘How did you know I was down here?’ He visibly tensed, staring with his arms crossed across his chest, staring right at you. ‘I always know where you are.’ He replied bluntly.

He took a step forward closing the space between you, his gaze never faltered from yours. Your breath hitched in your throat and you instinctively took a step backwards. ‘W … what?’ You stammered, surprised but not afraid.

He reached forward and grabbed your belt pulling you into him, you slammed into his firm chest. He snaked his hand to the back of your neck, his gaze becoming suddenly more intense. You placed your hands on his abdomen, your nails firmly gripping his jumper. You could feel his breath beneath his mask brushing over your flushed skin. Short shallow breaths escaped your lips, as you searched his eyes for any clue of what he was thinking.

Nothing.

‘Simon?’ You stuttered beneath your breath ‘what are you doing?’ His hand cradled the base of your skull and neck, his thumb and forefinger adding slight pressure. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips and back again, pupils dilated. Yet he still seemed un phased by what he was doing. You licked your dry plump lips, all moisture seeming to have escaped your mouth. His eyes flicked down again, if you hadn’t have been concentrating you would have missed it. His gloved hand still gripping onto your belt as he pulled you closer still. He brought his head to your ear ‘I 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 want to know where you are’ he growled.

You clenched your thighs together, his deep voice ricocheting through your body. The tension between you two was building, something had to give. It was a matter of time of who would break first. His clean but musky smell invaded your nostrils further heightening how aroused you were. You looked up at him with doe like eyes, lips slightly parted.

‘Take it off’ you asked looking at his mask.

‘Negative.’

‘Why? Are you ugly?’ You smirked.

‘Quite the opposite’ he replied, sounding amused. Slowly you creeped your hand up his chiselled body, searching his eyes for any objection. As you got to the base of his mask you slipped a finger under the fabric, the pressure of the back of your neck increased. His eyes never straying from yours, fuck this guy is intense.

You slowly brought your other hand to the bottom of his mask and began to roll it up. His defined stubbled chin and full lips came into view. Slowly you traced your thumb around his lips, before slowly dragging your thumb on his bottom lip. Managing to get a glimpse of his white straight teeth. His grip on your belt tightened, so much so you could hear the crunch of the leather. His breath smelt like mint as it caressed your face. You traced your thumb again, this time placing your other hand on the side of his neck. His pulse felt steady, almost relaxed, because of course it did. His skin was warm and soft to the touch, as you grazed your nails along the back of his neck. You broke eye contact first, glancing at his lips, silently begging him to make to make the first move.

Without warning he dropped his hand from your neck to your ass and lifted you with ease. Coaxing you to wrap your legs around his waist, which you did without hesitation. He took a few steps before your back met with the brick wall of the shelter with a dull thud. The thud caused an involuntary moan to slip past your lips whilst you tried to catch your breath. As your lips parted Ghost met them with his own, his kiss tasted of pure desperation. Desperation to taste you, to feel you, to claim you. His other hand still cradled the back of your head, where he placed it to stop it from hitting the brick.

He led the kiss, opening your mouth with his, his tongue meeting yours as he tightened his grip in your hair. Breathless he pulled away ‘fuckin’ hell’ he muttered. Another moan escaped you as you caught your breath, tightening your legs around his waist. Begging for some friction to release the tension. ‘Dirty fuckin’ bitch’ he growled before reclaiming your mouth. He lightly tapped your thigh for you to get down, he lowered you to the floor not breaking the kiss.

As he kissed you, you heard a belt buckle rattle before he pulled your plait, forcing you to look at him. ‘I wanna see how good your breath work really is.’ He slowly wrapped his belt around your neck before pulling it tight, ‘that’s it’ he whispered in your ear in a low tone. He pulled the belt tighter until you had just enough room to inhale. You gripped his forearm, feeling his muscles tighten and he gripped the belt. Each fibre rippling under your fingertips. ‘Don’t touch the belt sweetheart, or I’ll stop.’

Nodding, he turned you around and pushed your torso into the red brick. He pulled your elbows behind your back holding them in his firm grip. His free hand slid under your top, his gloved hand grazed your skin. You just about managed to squeeze your vocal cords together ‘the glove … off’, you panted. Ghost placed the tip of his gloved finger on your lips, as you bit the tip of the glove he slid his hand out. Placing his hand once again on your stomach, this time the sensation of skin on skin burned through you.

He undid your belt and popped open your trousers, slowly working his hand inside. His fingertips brushed over your black lace panties, eliciting a gasp from your lips. He yanked your trousers down just below the crease of your ass. A sharp blow hit the right cheek before he pulled your panties down also. He pulled your hips back into him forcing you to stand at an angle, your cheek pressed into the wall. You could feel his gaze burning into you, ‘fuck … me’ you groaned through gritted teeth and a constricted throat. He caressed your thigh ‘patience love.’

An eager but exasperated moan left you as you looked over your shoulder at him. Silently pleading. He’d pulled his mask back down over his lips, once again becoming Ghost, looking back at you through hooded black eyes. Without warning he cupped your pussy, your eyes rolled back from the much needed touch. He let out a grunt of approval before sinking a finger into you. You arched your back into him, this wasn’t want you wanted, what you needed. What you needed was for him to fuck you.

Sensing this, he lined up his cock and thrust into you. Forcing you to take him in one go, it was the most pleasurable burn. Breathy moans filled the morning air between you. He steadied your hips with his hand as he quickly established a firm pace. Letting go of your elbows you placed them on the wall in-front of you for extra support. The shape of your body in this position drove him crazy. The defined muscles of your back peeking out from the bottom of your top, tensing with every thrust. He grabbed your wrist, guiding it down to your clit, instantly understanding you began rubbing firm circles.

He unexpectedly let out a small whimper from underneath his mask, he was close. ‘Good girl’ he praised, ‘just like that … fuck.’ You were close too, the pressure began building, your muscles becoming tighter. Hoarse moans left your throat, the belt feeling tighter and tighter. You came just before he did, clenching around his generous sized cock. He slid his hand under your top grasping at the untouched skin of your chest. ‘Please don’t stop’ you gasped, desperate for air. The pleading tone in your voice sent him over the edge. He came in your still pulsating pussy, filling you with his cum. You looked over your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, meeting his eyes with a filthy smile on your lips as he filled you up.

His rhythm slowed until he eventually stopped, making sure every last drop was inside you. As he pulled out he watched as yours and his cum dripped out of your pussy slowly. Not being one for waste he trailed his finger up your thigh to push it back in, the feel of his finger sliding back in was bliss. He undid his belt from around your neck as you pulled up your trousers, a satisfied grin plastered on your face.

Your face still flushed you looked up at him ‘not bad Riley, but maybe I can help you with your technique.’

#fan fic smut #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #smut

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Ghost of Christmas Past

[Ghost x Reader]

Warnings: Implications of Ghost’s past (spoilers, in a way), fluff, FLUFF, angst for maybe 3 seconds (very brief), Reader being the best™ gift giver ever, Ghost being a little jealous, implications of romance, no pronouns used for reader except ‘You’.

Wordcount: 1,892

Summary: You try to get everyone into the Christmas spirit and show your love and appreciation, but not everyone seems willing to enjoy the festivities...

You stood watching everyone watching you, a comically large smile making your cheeks ache. Beside you sat a bag, woven with a stiff material and bulging in certain areas, some sharp, some round. The common room was vaguely decorated to resemble a sliver of Christmas, some streamers hung by nails and a wall hanging of reindeer.

"So?" Alejandro said, arms crossed over his chest and a smile threatening to break out across his face. "What did you call us all here for?"

"Good question, my shiny-haired friend!" Alejandro smoothed back his hair, a smug look crossing his features. You wanted to build suspense. You eyed everyone, gaze shifting from soldier to soldier, friend to friend. At the very edge of your vision loomed a figure who hadn't spoken all day. Your eyes passed over him, his stare, holding it there before flitting away.

"Come on, (Y/N)!" wailed Soap, throwing his hands up in the air. "Tell us what's going on! It's obviously something to do with that sack you bloody well made me carry here since you couldn't do it yourself."

His tone was joking, but what he said wasn’t a joke; he and everyone else already had a delighted suspicion that what lay in your bag was a rare delicacy in the force.

Presents.

You couldn't hold it for much longer. You cracked.

"Alright, alright! You win," You bent down and opened the sack, keeping the mouth wide open. Taking a step back you looked expectantly at everyone.

The boys just looked at each other, seeming to exchange their uncertainty. You sighed loudly, reached into the sack and withdrew a brightly-coloured something coated in wrapping paper. "They're gifts!" You said, making an excited motion with your free hand. "For you!"

Some went slack-jawed, followed by cheers and ‘thank you’s, a swarm of large men encircling you. Others showed stoic appreciation with a brief hum and a barely-contained smile (Price).

Despite their shadows encapsulating you, the room felt brighter, light. Cheery. Someone ruffled your hair, another picked you up and twirled you in their arms. When you regained your footing and the room stopped spinning, you smiled. Then faltered as you noticed a shadow of a man still sticking to the wall, not having moved since everyone first arrived.

"They're all marked with nametags so don't go opening anyone else's presents!" you called back to the group, trying not to let Ghost’s dark stare freeze you or your Christmas spirit.

"Presents - plural?" John's soft accent piqued, showcasing a childlike excitement usually stamped out by the very foundations the likes that the 141 worked for.

You nodded, and the room seemed to brighten more.

"And this is why you're my favourite soldier," said Price, patting your shoulder.

"Aw, that's not fair," said Gaz, smirking. "I thought I was your favourite."

"That was before (Y/N) showed some initiative."

Between the conversations, the rustling of wrapping paper, the passing of gifts, Ghost's silence drew you to him. The complete vacancy of his presence was...eerie compared to the joviality filling the room. You looked at each other, gaze interlocked, unable to look away. You offered him a smile, your heart pounding as it always did when Ghost was near.

The sound of tearing paper drew your attention away from him. Tailing it was a gasp.

There stood Alejandro, mouth agape and eyes wide with wonder. In his hands lay a jumper. But not just any jumper.

"This is-"

"A genuine, signed, 1986 limited edition The Who concert jumper ," you finished. You'd hand-picked each and every present, tracked them down and emptied your bank account to ensure that they came to the right people, their true forever homes.

Alejandro didn't say anything - couldn't say anything. He took broad steps towards you and threw his arms around you, pulling you tight against him. Warmth spread through you, filling you. You felt like a lava lamp long after Alejandro pulled away and pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

It might have been your imagination, but you swore you could see Ghost's grip on his forearms tighten, the fabric of the sleeve bunching.

After seeing how made up Alejandro was with his gift, everyone else tore into theirs. A wave of gasps and proclamations of "Just what I've always wanted!" and “Where did you get this?!”, followed by more ‘thank you’s and hugs filled the room. Soap got a vintage hardback collector's edition of Dracula, Gaz received a candyfloss maker (which he seemed marginally embarrassed about yet entirely grateful for), and Price, shocking no-one, received combat boots. Steel-toed, banned in 93 countries, super grip, compartmentalised combat boots. You showed him the secret sections in the heel and wherever else, perfect for hiding whatever suited him at the time.

The room buzzed with ecstaticity.

"Ghost!" Soap called, "Come and 'ave a look!"

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Oh no.

Ghost shifted, pushing off the wall and taking slow steps towards the sack. The room quietened as he drew closer, watching expectantly with bated breath. The reveal of the present would be an indicator of Ghost's nature, his wants and desires.

Or, that was what everyone thought would happen. Everyone but you.

Ghost's eyes remained half-lidded, as if he were trying to hide something behind the guise of disinterest. He peered over the lip of the sack. His demeanour didn't change.

There was nothing left inside.

When it became clear that Ghost wasn't reaching inside not out of stage fright but out of a sheer lack of need to, everyone turned to look at you. Rather than displeasement or anger, there was...confusion?

You looked at Ghost, not wanting to face the crowd behind you. But that made it no easier to face the behemoth before you. His eyes almost didn't meet yours. He was unreadable and unequivocally terrifying.

The room tensed, air thickening like lard. You had to cut the silence. Act now.

"Ghost," you squeaked, voice thin and weak. "Step outside with me for a minute, please?" 

After what may have been deliberation, he gave a slight nod, and with you power-walking ahead and throwing open the door, followed behind.

He wouldn't admit it, but he felt embarrassed. He hadn't expected to receive any gifts this year, as he'd never received one any other year, but something about being excluded made something in him stir. Uncomfortably.

His childhood had been a piss-poor one, each Christmas a punishment rather than a time for celebration, a reminder that he had nothing while every other child had something whether it be gifts, love, or just a family.

The door closed behind him, drawing him from his contemplation. His hulking form cast a long shadow over you. You swallowed thickly, then turned to look at him.

"I-"

"Did I upset you."

Ghost's question (or statement), oddly genuine, took you off-guard.

"N-no!" you said.

"Then what inspired you to display your disliking of me so publicly." This wasn't a question. It was an interrogation.

"Ghost,  you've done nothing to upset me." You wafted your hands in front of you as if trying to clear the tension thickening around you, suffocating you.

"Then explain that little stunt of yours-"

"I'm trying!" Your voice came out much louder than you'd wanted it to and you knew that the boys had heard it, too. You cleared your throat and looked down.

"Sorry," you mumbled. You reached behind you and, from beneath your shirt, you withdrew a package. It was neatly wrapped as all the others were, but this one was different. It had ribbon tied around it, creating a neat little bow at the peak. An envelope was held against the present by the ribbon.

"This is for you," you said, quietly. Your eyes flitted from Ghost's eyes, trying to gauge his reaction, to the present, scanning it for imperfections.

Too late to turn back now.

"I didn't want it getting squished or hurt by the other presents, so I kept it safe with me."

Ghost said nothing for a moment. Then: "You've had that up your shirt all day?"

He wouldn't admit it, but the urge to hold the package, to feel your phantom warmth radiating from it, flashed in his mind.

You nodded, swallowing.

"I didn't want to embarrass you by having everyone else asking you questions about..." you motioned with the package.

You held it out to Ghost, the weight of all it implicated too much for you to bear anymore. Your face burned under Ghost's gaze and silent judgement.

He seemed to hesitate, or rather made no attempt to retrieve the gift he was not yet certain was truly for him. Was this some cruel joke? The second chapter of a novel of cruelties you had bestowed upon him as his true gift?

You gulped, then decided to take some initiative, as Price had said. You reached for Ghost's hand and slipped the package into it.

“I didn’t get you anything.” Ghost said. It came out before he could stop it, as if dissuading you from giving him the gift. You just smiled.

“Doesn’t matter.” You folded your hands behind your back. “Merry Christmas, my favourite ghoul.” You cast Ghost one last soulful, smiling look before retreating into the common room, shutting the door behind you.

Your scent followed, vaguely tingling in Ghost's nose, just permeating the fibres of his mask.

He looked down at the package in his hands. It felt soft, malleable. Curiosity nipped at him, a branch of hope, something Ghost had long since assumed to be dead alongside the rest of him.

With mechanical hands, he pulled on one of the ends of the bow, watching the ribbon unfurl. He kept ahold of the card in one hand and undressed the package.

Soft material lay amongst the second skin. Upon closer inspection, Ghost saw that they were gloves. He moved onto the card. His breath caught in his throat as he read it.

To Ghost,

I remember you saying that your hands always got "bastarding cold" during missions, so I wanted to try and stop you complaining all the time, hahaha (I'm joking)!

Anyway, I took up three months' worth of crocheting classes to make these, so I hope you'll find some use for them!

Thank you for always looking out for me us,

Merry Christmas!

Love From (Y/N) x

Ghost looked over his shoulder, expecting you to be there. When he saw he was truly alone, he allowed the warmth exploding in his chest to hold his cheeks as he imagined you would, your hands soft and warm.

The icy loneliness of the Christmases he'd endured every year before now felt a little less daunting, the phantoms of his past unable to penetrate the shield you'd cast around him.

The human touches, the love and consideration you'd poured into these gloves, was palpable, as if you would be holding his hand every time he wore them. And every time he would wear them, he'd hear you, see you, feel you with him, soothing him in a way nothing and no-one else ever had.

Ghost re-entered the room soon after that. And beneath his heavy-duty, military-issue gloves, were yours, warm and snug against his skin, flesh beneath his shell.

Your eyes caught his, a shock of electricity fired between you. Something unspoken, but budding.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

I made the collage for the post, but I don't own the pictures (screaming and crying)

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #cod ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 ghost #cod mw2

[ghostlychief]

Weighted Blanket

This is part 2 to Pockets of Peace

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Wc: 3.8k+ (First half is in Simon’s POV, second is reader’s POV)

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of children being victims on a mission (nothing graphic), brief, BRIEF mentions of self harm (this part is italicized if you want to skip OR can read it as wounds from fights or missions; emotionally vulnerable reader and Simon; some fluff; some cuddling

Summary: After your last mission, things changed between you and Ghost. Although feelings shifted and emerged, your quiet routine with the Lieutenant stayed the same. He never failed to provide you with little pockets of peace throughout your tumultuous life, and you treasure these moments, holding them close to your heart. Except this time, it’s you who returns the favor, and offers him a warm embrace to grieve quietly.

A/N: HELLO! Part two to Pockets of Peace is finally here. I really can’t express my gratitude for all the love that fic received. I really appreciate all your likes, comments, and reblogs. Comments are always so fun to read and same goes for the reblog tags <3 This is another purely indulgent fic lmao and I found this part harder to write than the first, so I hope you enjoy it just as much. As mentioned, the first half is written from Simon’s POV, so that was fun to explore and write. Sorry for any typos/grammar mistakes </3

ENJOY!

--

Simon didn’t have much to be grateful for in his life. Sure, he was thankful for the camaraderie he found within task 141, and his friendship with Soap (although he will never admit that they’re true friends). Outside of those two things, there wasn’t much, and he was okay with that. Comes with the line of work, he supposed.

It’s hard to trust people when majority end up pointing their gun at you, even after years of working together, training together, living together. Hell, it took him years to feel somewhat comfortable around the task 141 members. When he first joined, he barely talked to anyone except when necessary either when preparing for a mission, or during a mission. Afterwards he would float off to his room and be alone. He ate alone, trained alone (unless sparing was required by Price), he went out alone. Not that he went out a lot, but if he had to leave the base, it was alone. He was somewhat of a recluse, a phantom hiding in the shadows that the team rarely ever saw.

The team member he first grew closest to, not without them trying, was Soap. The outgoing sergeant was able to make a friend out of the standoffish lieutenant, and even got Ghost to crack jokes during missions, a big deal for task force 141. This happened a little over a year and a half after Ghost joined the team. And now fast forward almost seven years later, and here he was, still on task force 141, but with a friend of sorts. That was one thing he was grateful for.

About two years in, he started to eat breakfast when the other team members did. Did he sit with them? No, of course not, but he was eating at the same time, just a few tables away. He started training with the other members more regularly, and on occasion, would coach them and give them tips here and there. And after a mission, he would sometimes tag along with the other men when they went out to a bar to wind down.

--

One night, shortly after you joined task 141, Ghost begrudgingly accepted Soap’s invite to go to a bar with the other male team members. Once they got there and had a few drinks, they were poking fun at him for having a “soft spot” for the new recruit.

He just rolled his eyes at their comments, and muttered “Fuck off,” up until they started talking about your skillset. Specifically, your lack of skills in sparing.

“Well, she certainly could improve her technique. We were sparing the other day, and I almost squashed her like a bug.”

“Yeah, she’s fast, but sure doesn’t know what to do with her speed and size. I pinned her down almost every time.”

“Yeah, last week, I had her in a headlock and almost made her pass out.”

“Hey Ghost, haven’t you been training with her? I’m sure you crush her each time you spar; she doesn’t have a chance against you.”

“Doubt she’s improved at all, even with Ghost’s help.”

Ghost couldn’t help but notice the frequent use of the word ‘almost,’ and at this point, he had enough. The comments the 141 members made weren’t even accurate. Sure, you had some improving to do, but by no means were you bad. He felt like they just felt threatened by you, a young woman with much more potential than them. He also had a feeling that they were jealous of your mastery at sniping. To put it simply, Ghost knew they were full of shit.

“She’s actually improved quite a lot.” His rough voice pierces through the air, silencing the banter surrounding him.

Embers burned at the pit of his stomach at the thoughtless comments his teammates said so flippantly about you. Embers that soon caught fire, and burned bright crimson flames. He stayed composed, but his eyes flickered, darkened by the shadows of the black paint surrounding them, and the tarnished skull that covered his nose and mouth. All the more imposing to those who looked at him.

“Plus, someone had to give her pointers for fighting a highly skilled, large, and imposing person; something you short fucks couldn’t do.”

Ghost was met with silence once again, and he smirked under his balaclava. Since then, the other men of task 141 have not commented on your sparing abilities, not wanting to be cursed out by Ghost.

And hey, it was all worth it when the next day you defeated Soap, match after match.

--

New recruits of 141 typically come and go, retention isn’t all that great. So, when you joined the team, he wasn’t expecting you to persevere, and stay. He was impressed by your skillset; snipers are always impressive in his mind. But your agility and speed that allowed you to take down opponents twice your size, is what mainly caught his eye. Sure, you needed some improvement, but you were promising.

When you first joined the team, you were so nice to everyone, even him. That’s not something he’s privy to in his line of work. Yet, you didn’t seem intimidated by him at all, not in the slightest. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to why. You just kept being so warm to him and he didn’t know what to do with that.

Of course, he wasn’t nervous to be around you, no that certainty wasn’t it; but he couldn’t help the warm feeling that would spread through his chest whenever you would talk to him. At first you only conversed with one another in meetings, debriefs, missions, etc. All work related, with no cross over into ‘personal life territory’. Simon was content with this, he rarely ever crossed that boundary with the other 141 teammates, so why would he with you? Incidentally, you and him started to get paired together mission after mission, and he couldn’t help but want more.

Ghost was immediately impressed at your abilities to smoothly get in and get out during missions, especially with what little experience you had. Not that you were any less competent than any of the other 141 team members, you just hadn’t been in the field for as long as some of them. You were smart as a whip though, and you got the job done quickly and quietly, and never got in his way. That was something he deeply respected about you. You understood the task at hand, asked questions if needed, but otherwise were highly independent. An admirable trait that takes some weight off of his shoulders as a Lieutenant. Something that he quickly added to his list of things he was grateful for.

You also had the curiosity to learn more, and to learn from the more experienced team members. Always ready with a question, and never embarrassed to ask. Sure, you were quiet like him, but when it came to job stuff, you didn’t hesitate to make your presence known.

He still remembers, one night after completing a mission, you and him were sitting in the helicopter. You turned to him and asked, “How is it that you’re never scared?” Your sweet voice traveled over to him through the coms and he felt confounded by your question. He felt his stomach warm at your tone in which you asked him this. Did you somehow look up to him?

“Who said I was never scared?” He glanced over at you and saw your eyes sparkle at his response.

--

To say that Ghost was concerned after you got shot in the leg was an understatement. Although he tried his best to stay composed, he was having a full-blown crisis inside his mind while trying to get you to safety, which, was a safe house miles from your current location. He couldn’t properly examine your wound, so he had no idea how bad of a state you were in, and he hated blind spots.

That was the first mission he ever felt real fear for you; distressed with thoughts that said you wouldn’t make it back. Thoughts that kept bouncing around, tormenting him the whole journey to the safe house. Luckily when you guys arrived, he was able to fully assess your wound and it didn’t look life threatening. No, all he had to do was clean, stich, and bandage it.

Simple enough, right? Wrong.

Of course, of course the best way to get the wound clean and ready for stitching was for your fucking pants to come off.

Things were never easy for Ghost.

His nerves didn’t stop him though and he somehow managed to get through everything without making a complete fool out of himself. Though, if you could somehow hear his heartbeat, at all, it would have been a dead giveaway, as it thumped erratically in his chest. There were moments when he was afraid it would burst.

Then, only to make this mission even worse, was him waking up to your blood curdling screams in the middle of the night. His first thought was that the enemy found you guys, and they got to you first. He thought that he failed to protect you, which was a silent promise he made to himself after the first night you guys drank beer in his room.

However, when he entered the living room, he saw that no one was in the room, it was just you on the couch where he left you. Your screams turned into cries, then sobs, then screams again. It was deafening and he couldn’t stand to hear it any longer. It took a few good shakes to wake you and he felt his heartstrings pinch in his chest when you apologized to him for waking him up, completely disregarding the trauma you were currently experiencing.

He decided right then and there that what you needed right now was not a work colleague, but a friend. He carried you to bed that night, hoping to provide you with some consolation, wanting to provide you with anything that would make you feel safe again. And before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself closing the distance between your lips, and he felt you kissing back. He may have added that to the list of things he felt grateful for.

--

It’s been a few weeks since then. Your leg is pretty much all healed, and you have full mobility. All thanks to Ghost’s handy work. Although you felt fine and ready to get back out there, Simon insisted that you continue to rest. He even managed to convince Price not to assign you to any missions for the next month, which thoroughly pissed you off.

Who was he to boss you around and tell you when you were ready or not to start working again? He was technically your direct supervisor, so he did have the power to boss you around, but still!

Even though you were slightly peeved at him, you knew that it came from a good place. He was just worried about you, and this was his way of showing it, well, in front of the team at least.

In private, he had other ways to show you how much he cared for you. After he learned about your nightmares, he insisted that you come to him whenever they occur. You were hesitant at first to take him up on his offer. What if he just said that to be nice and he just feels bad for me? You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. Even though, you found yourself slowly start to cross more and more boundaries with him as the weeks went on.

So, the first night you experienced another nightmare, you found yourself in front of Simon’s door. You probably stood there for at least a minute, racking up the courage to knock. But before you could even do that, the door swung open to reveal a sleepy looking Simon decked out in black sweats and his signature balaclava.

Since he was so close to you, you had to crane your neck to look up at him and meet his eyes. Why he was still wearing his mask at this hour, you were unsure. He usually took it off to sleep, but you were too unmoored to ask.

“I heard your footsteps approach my door.” His gravelly voice fills the space in-between, and he casually leans on the door frame.

“Oh.” You looked down at your slippers and twiddle your thumbs.

“Why don’t you come in, yeah?” Simon’s voice lifts up a bit at the end of his question, and you look back up at him and offer him a small smile.

“I’d like that, thank you Simon.” It still felt weird on your tongue to call the Lieutenant by his first name, but your chest sparked each time you did so. He held out is hand and you fit your palm against his, and he leads you into his room, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

You and Simon talked for what felt like hours before you fell asleep, head on his shoulder and his hand rubbing your head.

It was a common occurrence after that, to visit Simon’s room at night whenever you woke up screaming in the dark of your own room. It felt like nothing could happen to you in your dreams, so as long as Simon’s arms were wrapped around you, almost like an anchor. Weighing you down, preventing you from drifting too far away.

But even with this new sense of security surrounding you, some nights when you fell asleep with Simon next to you, the nightmares would still creep into your mind. Though, Simon was right there to help bring you back.

If for some reason you both separated during the night and were sleeping apart, you’d reach out to him after waking, your hand patting the bed, searching for him.

“Simon?”

“I’m right here.” He’d then swiftly pull you back into him.

He’d rub your back. Up down, up down.

Wrap his arms around you. Squeeze.

Kiss your forehead. Smooth back your hair.

Whisper affirming words that reminded you that it’s all in your head, you’re safe in this reality, he’s here. No one is trying to harm you.

Other nights, you found yourselves simply enjoying each other’s company. You love to outline his forearm tattoos with your fingers and trace your hand up his arm to his broad shoulders, to his chest. You like to trail your hand across his abs and just love to explore his whole body with your hands.

He does the same, and his touch always feels so heavenly. Though his hands were calloused and rough, they were always extra gentle in handling you.

His hand brushes over the top of your thigh and his fingertips graze over the slightly raised bumps that span across your tender skin. Your once smooth legs, now marked permanently with light lines. You feel his hand pause after it initially goes over this area of your leg. And you know, that he knows.

Before you can say anything, and push him away, his warm hand comes back up to rest at the top of your thigh, and his thumb gently traces circles over the scarred area. He doesn’t say a word, but his touches mean everything to you, and it’s all you need.

You feel him squeeze his arms that are already wrapped around your form, and feel a slight pressure against the top of your head, like a kiss was laid upon your hair.

You feel your breathing start to slow, and before you know it, you’re drifting off to sleep, the steady rhythm of Simon’s heart calling out to you like a siren with a lullaby.

You started to feel a deep sense of familiarity within the four walls of Simon’s room, and you knew that it would always be a place of condolement for your aching self. Little did you know, that you provided just as much relief, if not more, to Simon as well. Although more rare than yours, Simon had bad days too.

--

Tonight was no different than any other; you and Simon are lying in bed together and you’re semi-on top of him, leg thrown over his waist, head on his shoulder, fingers mapping out his entire being.

“If you want to talk about it, you know that you can, right?” You absentmindedly trace your pointer finger across the span of his chest as you ask him this. Drawing small circles into the fabric of his black t-shirt.

To Simon, it felt like there were small sparks leaving your fingertips every time you touched him, causing his heart to ignite.

“I’m always here to listen.” You remind him one more time.

Simon just came back from a particularly brutal mission, one that he has told you very little about. They were gone for almost two weeks and all you were able to find out from Soap was that children were involved- a sensitive subject for Simon. You can only imagine what he went through during the mission, and now, what he’s dealing with in the aftermath. You’re trying not to push too much, but you want him to talk to you.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But you shouldn’t have to.”

You pause your ministrations and crane your neck to look up at him with a slight pout on your lips. This was always a struggle with him, he didn’t like to talk to you, let alone anyone when he was going through something. He would just put up a wall and it broke your heart. Sometimes you would get bits and pieces, but never the whole picture; it was always fuzzy to you.

You wanted him to feel safe enough that he could confide in you, vent to you, about whatever was on his mind, but you knew it wasn’t that easy and that these things take time. You’re patient with him, as he is with you. It’s the least you can owe him for all he’s done for you. This is his time to lament, not yours to be nosey. So, you just let him be.

He lets out a sigh and then moves you so you’re laying completely on top of him. He tries not to be too rough as his hands grab onto your waist to situate you further, and he tucks your head under his chin.

One arm wraps around your middle and the other comes up to hold the back of your head.

“I just want you to be here with me right now, like this. That’s all I need.” His breath tickles your hair and you succumb to his wish, relaxing against him.

“Ok, I can do that.” Your hands come up to wrap around his neck, and you pull him impossibly closer to you, no inch of yourself is left untouched by Simon.

He likes to put you in this position whenever he can’t find the right words to explain. He instead craves the comfort of physicality, liking the weight of you on top of him.

Your hand comes up to play with his hair at the nape of his neck. You found that his hair tends to curl a little at the end, initially not expecting his hair to be this long. Silly, you know, but you’re honored that you’re one of the few people that get to see him like this.

You don’t know how long you and Simon lay like this; time always seemed to bend and disappear when you were with him. Since you guys had been lying in silence for so long, his voice startles you when he speaks for the first time in what felt like hours.

His hand that was resting on your lower back is now softly stroking your spine in a steady up and down motion.

“I felt scared for the first time in a while, on the last mission.”

His admission surprises you, but you wait a beat to see if he’s going to say anything else before you respond.

You’re glad that you do, because he continues to speak in a hushed voice.

“I- I didn’t know how to help them and they were looking towards us to be saved. And yet, we couldn’t save all of them. Some were left behind.”

You feel your heart start to crack again, the beginnings of the break started forming the moment you saw Simon step out of the plane when he returned back to the base.

And now it feels as though a chisel is working its way through your chest, chipping off piece by piece as you listen to Simon morn the loss of little lives. Lives he couldn’t rescue. You know it’s eating him up on the inside, with no respite in sight.

You personally have never been on a mission where the victims were children, and you’re thankful for that, so you can only empathize as much as your experience allows you to. You just have to remind him that he does the best he can, and not everyone can be saved, no matter how much you want to help.

You shift a little so your head is no longer tucked under his chin, and instead rests more on his shoulder. Since you’re so close to him, your lips touch is jaw.

You sigh, “I’m really sorry you went through that, Simon. I know that nothing I can say will change the outcome of what happened, and it doesn’t really matter what I say, but I do want you to know that you and the team did all you could. You did your best with what circumstances you were given.”

You feel him stir under you, and his arms warp tighter around your frame.

“You’re wrong.”

You feel you the pieces of your heart break into smaller and smaller pieces, losing hope that they will ever fit back together.

“You’re wrong to think that your words don’t matter.” Oh. “They actually mean the most to me.” Your chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to concave anymore.

“I really appreciate you; you know that right, Little Swan?” You feel him kiss your forehead and your chest warms at his term of endearment.

“Of course I do, Simon.”

“Ok, good.”

You bring him in for a kiss.

--

Simon found that he didn’t have much in his life, let alone much to be grateful for. Yet over the years, he realized that he grew quite the list.

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[siilvan]

like real people do

characters: yuri

summary: after a mission goes badly, yuri comes to you to air out his frustrations, and what was a complicated situation ends up becoming something more.

genre: explicit, light angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: cursing, mentions of canon-typical violence, brief mentions of blood/injuries, friends w/ benefits situation, soft dom!yuri, slight possessive!yuri, oral (f!receiving), fingering, lil' hand kink, tattoos <3, unprotected piv, creampies, overstimulation, manhandling, praise, some references to religion, idk yuri's a simp, he's drowning in guilt and pussy

word count: 5.3k

note: this is going to get zero notes, but do i care? no. i'm writing for yuri and forcibly shoving him in everyone's faces until people love him. he's my favorite character and that is going to be VERY obvious here. i have more fics planned. so many. everyone thank @froglights-and-pearls for reminding me of who i am.

aaaand a big thank you to @sofasoap for proofreading this <33

"well, that was a fuckin' bust, yeah?" soap comments after collapsing into a seat, earning pointed looks from the rest of the group as you all boarded the transport helicopter.

gaz slumps down next to him and exhales heavily, shaking his head. "think that's putting it lightly, mate." he chuckles, tapping soap on the shoulder.

ghost takes a seat on soap's other side, rolling his neck to stretch out sore muscles - he took a nasty hit during the mission, his mask partially torn on the cheek and revealing bloodstained skin. you end up sandwiched between price and yuri, tilting your head back to rest against the wall as the adrenaline coursing through you dissipates.

to say that this operation went horribly would be an understatement. you all managed to escape with your lives intact, but the valuable cargo that you were hunting down was lost. you fought to get this lead in the first place, and now you're returning to base with nothing to show for your work other than damaged bodies and morale.

your head rolls to the side, and you end up staring at yuri's side profile. he's hunched forward slightly, a pensive look on his face, brows knitted together from clear frustration.

it’s been a few months since nikolai introduced yuri to the team. after laswell brought up makarov in that chicago bar, everything seemed to move at the speed of light; the invasion of al-mazrah, calling a ceasefire with shadow company, teaming up with farah's forces, mobilizing again before you could even catch your breath... the only good thing to come out of this hectic situation was your newest ally.

yuri was an interesting case from the start. nikolai claims that the two go way back and, after hearing the way he talked about the man prior to your first meeting, you're inclined to believe him when he describes yuri as "one of his best."

his status as a member of nikolai's faction is enough to pique your curiosity - you find out that he's ex-spetsnaz as well, but what catches the entire squad's attention is the offhand comment that the pilot makes.

"he's the only person i know that hates makarov more than you, price."

none of you get the chance to ask him to elaborate, and you've since reached the point where his explanation doesn't matter. yuri fit into the team fairly easily, and trust was quickly built upon after a few missions together. he seemed to understand the enemy just as well as the captain, if not even better. soap made a joke about yuri knowing him a little too well at one point, which he brushed off with a dismissive shake of his head.

the sergeants were the first ones to warm up to him, with price and yourself on their heels. ghost, always wary of anyone new, is a little slower to trust, but after yuri took a bullet in the leg for him, ghost was quick to welcome him into your group.

your lips twitch into a tired smile when yuri glances at you from the corner of his eye, his shoulders dropping slightly upon seeing your face. his hardened expression softens for just a moment, and you mentally celebrate the small victory while nudging his foot closest to you with the side of your boot.

the ride back to base is mostly quiet, save for price updating laswell on the situation over the radio. you're all dejected over the loss, even after price reminds you to not let it get to your heads.

yuri seems especially upset over it, though. you doubt the rest of the team picks up on his mood, but it's clear as day to you.

you've spent a fair number of nights under the man, after all. you'd be ashamed if you couldn't read him by now. the subtle flexing of his fingers wrapped around his gun, the way his pupils dilate as he loses himself in his thoughts, the clench in his jaw - you recognize the signs faster than your own reflection in a mirror.

he's angry. pissed off, actually. yuri doesn't often let his emotions show, preferring to keep up a façade of cool collectedness, but it slips out on occasion.

and when it does, you catch it. you always do.

the chopper touches down on the airstrip eventually, and you relegate yourself to the back of the group as you step out onto the tarmac. price excuses himself to his office while ghost heads off to the medical bay, and the sergeants make a beeline for the showers as soon as their boots hit the ground.

you watch as yuri wordlessly sets off towards the training grounds. it's a habit he has: airing his grievances out on a target.

you, meanwhile, loosely trail behind the sergeants and hop in the shower, rinsing off the grime from the battlefield and willing the loss to wash away with it. you stop by the mess hall for a bit, running into a patched-up ghost, before heading off to your room.

the base that the task force is currently staying at is a bit odd compared to most, in that you have more privacy than normal. while most places offer you cramped barracks or small dorms, the team was given proper rooms in a separate wing. privileges, gaz joked upon your initial arrival.

you're left to your own devices until a while after the sun sets. there's a knock at the door that you almost immediately recognize. you've heard it before, always after night has fallen and the sky is blanketed in darkness.

you trudge across the room and swing the door open, revealing yuri standing on the other side. his gaze stays low, not quite looking at you, but not quite looking away, either. you instinctively move to the side, allowing him to step into the room. the door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you staring at him as a silence hangs in the air between you.

"need something?" you ask, breaking the silence with a soft voice. his eyes finally flit up to meet yours. there's something swirling in those pale eyes of his, an internal conflict that you've never been able to understand or pull out of him.

"company," he mutters, and you know what he means from that single word.

"destroying a few more targets didn't help, huh?" you chuckle, coming to stand in front of him. you slowly slide your hands up his arms, skimming over his shoulders and cupping his jaw gently. "you look angry, yuri."

he huffs, warm air puffing against your cheek. you can smell the tobacco on his breath. he's been smoking, yet another habit that he tries to avoid showing, especially after you commented on it.

"the only thing that will help is you," he replies, hands settling on your waist. calloused fingertips carefully dig into your flesh underneath your clothes, pulling your body closer to his. "only you can make the anger go away." he adds, thumbs tracing gentle circles into your skin.

you hum, keening at the subtle praise. your palms slide down and press flat against his chest, his heartbeat thrumming strong under your fingertips. you two established a set of rules at the beginning of this arrangement, and you've both been rigid in keeping to them. no kissing, no marking, no "i love you's," no jealousy—

no feelings. this is purely for pleasure, for keeping each other sane outside the battlefield. feelings would only serve to complicate things, and you already have enough on your plates as-is. the rules of engagement were clear, though there were those rare times that the lines blurred.

such as yuri's lips dragging across your sensitive skin after his head drops to your neck. he wouldn't kiss you, he wouldn't suck or bite, but the featherlight trail that he would trace might as well be a mark of its own. you angle your head back, a low sigh falling from your lips. his heartbeat speeds up just barely under your touch, your own picking up speed to match.

you let him walk you backwards toward the bed, the backs of your knees pressing into the edge of the mattress. he lifts his head and leans in close to your ear, his next words mumbled against your skin.

"on your back."

you obey without complaint, pulling your hands away and crawling up the bed, laying on your back and propping yourself up on your elbows.

you watch as he stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes never straying from yours while he pulls off his gloves and drops them somewhere behind him. the gauntlet on his forearm goes next, and you stare with great intrigue as he easily undoes the straps holding it in place and tosses it aside, the hard material carelessly clattering against the carpet. your eyes fall from his, landing on the various tattoos that adorn his hands and forearms, the ink telling a story that you're sure would send your adrenaline rushing.

he sinks to his knees after a second, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs as he pulls your body across the duvet towards him. like clockwork, he slides your uniform pants and soaked underwear down your legs before grabbing your thighs and spreading them, leaving your core completely exposed under his heated gaze.

he doesn't give you a chance to blink as he dives in, hot tongue licking a stripe up your slit and sending your head flying back against the bed. you push your hips up towards his face as he laves over your folds, fucking dripping the second his eyes landed on you after showing up at your door, pulling a shameless moan from your lips.

contrary to his usual generosity, yuri entirely avoids your clit as he stuffs your cunt with his tongue, greedily lapping up your arousal before pulling back and making wide circles around the sensitive bud. he teases it with a small flick and dips his head to plunge into your sopping hole again, humming and sending vibrations coursing through you.

you whine, fisting the duvet and squeezing your eyes tightly shut. "fuck, yuri— stop teasing—"

he lifts his head from your cunt and groans, throaty and utterly debauched. "patience," he mutters, heaving one of your thighs over his shoulder and digging his fingers into your hip. "you know i'll take care of you."

you choke on a sob when he flattens his tongue against your clit, circling around it and drawing it into his mouth. he sucks on it before delving into your heat once more, his nose nudging the bundle of nerves and making your back arch off the mattress. the lewd sounds filling the room as he fucks you with his tongue light a fire under your skin, covering your body in a thin sheen of sweat as you moan and clamp your thighs around his head.

he moans into your cunt, hands gripping your thighs as his hips jolt forward, eating you out like a man starved.

"yuri— oh, fuck—" you gasp. "please, please— 'm so fucking close—" you're not sure what you're begging for, what you always end up begging for, but as the coil in your stomach tightens, you can't find it in yourself to think about it any longer.

your jaw goes slack, mouth falling open as his tongue swipes up your arousal, his nose pressing into your swollen clit and dragging a stuttering moan from your parted lips.

"oh my— fucking god... yuri—" you whimper as your cunt pulses and spasms around his tongue, gushing into his mouth with another moan of his name that bounces off the walls of the room. he groans into your wetness and eagerly laps it up, working you through your orgasm as you grind against his face, chasing the sweet pleasure.

after your legs go limp on his shoulders, yuri resurfaces from your cunt, hands massaging your thighs while your breaths come out in pants, chest heaving.

"just like that," he whispers, smearing your slick across your inner thigh as his lips drag across your skin. you look down at him, seeing his steely gaze already trained on your blissed-out expression. "you can give me another, hm?" he asks, brows briefly raising with the question.

his voice has dropped low, his russian accent thick and heavy, words slightly slurring together as he stares up at you. his pale irises are hardly visible around pupils blown wide with lust, and you swallow back a pathetic sound at the sight.

"you can give me another." yuri echoes, more as a statement of fact than a question this time. he knows he's right— you know he's right.

you suck in a breath as two fingers prod at your aching heat, sliding up and down your glistening folds and gathering a mixture of your slick and his saliva.

"fuck, just— please—"

your pleads are cut off by his fingers plunging into you, sinking right up to the knuckle and making you writhe against the bed. they're thick, stretching you open as he curls them inside you, scraping against your gummy walls and teasing that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back in your skull.

a third digit prods at your entrance after a moment, leaving you moaning and frantically searching for purchase on the bedsheets after he adds it in, pumping three fingers inside you.

"taking me so well..." he grunts, pressing his thumb to your puffy clit and circling it in tight, fast motions.

you buck your hips into his touch, legs shaking as your cunt clenches around his digits like a vice. his unoccupied hand releases your thigh and skates up your side, wrapping around your wrist and distracting you from his ministrations for a second.

he suddenly yanks you towards him, making you sit up and stoop over him. one of your hands lands on his shoulder, holding yourself upright as he continues fucking his fingers into you.

"look at yourself— look at how good you're doing for me." yuri sighs, holding your wrist tight to keep you from falling back. you whine, forcing yourself to tilt your head and stare at where his fingers disappear inside you.

the noises coming from the spot are obscene, lewd squelches accompanying every thrust in and out of your dripping core. you admire your own mess until your attention shifts to him— his fingers, his hand, working you open and sending you to cloud nine.

you've been horribly attracted to his hands ever since he first touched you with them. they're calloused, rough, experienced like you'd expect from someone in the field; but, the ink adorning his skin is what catches your eye. there's crosses on his fingers— holy symbols— and you watch as they drip with your arousal, black ink shining with the wetness coating them and dripping down his wrist.

it feels sinful, like you're fucking in the pews of a church. the rush of it makes your body grow hotter, heat flooding to your cheeks as you bite back a moan.

"take off your shirt." he says, eyes fixated on your drooling cunt.

you manage to tear your hand from his shoulder and slip your shirt over your head, your bra quickly following suit and landing in another small pile of clothes somewhere nearby. yuri's gaze flits up and lands on your breasts, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

he mumbles something in russian before leaning in, drawing his tongue across one of your nipples and taking it into his mouth. you moan as he greedily sucks on it, your hand cradling the back of his head and holding him close.

it's risky— you two are toeing the line, pushing the rules you established at the start of this relationship.

he moves to your other nipple a moment later and lavishes it with the same treatment, reducing you to a needy, whiny mess. by the time he pulls back from your breasts with a wet pop, there's dark hickeys left in his place.

that's a rule broken.

his head dips back down and his mouth replaces his thumb, hot tongue swirling around your clit as you're suddenly brought back to the present with a loud moan. his hand squeezes around your wrist, reminding you that he only let go long enough for you to strip off the remainder of your clothes. you twist your arm, forcing him to loosen his grip—

he places a few more licks to your clit before wrapping his lips around it, and you moan as the vibrations bring you closer to your second orgasm of the night. you escape his hold only to search for his hand, blindly reaching for it as the pleasure forces you to screw your eyes shut. you fumble after finally finding it, but yuri's quick to help, interlocking your fingers and allowing you to squeeze his hand in a near-death grip.

fuck, this is getting too intimate. he's already broken one rule, and you're just about ready to break the rest. he mirrors your action, holding your hand as you teeter over the edge, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

"so close— 'm so close, yuri. fuck, please—!" you moan, trembling like a leaf in the wind as your orgasm slams into you.

he pumps faster still, letting you ride out the waves of pure bliss until you're whimpering and attempting to move your hips away. yuri lifts his head and hunts for your gaze, locking eyes with you as you hazily look down at him. he pulls his fingers from your folds and hums, satisfied, before pressing them to your lips and cocking his head to the side.

you know what he wants. you take his fingers into your mouth and lave your tongue over them, tasting yourself as you clean your release off of them. he watches you, shifting as his other hand releases yours and reaches for his belt.

"tastes fucking heavenly." he utters softly, sending a shiver down your spine.

he pulls his fingers out and chuckles at your pout, before nodding at the pillows behind you. "get comfortable. we're not done yet."

he sits up on his knees and starts to unbuckle his belt as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. instead of climbing up the bed, however, you reach out and start pawing at his shirt, tugging at it with a small noise of complaint.

yuri lets you undress him, a quiet sigh escaping him as your nails gently scrape down his chest and stomach, trailing over rigid muscle and old scars that he hesitated to tell the stories behind and often disregarded whenever you'd ask about them. you toy with the waistband of his cargos, earning an amused huff and yuri pulling your hands back.

"lay back," he commands in a warm tone, lips twitching into a small smile. "let me take care of you."

your gaze narrows at him, but you comply nonetheless. "thought you came to me for stress relief, not spoiling me."

you hear fabric hitting the floor before he's moving on top of you, caging you in with his hands on either side of your body. "spoiling you helps relieve my stress." he replies, giving you a look as if what he said was an obvious fact.

"lucky me, then." you laugh before cutting yourself off with a sharp inhale as the head of his cock prods at your entrance, dragging through your folds and coating itself in your arousal. his cock sits heavy against your core, a firm weight grounding you in the moment.

yuri grips the base of his shaft in one hand as the other rests next to your head, a tight fist in the sheets. you raise your hips slightly and let out a whine, lifting your arms to grasp at his shoulders as his cock slowly pushes in. a deep groan escapes him as he sinks deeper and deeper inside, your gummy walls fluttering and pulsing around him.

"fuck," he rasps, bottoming out with one final push. "missed this— it's been too long. needed you under me days ago."

you breathe out a moan, tossing your head back against the pillows when he dips down to your neck, panting against your feverish skin. he pulls out, dragging back until the tip just barely slips past your entrance, before snapping his hips forward and burying himself to the hilt.

you're already fighting back a sob as he sets a brutal pace, bullying his cock into your aching cunt, your hands clinging to him anywhere you can find purchase. his shoulders, back, arms— your nails dig into his skin, leaving angry crescent-shaped marks wherever they land. the bedframe creaks under your shared weights, headboard knocking against the wall with each pointed thrust.

after seconds of searching, your hands end up sliding up to his jaw, and you nudge him until he moves from your neck, his face hovering just above yours. your fingertips trace over his jawline tenderly as his forehead comes to rest against yours, your breaths co-mingling. it's too much. you manage to catch his gaze, eyes locking while the tips of your noses brush together. it's not enough.

"what are you doing?" yuri whispers, voice hoarse. he doesn't make any move to pull away; he seems to soften under your touch, if anything.

fuck it.

you surge forward, closing the small gap between you. his movements almost immediately stall once your lips connect and, for a split second, complete terror floods through your veins as the severity of the act hits you.

his hand flies to your face, cupping your cheek and holding you in place as he deepens the kiss with a quiet moan. you squirm under him, your hips pinned to the mattress and flush with his, impatiently seeking out more.

more stimulation, more pleasure, more him.

"we shouldn't be doing this," he mutters against your lips after prying himself away. "the— the agreement—" he adds, though the words die on his tongue as he kisses you again, hungry, like he's been starving up until this point. you try your best to keep up, even as the sheer possessiveness of the kiss easily steals all the air from your lungs.

you break from the kiss only when you're forced to, taking staggering breaths while his hand leaves your face and trails down your side slowly, landing on your thigh once more. he kneads the flesh before pulling your leg to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock to push in that much deeper.

"you deserve better than this." yuri says, pressing his forehead to yours.

with an airy chuckle, you shake your head. "i want you—"

yuri lets out a sound akin to a whimper and a moan, his iron grip on you only tightening when you roll your hips into his. "i'm not— hah, fuck— you feel like heaven… i'm not worth it. i don't deserve it."

you shush him softly, thumbs stroking along his cheeks as you press your lips to his. "let me give you a little peace." you murmur, letting out another heady moan after he starts rocking into you again, his cockhead brushing against that spongy spot inside you that has your back arching off the mattress.

"i only know peace with you in my arms." he replies with a choked sigh. the pressure in the pit of your stomach rapidly builds - between his words and his cock practically rearranging your guts to fit itself deeper inside, you're rendered little more than a breathless, desperate mess pinned underneath him.

it doesn't take much longer for you to reach your peak, barely having the chance to give proper warning before it's washing over you.

"fuck, m'gonna cum—!" you cry, fat tears gathering at your waterline and threatening to spill over.

yuri groans, gravelly, drowning in his own pleasure. "that's it, just come undone for me... show me how good you feel— how good i make you feel." his voice drops, a near-growl lacing his words by the end of the command.

"please, любимая— i need it, i need to feel you..." he says against your lips. "you can do it, i know you can, just one more for me."

that's all it takes to send your next orgasm crashing over you, your legs shaking and mouth falling open in a broken moan of his name. he keeps fucking you through it, hands grasping and kneading at your soft skin hard enough to bruise in the morning, pressing his body flush to yours as he chases his own release.

"good, good... i knew you could do it, my good girl," yuri utters, thrusting sloppily into your heat. "almost there— going to fill you up, nice and full— you've been so good, done so well for me. so proud of you."

he finishes with a guttural moan, pressing impossibly closer to you as warmth floods your insides, some of his cum spilling out of your overworked cunt as he gives a couple more thrusts before stilling, both of you breathing heavily. you stay there for a few seconds, yuri's hands running over your flushed skin as yours run along his shoulders and back, silently basking in the moment.

"i don't deserve you," he says, voice quiet as he kisses a small trail to your ear.

you trace abstract shapes into his skin, smiling to yourself at the way he leans into your touch. "we wouldn't be in this position if you didn't," you angle your head and pepper the side of his jaw with chaste kisses. "we are really bad at following our own rules, though." you add with a chuckle.

he hums, agreeing, and pulls back enough to look down at you. a beat passes before your spent pussy throbs, feeling his half-softened cock start to harden again.

"just one more?" he asks, watching intently as your eyelids droop at the sensation.

"no, yuri— i can't—"

"you can, you've done it before." he reassures you, capturing your lips in a brief, but sweet kiss. "just one more, okay? i promise, just one."

he sits up and drags you along with him, sliding out of your cum-soaked cunt and turning your tired body over as you whine and grumble about it. your front is laid flat against the pillows and your hips propped up, his hands massaging them while he shushes you gently.

yuri presses into you again, his cock sliding past your folds with little resistance and nestling deep inside you with a single push. you whimper from the overstimulation, clit throbbing and legs shaking as you try to hold yourself up.

all it takes to make you moan and bury your face in the pillow is a sharp thrust, his pelvis slamming against the backs of your thighs as he starts a pace you weren't at all expecting. how does he still have so much fucking energy?

"see? i told you— my good girl, my perfect girl, you can give me another one." he muses, rutting into you and savoring each lewd sound that leaves your mouth and soaking wet cunt.

"i can't— 's too much, yuri—" you sob, tears finally spilling over and streaking down your cheeks as he tugs you closer, your tired body sliding up the mattress every time he slams back into you. "please, 'm gonna fall— too weak, too much—" you babble between sniffles and ragged gasps, fisting the bedsheets.

one of his arms circles around your middle and pulls you back, forcing you to sit up on your knees as he holds you to his chest. your head falls forward almost immediately, struggling to keep upright, and his free hand wraps around your throat, carefully but firmly moving your head to rest against his shoulder. he's not choking you, he's not even applying enough pressure to affect your airflow, but it made your breath hitch nonetheless.

"you can take it. just one more, just cum for me one more time," yuri says, dipping his head to press wet, sloppy kisses to your shoulder and neck. "my perfect girl, my sweet fucking girl— want to fill you up, милая. make you drip with me." you wince when his teeth sink in to your skin, leaving painful marks that he soothes with a lick and another kiss, before sucking dark hickeys wherever his mouth can reach.

you frantically grab onto his arms for stability, laying your head back on his shoulder as his hand leaves your neck and travels down your front. it lightly skims over your bruised nipples and makes you shiver, before sliding down your stomach and reaching your clit. he settles two fingers on it, grunting against your pulse as your abused walls clamp down around his length like a vice.

you're dizzy, head spinning as you feel your climax approaching, the pleasure coiling deep in your stomach and causing you to cling to him that much harder.

"yuri... i'm gonna— fuck, please, i wanna cum—"

"i know, i know—" yuri buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting down to muffle the animalistic sounds pouring from his lips. "cum for me, just one more. you can rest after, i'll take care of you, just give me one more—"

you break with a sob, his name falling from your lips like some kind of mantra as your cunt gushes and spasms around his cock.

your body might as well be boneless with how much you're trembling, held up entirely by yuri's arms around you and his own body supporting you. true to his word, he lays you down again, your upper half limply resting on the bed as he grinds into you, barely pulling out before slamming back in.

his pace is frantic, uneven, as he literally fucks you into the mattress, and you don't even have the energy to help him get off like you want to. all you can do is moan and look at him with half-lidded, glassy eyes from over your shoulder, watching as he nears his own peak.

"please, want it inside... please, yuri—" the words slip out, almost inaudible over the sounds of your shared panting, the bed creaking, and the arrhythmic knocking of the headboard against the wall. you'd pity whoever has the room adjacent, if you could even remember any names other than yuri's.

your begging seems to be what finally sends him over the edge, his cum spilling into you again as he lets out a broken moan and a string of curses in russian, your slick walls fluttering around him and trying to milk his cock for everything it has.

he nearly collapses on top of you after a few more thrusts, his body falling in line with yours as he lets some of his weight rest on you. you're both spent, taking in greedy gasps of air as you gradually come down from your highs.

yuri's the first to move, pulling his cock out of you and shifting to hover just above your body, his upper half still comfortably pressing into yours. a gentle hand runs along your side as he peppers your shoulders and the back of your neck with tender kisses, his warm breath fanning over you.

"we, um..." you clear your throat upon hearing the hoarse tone. "we're screwed, aren't we?"

he chuckles, leaning in to kiss the spot below your ear. "yes, we are."

"i think i prefer it this way."

"so do i."

translations:

любимая (liubimaya) - my love/beloved

милая (milaya) - dear/darling

taglist: @sofasoap

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod mw3 #mw3 #mwiii #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #cod yuri x reader #yuri x reader #cod yuri #yuri cod #sylph.writes

[itsohh]

Mi Calvario

A/N: Female reader, didn't want to write a full series so here's just a bunch of snippets of events that took place. Anything in box brackets is spoken in Spanish. (Because like who wants to try scroll for a key during a fic, not me and my Spanish is horrible. (I cheated in Spanish class in highschool))

Summary: With Las Almas in ruin, Rudy makes sures to check up on the only other Vaqueros who isn't in prison. Wife of Alejandro, you insist on joining Rudy in the fight. Despite the constantly underlying illness that keeps you out of the field, your determined to fight for your home.

Word count: 1981

Warnings: None

AO3 Masterlist

Ever one with the shadows, Ghost paused with his reunion with Rudy. "Who's your friend?" His eyes glanced to the darkest corner of the room, Soaps soon followed his lead. Soap really had to squint and then the smallest movement came.

"[Stand down.]" Rudy didn't need to turn his head for you to know he was speaking to you.

"[Look at you Rudy, still making friends even at this age huh?]" Out from the shadows you stepped, rifle now slung over your shoulder.

"[More of Alejandro's friends but eh.]"

"[Always was the one to work well with others.]" You fiddled with the strap of your glove around your rist, tightening it slightly.

In full view of the moon light the two SAS operatives were able to see your full form.

"Forgive me, this Ghost and Soap."

"Pleasure." Soap smiled and Ghost nodded to you.

"This is Major-"

"Ah not any more. That's you now." You tutted. Rudy paused and glanced towards the men.

"She's ex Vaqueros."

"Ex?" Soap raised a brow.

"Retired if you believe it. Well, at least I was until the entire fucking city went up in smoke."

"Bit young to be retired?" Soaps question had you light slightly under your breath.

"Ah, a charmer. My retirement wasn't one of my own will. Medical reasons. Active duty kept it making it worse." A sigh left your mouth. "I would have kept working until I dropped but ah Alejandro wouldn't have it. Caring bastard. Don't worry, it won't affect my performance." You gave him a wink.

"Alejandro's going to kill me for getting you involved."

"Think the whole citys involved at this point. Think the question is, what is this? What shit have we stepped into?"

Ghost glanced at Soap, a small nod before he opened his mouth.

-

"So, your close with Alejandro?" Soap asked as the four of you approached the prison.

"Very."

"What made you join the Vaqueros?"

"Alejandro of course. There's not many people out there who are as passionate about their home like he is. I was I suppose when it comes down to it, a drifter. Just went and did what my military told me to. It wasn't until I met Alejandro that I realized why we fight. His passion is contagious." There was a gleen to your eyes as you spoke.

"You sound like you idolized him."

"I do, in a way. If there's anyone worth dying for it would be him."

"[Yeah but he's also your husba-]" Rudy started to speak before you interupted him with a harsh but non serious tone.

"[Shut up.]" A deep breath left your lips. "[I'll have you know, I've believe that long since anything happened between us. Besides you feel the same way, I don't see how that would relate at all.]"

"[I wasn't trying to make an attack I was just bringing it up.]" The pair of you started to bicker, still rather teasing. Your words so fast, Soap wasn't unable to keep up. Ghost could.

-

"I'll take point." You nodded to Ghost as he braced against Alejandro's cell door. At your signal, he opened the door and you took a step in. To an empty room? Your thought and slight confusion was cut off when your back slammed against the wall of the cell. Alejandro's arm pressed against your throat and anger consumed his face. Despite the pain, you couldn't help but stare at him in glee. You loved to see him like this and it felt far too long since you had seen him at all. The sweet sound of Alejandro's demanding voice filled your ears and Rudy quickly jumped to your defense.

Alejandro's eyes blinked and he glanced from Rudy to you. "[If you wanted to get rough darling I won't complain but perhaps let's keep that to our bedroom hmm?]" You groaned slightly and Alejandro immediately stepped forward even closer. There was no gap between the two of you. Both hands on the side of your face, his lips roughly pressed against yours. A thousand words all put in one kiss.

"Oh!" Soaps' surprised voice broke the pair of you from your little world.

Just as quickly as it started, he stopped.

The group of you had a job to do.

"[What are you doing here, you should be safe at home?]" His voice was one of concern but still adoration. It seems it was a mutual agreement that the pair of you hadn't seen each other recently enough.

"[And leave you to rot in this old prison? Never.]" He flashed you a smile as he was given a weapon.

"[That's my girl. My Calvary eh?]"

"[Make no mistake darling, I'm still very much retired. I'm not Calvary anymore."]

"[Nonsense, your always my Calvary, once Vaqueros always Vaqueros.]"

-

Gloves off, Alejandro subtly rubbed your hand while Price made his speech. When you went to reach for the mask, Alejandro grip tightened.

"[This isn't your fight.]" His voice hush, low enough for only you to hear.

"[Did all those years mean nothing? Los Vaqueros is my family, Alejandro. That place is my home too. I'm not letting some fucking entitled little American take it. He needs to pay for burning our city.]" Alejandro glanced away for a moment but let go of your hand.

"[I missed seeing that fire of yours.]" He grinned, eventually turning back to face you, he wouldn't fight you on this. Alejandro gave you a nod as you took the mask into your personal. There was still a lot of prep to do.

-

Adjusting the scope on your gun, you didn't look up as Soap approached you. Ghost hovered near by the man, an eye on the pair of you. "You alright?" He placed your gloves on the crate near to you. They had been on the planning table.

"No complaints here Sergeant."

"Arthritis?" He glanced down towards your hands. "You keep stretching your hands."

"Carpal tunnel." You looked up and placed the gun down before you hopped up on the grate. "The vibrations from gunfire make it flare up."

"Alejandro seemed worried. He keeps staring at your hands."

"Mmm." You eyes flashed over to Alejandro you true to Soaps words, was staring at you. When you eyes caught his, he gave you a smile and looked back towards Rudy who was well used to his behavior. "He's protective like that. When this is over, ugh I'm not going to be able to do anything around the house." Despite the annoyance in your voice, there was a warm smile on your face.

"How long have the pair of you been together? I don't think I've seen anyone look at another person like Alejandro looks at you."

"Ah, officially about four years give or take. [What about Ghost?]" Your eyes flashed over to the man who stood, watching and no doubtly listening to your conversation. Soap gave you a slightly confused look while Ghost silently glared into your soul. He certainly heard you. A laugh bubbled from your chest and you lightly hit the side of his arm. "Ah perhaps you will understand when your older Sergeant."

"Heard that one before. Why'd they call you Calverio?"

"Calvary. Ah you show up one time on horseback and you don't hear the end of it."

"What happened?"

"Ask Alejandro that one when you're not busy. It's his favourite story to exaggerate. His entire face lights up. Only other story that makes his face light up I think is our wedding day."

"A good day I presume."

"One of the best, a little bit daunting on my side though."

"How so?"

"Ah, lots of people, lots of traditions. It's was a massive, massive festival. Then there was always that unlying threat. What if someone took this opportunity to kill us."

"Someone would do that?"

"People will do anything when they're desperate. When their hate rules their honor."

"Ain't that the truth."

"But." Your face lit up with a smile. "Everything went according to plan. I remember him complaining about his checks hurting a few days later from smiling too much." Your smile turned into a laugh. "I actually have a photo in my wallet if you would like to see."

"Of course, bit surprised you have it on you."

"I came in my normal clothing. I use these shoes to do shopping." You hummed and brought out your wallet. Soap watched as you pulled back a small compartment and pulled out a picture. It had creases on the folds and could see how you had taped it up to prevent it from deterioration. He leaned forward and moved next to you to look at the picture.

There in the middle of a massive group of people, the pair of you stood. Both dressed in white surrounded by friends and family. He could see the walls of brightly coloured flowers in the background only outshone by the smiles on your face. At first, Soap could only recognise the pair of you and Rudy who stood next to Alejandro.

"Wow, you look beautiful."

"I'm just glad you can't notice that I was still crying."

"You were crying?"

"Yeah, Alejandro was crying too. That happened at the reception though. I think that's when it was sinking in." Soap squinted at the picture for a moment.

"Is that Laswell?" He pointed to the back of the picture. It was almost impossible to see her with the woman next to her.

"It is. Yeah, Kate and her wife showed for the ceremony. Didn't stay too long at reception. They didn't really know too many other people. Regardless, it was good to see them. Mmm, if we ever end up renewing our vows you should come. It would be fun to have you all there."

"And see Alejandro, a blubbering mess? Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Of course that's if we get around to it. Maybe one day in the future. Alejandro's a very busy man and this whole thing is going to make him a lot busier. Perhaps he would let me come back to work." You hummed, your eyes trailing off the picture to find Alejandro but failing your mission.

"Not going to happen." A hand on your shoulder practically made you jump. So used to Alejandro's movements, you had almost become immune to it. His steps, his presence didn't set off a single red flag in your head so often he would get the element of surprise on you. "Showing Soap pictures of our wedding are you?" You head turned to see that light expression on his face.

"Just the one. I could do some desk work-"

"[No. I recall the doctor saying that desk work would perhaps make your hands even worse.]"

"Ah there's no arguing with you about this is there. Can't blame a girl for trying no?"

-

"[Perfect time to renovate.]" The pair of you stared at the base.

"[Will have to.]" He agreed. "[How's the house?]"

"[Unaffected. The Shadows didn't come that far out.]" He turned to face you, suspicion on his face. "[Rudy originally only came to check up on me.]"

"[Let me guess, you insisted on join him?]"

"[He could get all the help he could and you know he was never really good at saying no to me.]"

"[That's only because you don't listen when people tell you no.]"

"[Your one to talk Colonel.]" You drape your wrists around his neck, his eyes on yours. "[I felt like I've just woken up from a nightmare in a way. All this destruction doesn't seem real.]"

"[Mmm woken from a nightmare into a dream perhaps.]" His eyes flickered from yours down to your lips for a moment, you knew exactly what he wanted. A request you were happy to make. With a roll of your eyes you granted his silent request, his upon his as the sun set behind you.

#mw2 x reader #alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas #modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #call of duty #reader has long term carpal tunnel syndrome #(it flares up)

[mayflora-18]

Incorrect CoD Quotes #5

Sherlock: *gets stabbed*

Sherlock: Oh, look at that.

Sherlock: I’ve been impaled.

Nikolai: 😱

———

Nikolai, singing: I have loved you since we were 18.

Price: We met when we were, like, 23.

Nikolai: …

Nikolai, singing: I’ve been stalking you since I was 18!

———

Ghost: You have exactly three seconds to explain why you just woke me up.

Price: Because it’s morning and you should be awake.

Ghost: Oh… Interesting… I didn’t know you wanted to die today!

Price: Simon, you can’t kill me.

Ghost: It’s too late, I’ve already decided how.

———

Sherlock: I really like Eminem.

Soap: I prefer Skittles.

Sherlock: No like the rapper-

Soap: WHY WOULD YOU EAT THE WRAPPER?!!?

———

Sherlock: I have never seen two stable best friends. Always one of them has to lose their shit.

*Ghost and Soap look at each other*

Ghost: Wait, you’re telling me one of us is actually supposed to be stable!?

Soap: Ah, shite!

———

Soap: Who did you look up to most as a child and why?

Gaz: Uh, my parents because they were taller than me.

———

Soap: There are 1 million 13 thousand 150 words in the ENTIRE English Dialect and yet there is not a single combination of them that describes my URGE to HIT you WITH A CHAIR!

Graves: *pissed off*

*Soap pulls out a black umbrella from who knows where and opens it in front of Graves, showing him a hand that was giving him the middle finger*

———

Laswell: What was Plan A?

Ghost: Don’t fuck up.

Price: And what was Plan B?

Soap: Don’t fuck up Plan A.

Price: And what did you guys do?

Gaz: Fucked up p-

Sherlock: You fucked up Plan A.

———

Rudy: Ale, get out of the house. Valeria is here!

Alejandro: Well, tell Valeria to hold up because I’m doing some important shit.

*Alejandro starts playing music*

Alejandro’s phone: “You used to call me on my cell phone”~

Valeria: What the fuck?

———

General Shepherd: If you don’t like me at my worst, then you don’t like me at my best.

Price, holding a gun to Shepherd’s head: I don’t like you at all!

———

Sherlock: In every group of friends, there is the dumb one.

*Ghost looks at Soap*

Soap: Really

———

Laswell: When did you get here?

Price: I spent the night.

Laswell: …But I remember you leaving before I went to bed. You said “Good night, I’m going home!” And then you left.

Price: Yeah, but then on my way out I tripped and fell down the stairs.

Laswell: Oh my god, were you hurt?

Price: Nah, I just didn’t feel like getting up.

———

*at 7am*

Sherlock: Why is Gaz running?

Sherlock, yelling: Are you ok!? Is somebody chasing you!?

Gaz, yelling back: I’m running on purpose!

Sherlock: You’re running on purpose? It’s 7 in the morning!

———

Ghost: ArE yOu ReAdY tO DiE????

Sherlock: No??

Ghost: ThEn I’lL cOmE bAcK lAtEr!

———

Soap, slurring: You do realize that humans were really supposed to be on this earth to eat fruit-

Price: Is he drinking?

Soap: -in the wilderness butt naked-

Nikolai: I love it when he’s like this.

Soap: -and fuck, right?

Sherlock: He’s definitely drunk.

Soap: All this hard work shit is shit we brought ourselves.

———

Price: Where are you, Laswell? This place is fancy, and I don’t know which fork to kill myself with.

———

Soap, talking to Graves: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Graves: …

Soap: No, a summer’s day is not a bitch.

———

*Sherlock walks outside with a coffee in her hand*

*She sees JTF Ghost Team fighting Shadow Company*

Sherlock: god it’s brutal out here *sips coffee*

Rudy: Aren’t you gonna help us?

Sherlock: uhmm no *walks back inside*

Soap, shaking his head: You had to ask.

Rudy: 😰 She is a psychopath!

———

Alejandro: Keep your eyes closed, I have a surprise!

Rudy: Did you do the dishes?

Alejandro: I said surprise, not miracle.

#call of duty #call of duty oc #incorrect call of duty quotes #cod sherlock #cod nikolai #captain john price #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kate laswell #rudolfo parra #alejandro vargas #valeria garza #kyle gaz garrick #general shepherd #phillip graves #inspired by youtube

[hugmeimtouchdeprived]

Ghost! Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader - Chapter 2

Chapter 2!!! I'm busy with school and assignments and looking for a summer job and starting my final thesis, but I write when I have time and energy to do so😊

Let's ignore the fact that I posted this a few hours ago, but deleted it because I came up with something that I really wanted to change so I'm posting it again now

Content warning: Talk of possible stalking and breaking in (not really what's happening, but it's mentioned?), mention of blood.

Original drabble | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

“Come on, what else could it be?”

“I’m not being haunted, Donna,” you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose between two fingers. You glance around the small café, fairly empty of other patrons at this time of the day. The two of you sit next to the large windows, watching as people walk and drive by. It’s a weekday, middle of the day, so most people are likely still at school or work.

Donna is an old family friend. Used to be your neighbour when you were a kid and would often babysit you if your parents couldn’t find another babysitter. The two of you grew close until she got married and moved to the states briefly, before returning with her wife. It’s rare the two of you get time to see each other, but it’s always nice when you do.

You swear she hasn’t changed a bit since you were a kid. She’s in her early 50s, you’d guess, and still just as full of energy as she was all those years ago. Her wife is a bit of a mystery to you, but you know she travels a lot for work.

And that Donna loves her more than anything.

“What else could it be?” Donna repeats for the hundredth time. “You’re being followed by something; we both know it,” she insists. Donna has always been fairly enthusiastic, or at least interested in, the afterlife and ghosts and whatnot. You, not so much. Sure, it is intriguing, what happens after death and all the different views on the subject, if ghosts and spirits exist. Intriguing, but not very believable in your mind.

“You know, there was that terrorist attack in that tunnel a few months ago. A lot of people died there, I heard there was a soldier that passed, too,” she continues, her tone more serious now.

Donna always seems to know things. Sure, the attack, its casualties, have been public knowledge, at least some part of it. But Donna always seems to have more information than even the news do. You always joke she must have someone on the inside of all these things. “Something like that,” she’d respond.

You told her about everything as a joke, to try and ease your own nerves. She ended up taking it way more seriously than you would have anticipated. Maybe you should have predicted that, in hindsight, but at least she doesn’t seem to think you’ve lost your mind.

And sure, you promised yourself you wouldn’t talk about it to anyone, that you’d just go on with your merry life and ignore it, assume it’s a figment of your imagination. But you trust Donna, you wouldn’t be surprised if she knows you better than your parents do. Probably better than you do, if you’re being honest. And things really are getting out of hand with your ghostly friend. Roommate, squatter, stalker, whatever. You’re not sure what to call him, but it’s all too real to really keep ignoring it.

He’s in your goddamn home, your sanctuary, your safe space. Where you haven’t yet allowed even some of your friends to visit, you’re not sure if your coworkers even really know where you live. And this- this thing has invaded it, made himself right at home. Begging, yelling at him to leave you alone, to leave your home at once. The train station and the bookstore were manageable, at least. This? No. No way. This is your home, your apartment. It’s yours! You live alone and you quite like that, thank you very much.

You swear you see the shadow shake and shift, as if trying to hold in his laughter. He does seem to give you more space after that, though; instead of standing right next to or behind you, he stands in doorways, corners of rooms. That’s something, you guess.

And that’s the other thing. He’s so human, you often mistake him for an actual person standing in the corner of your room. It’s like having an extra clingy roommate, following you around the apartment. At least you can shower and change your clothes in peace. (That’s what you think. He’s not snooping or being creepy, of course not! He’s just lonely, needs the comfort of being with someone.)

It’s almost freaky how used to it you’ve gotten. It has been, what, a few months? You know by now that he, whoever he is, isn’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

The shadow in the corner of your eye no longer freaks you out nearly as much. You still don’t know who he is, or was, why he’s here and with you of all people, but you accept it. Not that you’d have a choice in the matter, anyway.

You watch movies with him. You see him next to you on your couch, almost feel his weight on the cushions, as if sitting next to a real, living person. Somehow, you can just tell when you’ve picked something he likes. The air around you feels different, more relaxed. He looks like he’s leaning forward in his seat, sitting on the edge of the couch when the movie gets exciting or interesting. You hear him laugh, not even the airy sound it was before, but an almost proper one.

He audibly groans if you pick something he doesn’t like. Might even throw a pillow on the floor or keeps turning the tv off. You’ll either scold him and keep attempting to turn it back on until he gets bored and gives up, or you’ll give up first and put on something he might like more. Problem is, you’re both stubborn beings, and might “argue” over the movie for a long time.

During horror movies you find yourself leaning towards him, looking for that feeling of safety he provides. It always takes you a moment to realize you can’t curl into his side, with his arm around you, like you would if he was physically there.

As more time goes by, you see more of him. He becomes more refined, quite literally. Going from a shadow in the corner of your eye, disappearing the moment you try to look at it, to what you’re sure is a human man. You can’t exactly see the details of his features, his face, but there are some things that are certain.

He's tall. Taller than you, at least. Muscular, too, by the looks of it, and wearing some sort of gear. Military, maybe? Donna did mention hearing of some soldier who died in those tunnels some months ago. Or maybe you’re being haunted by some terrorist who has taken a liking to you. You sincerely hope it’s the first one, though.

And then there’s the very obvious gunshot wound to his temple, oozing blood down the side of his face and neck. It drips down his chin and vanishes before hitting the floor. It’s more visible in darkness, or in the light of the moon and stars. You do your best to ignore it, there’ll be time to ask about it later. Surely not a subject he’d be very open to discuss or reminisce over.

At some point, it starts to feel nice to have some company over, even if it means you get little to no privacy. His presence makes you feel safer, in a way. You’re not sure if he could do much if someone was to break into your apartment or harass you at work or while running errands, or if he even would do anything to help you, but it still feels almost like having a guard dog. A dog that no one else can even see, unless he wants to be seen.

That’s what you think, at least. You see him because he wants you to. There’s not much concrete evidence of how ghosts really work, so you’re mostly going on what you’ve read about the subject and different cultures, and your own gut instinct.

You know your ghost can talk, too. A little bit, at least, not quite full sentences. You’ve heard what you swear was a laugh, a groan, mumbled words. He’s getting stronger, and you’re certain he will answer your questions, eventually. You’ll be patient.

One evening, you ask for his name while getting ready for bed in the bathroom. You see his hulking figure behind you in the mirror, dark shadow almost looking like he’s leaning against the wall. Not that you were expecting any response, but it’s still disappointing to not get one. The bar of soap at your sink gets tossed to the floor. “It was just a question, you know. No need to start throwing stuff around if you don’t want to answer,” you mumble as you pick it up. It’s back on the floor as soon as you turn your back to toss your clothes in the laundry basket.

You wake up feeling cold that night. Glancing at the clock, it’s barely past midnight. You close your eyes, wanting to go back to sleep; having an early morning tomorrow, you want to at least try to get a proper night of sleep.

Something’s wrong, though. It takes you a while to realize what exactly that is. It’s cold, unusually so even under your thick duvet. A weight behind you in bed as you lie on her side. An arm around your waist, weighing you down. Someone’s cold, hard chest pressed against your back.

This is a dream. A fucking nightmare. It must be.

Feeling the weight shift behind you, a cold breath of air at the back of your neck, wakes you up rather quickly. The panic settles in slow, creeping up as you process the situation, eyes wide open.

You squeeze your eyes shut, considering your options. You could tear that arm off you and make a run for it. Scream as you go, get the attention of your neighbours; the middle-aged lady whose name you haven’t bothered to learn, who is always so quick to blame you for any and every sound she hears. Or you could just go back to sleep, ignore your problems until the morning, or until the person behind you decides to do something. Just- just ignore it until then.

Or you could turn around and see who it is.

What if they’re not even asleep? Watching, waiting for you to react?

You try to rationalize it, you always do. Always have a plan, always prepared for anything.

Not this, though.

How the hell could anyone ever be prepared for waking up to something like this?

You try to move, to slide out of bed, moving so slow the person behind you wouldn’t notice if they’re truly asleep. Their grip only tightens around your waist, stilling your movement. You hold your breath.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!

What’s a person supposed to do here, in a situation like this? You’ve heard enough horror stories – stories from real life, real people, not mere fiction – about how these things usually end. A woman living alone, someone forcing entry to their home after weeks, or even months of stalking them, getting to know their schedule, their workplace, their life. Every option, every possible action you could take has its risks, and your mind in running a million miles per hour.

You decide to turn, the pure fear getting to you. Fear of simply not knowing who this person is, why or how they’re here, in your home. In your bed.

You turn, moving slowly and carefully again, to face whoever is in the bed with you. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear and anxiety or what or who you’ll see terrifying you to your very core.

There’s nothing there. In the dark room, you only see the moonlight peeking through the blinds, not doing much to light your room.

There’s nothing there.

Your eyes close and you take a deep breath, telling yourself it was some fucked up dream that just felt too real. You have been stressed out lately, more so than usual, so it's not that out of the question that it would start affecting you in different ways.

You promptly choose to ignore the still cold to the touch indentation on the mattress beside you.

You don’t even notice the now familiar eyes watching you from the corner of your bedroom.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!🌷

Also, I've been very busy and stressed recently, mostly with uni and assignments and starting my final thesis. I've found writing this to be sort of relaxing, like a way to get my mind off of things when it gets too much and my brain turns to mush. :)

#ghost!soap #cod mw x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish x you #soap x reader #cod x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader

[mlmxreader]

Always Be My Demon | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “all your friends are fucking dead” w/ ghost & gn!reader 👀 @mockerycrow ❞

: ̗̀➛ Ghost's significant other is killed by the Shadows, and although he tried to save them, they'll get their revenge from beyond the grave.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption, gore, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, death, body horror, burning alive, SUICIDE, stabbing, violence, blood

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Ghost had not been the same, not since the incident; the one person that he had fought to protect, fought to ensure that they saw the end of the war, and he had failed. It kept playing back in his head, no matter what he did.

He had not been the same since you had died. He had not been the same, and he never would be again. You were inseparable, once upon a time, and now, even though your burned discs hung around his neck on the same chain as his own, he knew he would never be at your side again.

Yet, he dreamed of you so often.

Ghost just wanted to haunt you, for forever and a day. He wanted to go back to being at your side once more, but he knew that such a thing would never happen. But he dreamed of you, he couldn't stop dreaming of you. It was the only time that your death didn't replay in his head; burned alive and trapped within a shed.

The Shadows had danced and sang as you burned, screaming out for Ghost to help. Gaz, Price and Soap had held him down as they looked away and tried to block the sight of the flames. Yet the smell clung to the air, and the screams only stained it even more.

Ghost never stopped thinking about it, but his dreams were so, so sweet. Your appearance had changed so terribly; covered in blisters and burns, your skin cracked and charred. Your uniform, once proud and spotless, was frayed and torn, black smears across the desert khaki.

The red and green striped jumper you had worn underneath your uniform had ripped and the strings dangled from your torso, exposing the blistered flesh that was once your chest. Ghost didn't really bat an eye at first, when the Shadows started to die in their sleep; the rumour was carbon dioxide emissions, he didn't care.

They deserved it.

They deserved it for what they had done to the one person that Ghost truly, absolutely, loved. But then things got weird. Soap reported it first, complaining about weird dreams to Price; he would furrow his brows, and describe a figure in a burned and torn uniform, wielding a kukri and wearing a dark brown beanie.

Chasing him down, but every time he tried to look properly, he would wake up. Every time they caught him, he woke up.

It was odd. Soap never had dreams like that, and from the descriptions, Ghost was only more confused - it sounded like you. At least, in appearance. Even down to the weapon of choice.

Even when they were sent back home, with Ghost sitting beside your coffin the entire time and weeping, something just didn't feel right. The Shadows were all gone, sure, but something didn't feel right.

Ghost's dreams became more vivid, almost like they were real. He could actually hold you, actually feel you in his hands, and when he looked into your eyes, he thought, just for a moment, that you were still alive.

"I love you," sounded so real coming from your mouth. "I really do."

Soap's dreams got worse, too, nightmares. He would scream and thrash around in his bed, tell everyone that he had seen faces pushing through his chest when he looked in the mirror.

The weirdest was when he had a dream that he had been slashed with a knife… and had woken up with a long, jagged gash across his chest. Exactly like a slash wound from a blade.

He told Ghost all about it, and was convinced that he was going to die; Ghost told him not to worry, that it was probably just trauma from how they had all watched… watched that day and had done nothing to save you. But Soap was adamant.

He really was.

It was late when Soap returned home from a pub night with Gaz, Price and Ghost; he almost didn't even take his jeans off when he flopped into bed. Dizzy and tired, he muttered that he would never drink again as he closed his eyes.

Convinced he had probably dreamed of going home, Soap was hardly surprised when he woke up to find himself in a warehouse. Pipes burst, hissing thick smoke, and Soap coughed as he shook his head.

"How tae fuck did I get here?" He murmured, pressing his hand to his temple. "Fuck… must'a been that fuckin' Jäger…"

"One, two, they're coming for you."

That was… children? Soap furrowed his brows, taking a look around. Why the fuck were there kids in a warehouse?

"Three, four, you'll be no more."

He started to wander through, trying to search out the echoing nursery rhyme; or at least, he guessed it was a nursery rhyme.

"Five, six, you won't make it out alive."

He paused, wondering what the fuck kind of nursery rhyme that could have been.

"Seven, eight, they're full of hate."

He continued, painfully aware of his footsteps echoing.

"Nine, ten, never sleep again."

Shaking his head, Soap was about to go through a corridor, when he froze; he became tense, all too aware of something, someone, watching him closely. Something lurking in the dark nearby.

"Going somewhere, John?"

He knew that voice, and slowly turned around. You weren't too far away, he could see you clearly and he grinned as he met your gaze.

"Oh, it's only you."

He was relieved, it was only a dream. He was safely tucked away in his bed.

You took a few steps forward. "Only me… y'know, I've been Craven some… closure."

Soap cocked his head to the side. "Huh?"

"Don't worry," you tapped his cheek as you grinned. The flesh around your mouth cracked, thick scabs leaking soft streams of red. "It's all in your head."

Soap nodded slowly, clearing his throat. "I know you ain't real, but, erm… Simon misses you, y'know."

You hummed. "Don't worry, I'll be seeing him soon enough… as for you, though, John, I'd say it's your lucky day."

"Eh?"

"I'm the one of your dreams," you whispered, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in close. Your mouth right next to his ear. "And I always have been, haven't I?"

"I don't-"

"Relax, John," you told him softly. "This is all in your head."

Soap shook his head, taking a few steps back as he clenched his jaw. "Yer dead."

"You made your death bed," you laughed. "You'll have to die in it soon enough."

"I don't understand."

"Oh, don't worry, MacTavish," you tutted, tossing him something round and coarse to the touch. "You'll go out with a bang, at least."

Soap examined the object, his jaw dropping and a shaky breath leaving him when he realised what it was; he looked at you, voice shaking. "Why?"

"Because…" you hummed. "I wanna see what your insides look like."

He wanted to throw it back, to get rid of it and to try and save himself, but when he went to throw it, you shook your head.

"I wouldn't… I know your temper can be a little explosive, but c'mon, John. Think."

Soap sniffled, nodding as he sat down and let the object clatter to the floor between his legs. He knew there was no escape, he wasn't an idiot. He had seen it coming.

"Atta boy," you took another few steps back, and put on a pair of sunglasses as you hummed. "Bomb voyage!"

There was a sharp, bright, orange light; it took a few seconds, but the sound was almost deafening. Everything that Soap had been, flesh and bone and blood, splattered and hit every available surface.

"Huh," you hummed, scooping something thick and gooey from where his skull had been. "Well, I wasn't wrong when I said his head was stuffed with wet sawdust."

The news of Soap's death had wrecked Ghost; he hardly slept, wondering why the fuck Soap had a bomb on him at home in the first place. It wasn't like him.

Soap would never be… no. Soap would have reached out if he had thought about taking his own life, Ghost knew that. He was certain of it. Soap would have said something, anything. Soap would never have been in possession of a bomb, either; all of his demolition equipment was always organised neatly back at base.

The only thing he ever took from it was the fancy coffee sachets that Price bought. Soap would… no. Ghost knew that something was wrong, something didn't make sense and didn't sit right with him.

It wasn't a suicide, it couldn't have been - but then, Ghost wasn't entirely sure what it could have been… until he fell asleep one night, and saw you juggling bombs whilst sitting on a chair and wearing sunglasses. That was… odd. Ghost tried not to think about it as he sighed, sitting down before you.

"Soap died…" he said softly. "Everyone says it's suicide… and I know, I know you ain't here, not really, but I… it's nice to talk to you, even if I'm only dreaming…"

You nodded, gently putting the bombs aside and tossing away the sunglasses. "I'm sorry, Simon."

Ghost shook his head, swallowing thickly. "Dunno what to do…"

"Just breathe," you told him. "Just breathe, while you can… oh, and answer the phone. It's annoying me that you're letting it ring."

Ghost smiled as he closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, he could only sigh heavily; he picked up his phone, bringing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Simon."

"Price."

"Have you, erm, have you been having… nightmares?" Price sounded worried. "About, erm… y'know."

Ghost shook his head. "No, Sir. Why?"

"Soap," Price sighed heavily. "Soap said he was having them, and now he's… y'know…"

"Yeah."

"You alright?"

"Yeah."

Price hummed. "Call me in the morning. Me, you and Gaz - I'm gonna take you lot all out for a day next week or something. Y'know, get away from… everything."

Price started having the dreams that night. A figure in a ripped uniform, dark brown beanie, holding a kukri and smelling distinctly like burnt flesh, It was… odd, to say the least.

Price tried to stay awake as much as he could, but he wasn't as young as used to be, and he eventually succumbed to the siren call whilst signing paperwork for Laswell at his desk; the last one he signed, now smeared w his drool, was about Soap's death.

A warehouse, empty and desolate. Yet he could hear children singing, echoing through the walls as if they were far above him.

"One, two, they're coming for you. Three, four, you'll be no more. Five, six, you won't make it out alive. Seven, eight, they're full of hate. Nine, ten, never sleep again."

Knowing that it was just a dream, he shrugged, and decided to sit down on an old crate; he searched his pockets, but his cigarettes weren't there. Bugger.

Maybe it was like his phone - he might have had them constantly, but when he was dreaming, he obviously didn't pick them up. Maybe. He shrugged, leaning back a little so that his head softly hit the cool wall. He didn't think much of it, until he saw the figure approaching.

"Oi!" He called out.

"Evening, Cap," you smiled, mockingly saluting him. You pointed to his pocket. "Nasty habit, that. Good thing you forgot 'em… it'll burn you alive."

Price rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing this is just the trauma."

"Incredible work, Sherlock."

"Take a seat," Price huffed, gesturing to the crate opposite him. "So, what? You're gonna convince me to see a therapist?"

"Only if it was Hannibal Lecter… after all, you have been known to kill in poor taste, haven't you?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You let me die," you growled out. "You stopped Ghost from saving me."

"It was us or you."

"You let them set fire to that shed," you hissed. "You let them do it…"

Price clenched his jaw tightly, pursing his lips. "This is just my subconscious."

"Is it?" You growled lowly, approaching him and sitting on his lap as you gently traced the kukri from his throat to his belt. "Look at me. Look at what they fucking did to me! I'm like a pork scratching fucked burnt bacon!"

He swallowed thickly. "This is just a dream. I know that."

Slowly, you sank the kukri into his arm. "Is it, John boy?"

"This isn't real!"

You withdrew the blade from his arm, and set it against his mouth, forcing him to open his mouth like he was grinning. "That's it, smile you son of a bitch… let's see how you like it when your loved ones find your corpse mangled, shall we?"

Price fought back, forcing you off of his lap and pouncing on you; he did his best, but he wasn't as powerful, and you eventually managed to pin him down on his back again as you grinned.

"Here's Johnny!"

"Get the fuck off me!" Price hissed. "This isn't real!"

"Aw, don't worry," you taunted. "Our film is nearly finished - you're just prime time television!"

Price struggled, but he didn't know that you could fight dirty; you clicked your fingers, and sat back slightly as you watched cigarettes fill his mouth one after the other until his mouth was stuffed with them. He choked and gagged, trying to spit them out as you laughed.

"Well, aren't you just s-s-s-s-s-smokin'!"

You put your foot on your chest, bending over as you offered him a lighter. "It really is a nasty habit - like I said, it'll burn you alive."

You lit the cigarettes, and watched as the flame grew bigger and brighter as it engulfed his face; he squirmed and struggled, but there was nothing he could do. The smoke infected his lungs, and the ash clogged his mouth and nose as he choked and gagged. When you knew he was dead, you laughed, shaking your head.

"Another life taken by smoking, when will it end?"

Ghost answered the phone when Gaz rang. Price was dead. Fell asleep with a cigarette and very nearly burned his place down. Smoke inhalation got to him before the fire brigade and ambulance could.

Ghost swallowed thickly. It wasn't like Price to fall asleep with a cigarette, he would go absolutely berserk - for one, it was stupid and foolish. Two, it was a waste of good tobacco. Something definitely was not right.

First Soap, then Price?

It was all too uncanny. Dying in ways that they would never even risk. But, the loss was too much for Ghost to burden himself with; he knew that. He cut Gaz off. He cut everyone off. Threw his phone in the canal and smashed his laptop up with an old sledgehammer. Your sledgehammer.

He didn't feel right using it, and when he was done, he held onto it, and sobbed loudly. Snot dribbling from his nose and splattering onto the floor as a thick, transparent goo. His throat hoarse and raw. His head stinging and pounding. All Ghost could do was fall apart completely.

He was losing everyone. He lost the person he loved, his best friend, his mentor. Everyone around him was fucking dying, and he couldn't stop it.

Gaz wondered for days why he had not heard from Ghost, he worried a lot; Ghost had lost nearly everyone he had cared about, all that was left was Gaz, Farah, Alex and Laswell. Nobody else.

Ghost's entire family had nearly been wiped out.

Of course Gaz worried. Ghost was like a brother to him, and to not hear from him was unsettling, but there was little that he could do except drive down to see him. He asked Laswell for the address.

She provided it happily when Gaz admitted that he was doing a welfare check. But halfway there, he had to stop for a rest, and as it was a cold, bitter day with too many hours ahead, Gaz didn't see any reason not to snuggle down on the backseat of his car after pulling into a layby.

He practically launched himself into his dreams the second his head hit the seat.

He groaned when he realised he was standing in an old warehouse, blinking a few times to cure the grogginess from his eyes.

"You were the only one," he recognised that voice, and turned to see you smoking a cigarette. Your uniform was ripped and torn, burned just like your blistered skin, he could see the red and green striped jumper you had been wearing beneath your uniform that day, the hole in it showing off your charred chest. Or, what was left of it. "You were the only one who actually wanted to help."

Gaz nodded slowly. "Corporal?"

"It's me, Kyle," you nodded, licking your lips. "I know you wanted to help Ghost… I know you were only following Price's orders… I had to do it, y'know."

"What?" He shook his head. "No, no, this is just… just some sick dream."

"I liked you a lot, Kyle," you admitted, approaching and putting your hand on his shoulder as you sighed. "You were like a brother to me… you really were."

"This is a fucking piss take. You're not real - this is just a dream!"

"I'm sorry," you whispered as the room went dark. "But sometimes, you just need to take a stab in the dark."

You were certain that you hit him in the right place when you stabbed him in the back; he froze for a moment, the air pushed up through his mouth. He went limp, and you gently set him down, kissing his forehead.

"I love you, brother."

Ghost read it in the newspapers. Gaz was in the hospital after suffering sufficient nerve damage in his back. Apparently it had been something to do with the position he had fallen asleep in whilst in his car.

It didn't sound right, but Ghost was thankful that Gaz was at least alive. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew that, somehow, it was connected to Soap and Price's deaths.

He knew it, somehow, and when he fell asleep on Gaz's sofa after agreeing to look after the place, he wasn't sure why he woke up at his old flat. The one he shared with you.

Yet there you were, sitting on the sofa with a bar of soap, a packet of cigarettes, and a union jack baseball cap on the coffee table. Ghost swallowed thickly.

"It was you," he grumbled. "Wasn't it?"

You nodded. "All your friends are fucking dead, Simon."

"How?"

"I made a deal," you shrugged. "When I died. That I could come back…"

"You're a demon," Ghost whispered.

"Dream demon," you corrected, but then you grinned. "You could come home to me, y'know…"

His eyes went wide for a moment. He had been left without anyone else in his life, so he nodded slowly. "How?"

You offered the kukri to him. "Slit your throat… we can be together forever."

It was all too tempting. He expected them to do so, but when he took the blade from you, his hands didn't shake at all. He didn't even hesitate as he brought the sword to his throat, and quickly swiped it along his skin; choking, he dropped to his knees, and coughed as he watched his blood pool around him.

"That's it, baby," you reassured, patting his back. "It'll all be over in a second."

You could see his appearance change; his eyes lost their pupils, and all colour drained from them, leaving behind only bleached irises. He stopped choking and coughing, and gagged softly as he regained some composure. You smiled, kissing his temple.

"I can't feel anything…" he grumbled, lying down and laying his head on your lap. "I'm cold."

You shook your head, sighing. "You're not like me, that's why."

"What?"

"You'll never die," you explained, "you'll never age. You'll only decompose so much, and then you'll walk among the living…"

"You said we'd be together!"

"We will," you reassured. "You are the only one who can bring me outside of dreams, Simon. Whenever you want, all you have to do, is fall asleep and pull me into your world."

Ghost sighed, shaking a little as he shook his head. "Why did you do it?"

"I had to," you admitted. "Soap and Price… they stopped you from saving me… and Gaz… I made sure it was quick for him. I didn't want to make him suffer, I know he… he wasn't guilty."

"Gaz is alive," he told you. "He's in hospital recovering."

You breathed out what he could only describe as a sigh of relief. "He'll come after us… but I'm glad he survived."

"I don't want to wake up…"

"You don't have to," you shook your head. "You can sleep for years and years at a time, if you want to… you're not alive anymore, Simon, but you're also not… really dead. You're forever haunting."

"So we can be together?"

"Always," you nodded. "We'll never have to be apart again."

#mlem writes #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagine #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x you #ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost imagine #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod imagine #cod fanfiction

[salbei-141]

Southern asshole (Commander Phillip Graves x Reader)

Masterlist

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+, angst, mild fluff if we're looking closely ig...it ain't long lasting that's for sure, violence as usual, etc.

a/n: just look at him, he's so baby girl.

I hope you enjoy my loves

:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood still, adrenaline piercing every nerve in your body until you were numb. Everything in your head screamed at you to run as the chaos ensued. Ghost had disappeared, and Soap was on the run as several Shadow members attempted to go after him, and Alejandro was cuffed in the back of one of their vehicles. Despite all this, you stood your ground - not because you were being 'brave', it was probably one of the most mindless decisions you've made during your military career. You just couldn't believe what was happening though.

You and Phillip had been working closely together and not once had you thought he'd do this to your team, especially to you. Since the mission had begun, the relationship between you and Phillip had grown rapidly - you weren't exactly just friends, but you weren't lovers either. You'd spent countless hours late at night telling Phillip about your childhood, and how it led you to the military as he held you in his arms - he too had opened up about his past, but you weren't sure if he had been telling you the truth about anything now, you felt so utterly deceived that you felt nothing was real about him - instead there was a new man before you now.

Before you could continue processing things in your head, a random Shadow member shoved you roughly against the car next to you - you were convinced you were going to receive a few bruises from that. You felt a jolt of anger coursing through your veins and resisted the Shadow member as he tried to cuff you.

"Shadow, stand down." there's the bastard's voice ringing from behind you.

Feeling the pressure removed from behind you, you turned and whipped around, coming face to face with Phillip. You stared him down and noticed the way his eyes twitched - nerves you thought. Watching as he took a silent step towards you, you pushed further back into the car, feeling like prey, being stalked and played with.

"You gonna give me your hands sweetheart, or are we gonna have trouble?" you couldn't figure out the look in his eyes, but there was an edge to him that's for sure. Holding your hands out to him, you let him cuff you and drag you into the back of a car - you had no chance against him with his team of Shadows surrounding the both of you.

The drive to Alejandro's base was tense - no one spoke a word, and you were doing your utmost best to keep your mouth shut, despite the string of curses you wanted to slew his way. You kept your eyes on the outside of the window, watching mindlessly as you passed rocks and plants along the roads. Eventually, you came up to Alejandro's base and the pit in your stomach deepened - your team wasn't here this time to help you - they were in trouble too, and you had been stupid enough to freeze in that moment.

Coming to a halt, you noticed that the vehicle Alejandro had been in went down a different turning. "Where the fuck are you taking Alejandro, Graves?" you spat his name out through gritted teeth - you were beyond pissed, and the use of his last name only proved that to him, you'd always call him by his name.

"That doesn't concern you right now, so I suggest you stay quiet - you were doin' so well darlin'." He glared at you in the rearview mirror, he wasn't letting up anytime soon.

"Like hell, it doesn't concern me! Tell me where in the fu-" You couldn't get the sentence out before he had to cut in again.

He turned around, making direct eye contact with you - it was haunting, "Don't you even dare go there with me y/l/n. What did I just say to you, huh? Use that brain of yours before you get yourself hurt." His voice didn't waver once, and you could honestly admit that you were scared of Phillip - you never thought you'd be in this position with him of all people. You cared for him...a lot and this was not the way you anticipated things to go.

The threatening tone had you on edge, so you decided to obey like the bitch he was making you - you felt so small, it was actually embarrassing, but more painful than anything that he was treating you like this. You watched as he exited the car and came to your door, pulling it open and dragging you out by your cuffed hands.

"I'm sorry." it was a brief whisper as he got close enough to your ear as he shut the door of the car behind you. Looking back up at his face though, there wasn't a single change to his expression - he still looked like the southern asshole he was. Was he still playing with you? You couldn't tell, but you had every reason to believe he was.

Pulling you alongside him, you blanked as he shouted commands at his surrounding Shadows while he dragged you into the compound. Before you knew it, you were in an office - just you and Graves. Your heart had sped up seeing the reality of the situation - you didn't really know him after today, and all you could assume was that there was every chance you weren't walking back out of that room.

Watching as he shut and locked the door, he strode towards the desk in the middle of the room and sat atop of it, staring you down. You were frozen in place yet again - what were you supposed to do? His head moved, he hung it low, taking in a deep breath.

"I didn't mean for this." he continued to hang his head low - he couldn't even make eye contact with you. Was this his attempt at an apology? You could feel the fury overwhelming your senses, you could laugh at him right now in all honesty - this was pathetic.

"What? Is this your half-assed apology for being a fucking rat this whole time? You had me all docile for you - at your side whenever the fuck you called my name, I didn't once think twice about you Phillip...not once. But now, I don't even know you - what was true and what wasn't Phillip?" You hadn't even realised the tears that were streaming down your face as you'd been berating him - you were in pain, you hadn't expected him to hurt you like this, you thought he had cared. 

Before he could respond, you held your arms out to him, "And take these fucking cuffs off of me, I'm not the animal here." you glared at him, waiting for him to come closer and remove the restraints, but he didn't move.

"You ain't gonna hit me?" he was genuinely asking you, and you couldn't believe it. He had no reason to be scared right now, he had the power here.

"As tempting as it is, no I won't. I'd have done it by now too - cuffs or not."

He moved from where he was and gently took your wrists into his hands - this was the Phillip you were used to, he was gentle with you. The soft caress of his hand atop your wrists as he unlocked the cuffs had you calming down again - he held an unspeakable amount of power over your emotions.

You both remained silent, staying within close proximity of each other. Before you could even register any movement, his hand had come up to your face, delicately wiping away the tears that were still slowly cascading down your reddened cheeks. Whipping your head to the side, he dropped his hand back to his side - you weren't going to let him think things were okay.

"Don't do that." he was pleading with you now, he thought you'd be more understanding, and let him explain himself.

"Why Phillip? I'd rather you hadn't spent months deceiving me, to just betray the entire team, but here we are." you sent another glare in his direction.

"You think I had any choice in this y/n? Shepherd controls me, I had no fucking choice in this darlin'."

You gave him a confused look, "What? Of course you had a choice, Phillip, it's not hard to not commit whatever the fuck is going on. You and Shepherd are a team Phillip, don't act like you're innocent." you felt your fists balling up in anger, why was he acting like he wasn't at fault.

He took a deep breath, looking into your eyes - he knew he shouldn't admit this, but it was his last saving grace. His chest was straining seeing how much he'd hurt you - would he ever come back from this?

"I never had a choice darlin'. I fucking love you y/n, and Shepherd knew you were my weakness - everybody fucking knew. He was ready to remove you one way or another if I didn't agree to this. I did this for you! What can't you understand about that? I-...I'm sorry." you were stunned into silence. His face was ridden with guilt and exhaustion - he'd known about this for weeks, and he had no way of telling you.

You broke eye contact seeing the desperation in his eyes for forgiveness - you couldn't give that to him, your team always came first. Still though, your heart pumped painfully hearing that he loved you - you loved him too, you really did, but there was no way he was coming back from this. Your heart ached for him, thinking of what Shepherd must've said to him for him to have gone this far - and for how far he was yet to go.

You raised a tentative hand to his face, placing it on the underside of his jaw, stroking it softly, "I...I don't know what you want me to say, Phillip. Of course, I love you too, but I can't actually do so. You made this decision Phillip, and I'm sorry Shepherd backed you into a corner, but there's not much you can do now apart from try and save yourself from this mess." you wanted to forget it all, you really did. You wanted the picture-perfect life with him, but not after this. You'd prefer he'd let you die than have your team being hunted by the bloodhounds of the night.

You heard a knock at the door, and with a final stroke of his cheek, and sorrowful looks exchanged between you both, he went to unlock and answer the door. Whispers were shared between Phillip and one of his Shadows - it sounded rushed, and they were worried, which you liked. You were hoping Soap and Ghost were safe - you don't know how you'd cope if something had happened to them, knowing you were at the centre of Grave's motives for carrying this betrayal out.

Grabbing you roughly by the arm again, Phillip cuffed you again and bending down to your ear he whispered a final sorry, discreetly pressing a soft kiss to your ear as he did so, before the Shadow member took you to somewhere more secure. You felt your heart shatter all over again - that was possibly one of the last times you'd see Graves and you let yourself silently cry, mourning the loss of the shell of a man you loved. That was your goodbye, and you couldn't think of a worse way of saying goodbye to someone - you didn't even get to say your last words to each other. All you could do was pray for your team, and bring hell to Shepherd when they inevitably took back Alejandro's base.

#commander phillip graves #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #commander graves #graves x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #soap #ghost #fem reader #x reader #john mactavish #simon riley #angst #fluff #call of duty #modern warfare 2

[thetravelingtyper]

Spitfire: GN! Tall Reader x Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

You always thought Graves had a punchable face...

Roughly inspired by the song Galway Girl for some reason.

Part 2 in the Spitfire universe: Reaper ,pt 3: Feuerkopf , Pt. 4 Heated Shadow

MASTERLIST

Warnings: General violence, mention of blood, Graves being a slightly misogynistic dick, possible OOC of characters, first short fic so please bare with me.

Edit: Now on my Ao3 if that's an easier read: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44277745

This was practice for my other fandom fic on Ao3 but you guys seem to like it so I will continue writing snapshots for ya’ll. Thanks for the love and any constructive criticism is welcome!!!

The sun beat down harshly on the base, and even in the mid-morning in Mexico, heat radiated off the concrete. Across the base soldiers moved around quickly, mechanics tucked under trucks and jeeps, both at work and seemingly vying for shade. Amongst them, the black gear of the Shadows darkened the day.

Sargent John ‘Soap’ MacTavish wandered in his free time. The tropical sun glinted off his sweat and he fussed with the buds of his radio tucked in his ears. He had already checked weapons, his rifle was cleaned thoroughly three times from lack of tasks. Members of the Vaqueros sent him nods as he passed. Soap had proved himself as a good drinking buddy the past nights and many of the soldiers would pause what they were doing to throw some Spanish to grow his expanding vocabulary.

However, it was curiosity that sent him out this time. As he had been finishing up in the barracks a woman had appeared at the doorway. She called something in Spanish then dropped it quickly in English seeing Shadows and the Sargent.

“Come quickly the Americans are going to be fighting!”

This sent Soap up quickly, he had reassembled his gun and stashed it. Considering the same expressions of confusion, then recognition on the faces of those around him, this could mean one thing. You.

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Fellow sergeant and a damn good friend, you made a good fit in the 141. With six feet of sarcasm and attitude, you took no shit and had a visible dislike for a certain Commander. It started when you met the man face to face. His skill had impressed you, the clear respect for him held by his men ascertained that. His composer while dealing with Hassan kept that appearance. As an American yourself Soap and your Lieutenant had been concerned, but you had stayed in the shadows, watching. 

“Let me finish this.” Your fingers twitched at the trigger but you held steady. Eventually, you had let the man go, relying on a lead, which he delivered with Sin Nombre. You stood over the valley, Soap passing you the sights. The men debated about a way in, Graves offering force.

“Then we take it.”

“I got enough Shadows here to take over the whole damn country.” 

Your head shot up from the sights. You scoffed and Graves shot you a smirk.

“Are you crazy?”

Alejandro follows up:

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.

Graves rounds back with a satisfied smile,

“I’m just sayin’...one house shouldn’t be a problem.”

You tick

“Hell of a party to crash with an army soldier boy.”

Graves head turns towards you with a simmer in his eyes that makes you hackle.

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After the encounter with Hassan, you all returned to base to let him lead you further. You all were scattered around control, recon shots, and notes scattered on the metal tables. Ghost and Alejandro stood evaluating and Soap relayed information to Laswell.

You took a cloth to sturdy red. Despite an extensive collection of combat knives, many being gifts from your ‘mates’ you still enjoyed a Victorinox. You tinkered a lot, the nickname Gear fitting well among Spitfire. Ruby red sides gleamed with wear and silver steel shined as you cleaned. The knife caught another eye.

“Nice toy Spitfire.”

A smug voice settled in front of you and you looked up, well down. Despite the power he ‘carried,’ Phil Graves was shorter than the other men in the room. While you were shorter amongst your team, you still towered over him. Graves had seemingly appreciated this and upon seeing you (outside of the interrogation) he had whistled.

“Do you have relevant information Graves?” 

Your voice came out quiet, anger masked with boredom. Yet your hand clenched the knife tighter. 

“Not at the moment Sweetheart. What is beauty like you doing with the Brits? If you want better company, you could fit in nicely with the Shadows.”

He raises a hand to your arm, you freeze, he pats your arm, and moves into your ear. The stench of cologne is too much and you want to gag. 

“You’d look better in black anyway.”

You clench your knife tighter.

At the table, dark eyes turn up. Ghost tunes into you in the corner of the room. Your shoulders are tense, and he recognizes the building anxiety in your eyes. But there is also anger, burning and protective of yourself, which he respects. Knowing your history, you became fiercely protective of yourself and your friends, wrath becoming your wall to the world and advances from disgusting men. 

Soap’s eyes catch Ghost’s as he excuses himself. Like a shadow, the massive wall of a man materializes behind Graves. A boney-gloved hand reached around Graves and grabs the hand clutching your knife.

“I need you to take a look at something, Gear.” His accent is stronger and his voice rumbles into the back of Graves's head. The shorter man jolts away from you, shoulder knocking into the wall of English muscle. He spins around and takes in the man looking down at him. 

However, a sense of survival was not strong with this one.

Graves made a step forward that had Ghost raising his head, eyebrow quirking. But before he could speak Soap pushed his way between them with an image.

“Commander, we got something…” And with that the American bravado and charm fell back into place as Graves turned back to work, sparing you a wink.

“Until later Sweetheart.” The syrupy drawl made you gag and you raised a hand to shoot him a middle finger. A tug at your wrist stopped you and you released a tense breath before leaning into your Lieutenant. He turned to look down at you and you offered him a smile, his hand released and he nodded. You closed and pocketed the knife, an old gift from Simon after he found you always losing basic tools while visiting on leave.

“It’s not stupid.” You grumble, collecting yourself while watching Soap making a show in the far corner of the room. Alejandro turns to the two of you, head tilted at your proximity. The man had easily fallen into the position of a brother for you, and much like Soap held a bit of a white knight role. You smile at him and he squints.

Soap’s laptop rings with a call from Laswell. They had found the next target and Soap mentioned everyone back to the center table. Alejandro watched for a moment longer as Ghost released your wrist. You pushed forward, but not without bumping a hip into the quiet man and murmuring “thank you Love.”

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This attitude of Graves had carried into one of his suggestions on how to get into the villa. 

“Give them what they want,”

Graves's eyes flicker to you,

“Intel. They want to know who’s here. Let’s tell’em.”

He carries a smirk, Alejandro intrigued, questions him,

“In-person?”

Graves's eyes shift to him.

“Correcto. Get one of us inside, find the boss…” he brings his hands together, “roll him up.”

There is a silent moment as you all consider the plan. It made sense, with all of the action and infiltration, you had riled up the mysterious head of the cartel. And if Hassan's actions weren't clear enough there was an obvious connection.

You break the silence. 

“It's a good idea, information at a time like this is as valuable as gold.” The men’s eyes turn to you. Graves smiles, stepping forward like a presenter on a stage.

“Glad you understand sweetheart.”

Soap frowns, “who goes in? Alejandro is too obvious…”

He is cut off by a smooth voice. Graves gestures to you, 

“Gentleman, I present to you our lovely option. Dressed to the nines they would be sure to dazzle their way past the guards.”

Your brow shoots up, first thinking the man was joking, before hot anger simmers.

“Are you fucking with me Graves?”

Your voice is firm as you raise from a nonexistent slouch, looming over the man. Graves steps up to the challenge.

“Darling, if you went in there with this attitude you'd have that man on his knees” he reaches a hand towards your face. Alejandro stands frozen at the gall but steps forward muttering in Spanish. But Soap beats him to it.

“I’ll go, They will expect a Scot less than an American…” With that, the tension cracks, and Graves turns back into the American Commander again, offering his patch as proof. 

You stand a little shaken but more irritated, you feel eyes, then turn to the back of the platform, still cast in shadow. 

The white skull haunts the shadow but it is the glint in Ghost’s eyes that catches your heart. He seemed perfectly composed but the glint of an unsheathed knife told you otherwise.

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After that show, other moments had passed on and off base, but much less direct. Gentle brushes, winks, and comments on your form and ‘beautiful, hot complexion’ in the Mexican sun. Most of the time you brushed it off, throwing back your normal sarcasm. Vaqueros around you heard these comments with remarkably even tempers. Murmurs quickly had spread through the base of words spoken about you behind the backs of the 141, but if any passed a Shadow they only got straight faces in return. Your attitude had easily won Alejandro over and even the more timid Rudy began to follow after duty for friendly banter and drinks. 

The American jokes first baffled Soap when he heard them, but those spoken about you were all in good humor. Debates about Tex-Mex and beer along with your frankly terrible Spanish pronunciation were hilarious to the men and women on base. But at the end of the warm days, reclining on battered wooden stools and tossing back Tequila shots like water, you found good friends in the Cowboys. 

This is why Soap and the other Vaqueros in the room rushed out. Stories of your temper had escaped Soap’s drunk lips a few days ago. After that Spitfire became a friendly moniker you groaned at more and more. They even kept presenting a bottle of Fireball Whisky upon any request for a drink.

The sight for an outsider might have been funny. As word spread through the base, MSF soldiers in normal clothes, fully kitted Shadows, and a single Scot speed walking together in a growing crowd. The group weaved their way through fortifications, past the training field, and into a large warehouse. 

The air was slightly cooler but windows streamed in hot sunlight. This warehouse had been converted into part obstacle course and part outdoor gym. Due to Alejandro and Rudy's childhoods roaming amongst the cliffs they had wanted that connection to the outdoors.

Usually, at a time like this, the room was literally crawling with soldiers, some training along the ground with others scaling the attached rock wall with climbing features set up along the ceiling. A sturdy safety net hung overhead to catch anyone who took a trip over an edge or off a hanging bar. Now there was not a climber nor crawler insight as Soap and the following soldiers found. He pushed through a door and found the room surprisingly empty, except for a large congregation in the corner. Soap groaned. 

Set up next to a makeshift refresh area (basically a bar) was an equally makeshift boxing ring. Thick mats padded the entire floor area and even traced the walls. Stretchy bands squared in a 15 ft by 15ft space. It was smaller than standard but Alejandro had explained it easily:

“In the field, we don’t get that much space, also the contractor said it wouldn’t all fit with the counter.”

You had lost it at the consideration and spent the rest of that day calling him a decorator. Rudy had joined in with a high-voiced Spanish evaluation of the print of the uniforms and needing fresh flowers for the bar.

Soap and the following crowd gathered into the present crowd of Shadows and Vaqueros. These were still in partial gear from training, which presented the thought to Soap that whatever was going on was on an impulse.

His realization was confirmed when he saw Graves in the ring. Tank top fit flush against his muscled form, but the cocky nature of his victory diminished any physical appreciation. 

“Come on L.T. your up next.”

His cocky grin did not hush the murmurs in the crowd, even from his men. All eyes turned within the crowd, searching until they found Ghost. Soap saw his commanding officer in less gear, but he look no less dangerous.

Six feet and four inches of defined muscle stood in a long sleeve black shirt and thin grey joggers. He still had a pistol holster strapped to his side, but it was empty. What was not though was a few of his many combat-worthy throwing knives. Settled in a leather holder was a triple set of killers, his favorite of which, an iridescent midnight blue, was spinning in his deft fingers. Soap was surprised to see pale, scarred skin. Flashes of it at Ghost’s hands then up at his collarbone where the chain of his dog tags disappeared under his shift. The usual hard skull mask was exchanged for a lighter black balaclava painted with a half skull. One side was white and the other melted into faded painted metal, hammered plates painted in a dusty, dirty red. 

Soap’s lips quirked, even without you present he could tell your mark on the English lieutenant. The mask had been a joke gift, painted by you for a White Elephant you had insisted on hosting. 

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

You had gotten soap a luxury set of Scotch-based soap, Gaz a black tie stationary and lapel set (“for those fine suits you always go undercover in”), and Price a new fishing hat. It was reversible, with an all-black side for business, and a camo with the Union Jack, “it's the party side.” 

Price’s lips had quirked up and he tossed you his second favorite hat and dropped yours (in party mode) on his head. Finally, you quietly pulled Simon’s gift from your bag while the others were comparing gifts and joking. The warmth of conversation filled your apartment as you moved softly over to Simon. 

“Here Lieutenant, I hope you get some use from this.” You gently hand him the mask before turning to refill the drinks of the other men.

Simon turned the mask over in his hands. He immediately recognized it as handmade, the fabric reinforced for winter wear in high winds. He flipped it to the face and marveled a little at your art design, half Ghost and half of yourself. His eyes drifted up to your form passing through the room. Soap calls you over and then makes you laugh with a joke while Gaz and Price bicker back and forth about if the hat would match a suit.

For the moment there was peace here in your sanctuary and Simon let himself relax further into the familiar couch. His eyes closed for a few minutes then opened at your presence over him.

“Are you ok?” You set a glass of good ole’ Kentucky bourbon at the table next to him. He watches you for a moment under his solid black balaclava, eyes simmering with emotion that creeps around and through his walls. A few years of comradery had you leaning down and sinking into the seat next to him. He hums, body and head turned towards you.

“Was it too much? I saw it when we passed through that small village, you know I could barely understand that lady's accent…” You mumble off a little, your personality like a ping pong ball in your mind. 

Simon watches as a weight melts and slips off his heart. Under his mask, he smiles and his eyes gain a twinkle. Your hand moves in wide gestures in front of you as you impersonate a bad Liverpool accent, pulling from your limited British knowledge (the Beatles and 70s-80s rock). A warm hand grabs yours out of the air and pulls it to your now-touching legs, fingers entwining. You pause turning to Simon concerned, then eyes widen finding his sole focus on you and him being much, much closer than you expected.

“She had a Northern accent. She was from Manchester, Love” his accent thickened as a sort of demonstration and you nodded dumbly, a little baffled by this new position. 

“Right…”

Three sets of knowing eyes watched very, very intently at this new information.

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

Soap tensed as Ghost looked up, not even pausing in his spinning. There was a gleam in his eye but his lieutenant did not move. 

What followed were some childish plays at insults.

“Where did you leave your tea?”

“Come on Halloween!” Were finest among them.

Soap and some of the members of the Mexican force watched with tired sighs, as Ghost just stared. He didn't even bother with a reply as Graves got to his peacocking.

Even a few of the Shadows shifted uncomfortably away from Ghost’s form, and soon a circle opened between the edge of the ring where Graves leaned and where Ghost stood.

“What’s going on?” Your voice broke the not-standoff. Heads turned and Soap noticed Graves straighten.

“Oh boy.” The Scot pushed through towards Ghost, sensing trouble brewing. Men and women let you through and you entered the cleared circle, a smug Graves standing above watching. 

You wore gym shorts with a pair of worn sneakers. Your dog tags hung under your shirt and you had brushed your hair back behind an American flag bandana (a gag gift from Soap on your birthday). 

You stood next to Ghost, who upon your approach had finally paused in his knife twirling and stood more attentive. Graves noticed this with interest.

“So that works then.” 

You bite back instantly.

“What do you mean Jackass. He’s my commanding officer, he’s not here for you to get off on.”

There are a few ‘oofs’ heard throughout the crowd as some MSF soldiers hide snickers behind their hands. Ghost’s head tilts to the side, watching.

Graves takes it and runs, perhaps a bit too far.

“Alright long legs, perhaps you could bend down and give me a better view.”

The room goes silent. Soap pauses in his approach and his head shoots towards you, what had been amusement quickly turned sour at the continuous comments and the Scot felt ready to smash Graves's stupid face in. Graves’s men balked, and some of the MSF soldiers watched with wide eyes at such a direct comment. Eyes flew to Ghost.

Simon stood straight, knife held in his hand as he considered it. Yet, he rose a brow, shockingly calm. Then those in the room realized the true danger of the two.

You saw red, loose water bottle now clenched in your fist. Graves took a step back for a moment mouth open, as if surprised at the extent of the comment. He opened it then you shut it for him.

“That's it you fly boy fucker. I am sick and fucking tired of your comments. It is about time for you to put that pretty mouth where your dick clearly isn’t. We are settling this now.”

You reached to the side, snatching hand tape from the awaiting Ghost, and quickly wrapped your hands. Without another word, you leaped up into the ring and approached Graves. Alejandro and Rudy rushed in as you did so, a bit late from a meeting.

You squared up to a shocked Graves as Soap, Alejandro and Rudy made it to Ghost. As for your calm lieutenant, he only spun his knife, lowered it, and crossed his arms to watch what he knew would be a quick show.

As Graves snapped out of it you both began to circle one another, all while he offered stupid remarks.

“I can’t punch a pretty thing like you.”

And your favorite, “I’ll patch you up real good after this Honeybun.”

He then fainted forward and you twirled out of his reach. This dance happened a few times, with Graves's temper building up and his charges missing. You laugh under your breath and mutter something.

“Say that louder!” He huffs out, worked up after previous fights, his composure finally slipping with frustration. He turns to face you, guard up. You stare him down and he lunges.

“I said…” A swift duck right, your leg catches him and he tumbles. He rights himself and spins with a mean hook.

“I always thought you had a punchable face.” You duck under his hook and with a satisfied grin, throw all of your weight up with powerfully long legs into a padded uppercut. The punch cracks in contact with his jaw and sends the short man back, to which your fast-following shoulder bucks him further and sends him crashing into the padding of the ring.

The thud echoed in the quiet room. It dragged on as everyone turned to watch each other. Then loud laughter broke out from Soap. He started wheezing and then doubled over leaning on Ghost for support. Alejandro looked around and started laughing as well and it spread through the crowd. A few Shadows gave a light chuckle before stopping when they realized that, one, they were watched by their comrades, and two when they realized Graves wasn’t getting up.

The room waited then a Shadow popped his head up at the ring. You cracked your knuckles, hissing in pain as you walked to Graves’s down form. He was breathing and you voiced this. The peeking Shadow pulled his way up to the stage.

“He is good, just out cold.” Grave's head lolled to the side as the big Shadow threw him up in a slightly undignified fireman carry. People cleared a path and a few Shadows followed the carrier to the med bay. After they left the room erupted into laughter. It was boisterous and fun but the soldiers, satisfied at your victory returned to general training leaving you in the ring alone while Soap, Alejandro, Rudy, and Ghost watched.

You gently ran a finger over your right knuckles, hissing when you felt them. There will be a gnarly bruise, Graves had a hard head and this might be hard to explain to Shepard. But, you look to Alejandro and Rudy, their grins told you that you would be fine. Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist and hoisted you up.

“Alright, Spitfire! Ye’ showed him what for!” Soap twirled you around and your arms went to his shoulders for balance. 

“Oi Soap watch it!” Your defiance dissolved into laughter as Alejandro pulled himself up and whistled. Specks of blood sprinkle a little section of the mat. 

“Rudy, get cleaning in here we have a fluid spill.” He grinned as Soap set you down.

“Good work.” He ruffled your hair in passing, then turned to the rest of the room.

“Drinks tonight!” His voice boomed out in English, then in Spanish which got a lot of excited cheers. You pressed a kiss to Soap’s cheek and then turned to Ghost, but the Brit had vanished.

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Graves was sitting alone hours later, chin bruised and ego drenched but overall ok. He rolled his shoulder with a groan and muttered.

“They can throw a punch, what a catch…” He turned to look up, running a hand through sweaty hair. His neck hair then rose on edge in the dim room, then a glint of silver. He jumped back as a silver knife sliced where his head had just been. It thunked into the wall with a thud. Panicked eyes flew to the door, and Simon stood leaning leisurely against the frame.

“Christ Almighty…” His voice was breathy and Graves threw up his Commander façade but something deep in him quaked at the sight of the reaper. Brown eyes lit up in the dark, light from the hall casting a looming shadow over Graves as he sat. The beast entered and Simon pushed forward. He paused a breath away from graves who while sitting had to look up at him. A gloved hand tore the knife from the wall and the rusty geared skull stared down. 

He watched for a moment as the color drained from Graves's face.

Then, in his other hand, your Swiss Army knife. Blade cherished and sharp and eager. He tilted the blade in the backlight then in a simple motion pressed it to Graves's neck in a mock motion. The edge was a hair breath away when Simon leaned in.

“You touch them, you look at them, or you even think of making another fucking comment about them, I will track you down and spread your remains all over your beloved men. Understand?” 

His accent bled heavy, venom from Ghost and anger from Simon blending into one wrathful and venomous being. Graves did not shake, but a single almost imperceivable flinch tumbled into a nod.

Ghost watched closer, the man below him so still he could almost make out his fluttering heartbeat in the dark. There was a maniacal-toothed grin under the mask as the beast paced, testing the confines of his tempered mind. But at a shaky, thickly breathed “understood” from Graves the reaper pulled back. He deftly pocketed your beloved knife and with one last spin of the throwing knife, Simon turned and swept out of the room.

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Many drunk Vaqueros and even some of the more light-hearted Shadows had wandered into the bar after hearing Graves was awake. The room had gone quiet when Graves entered, shirtless and wrapped up. He seemed slightly shaken but he offered you a rigorous handshake, an apology, and a toast.

“Too strong hits and new friends.” 

The Shadows joined in more heartily then and you took the peace offering with a grin. The night then passed into a party. Simon lingered in later sticking to the edges of the room. He had watched and heard the calm words of the others spread and settle the room. You sat at the bar, a lightly inebriated Soap at your left and Rudy at your right. Something you were saying had the more timid man leaning in with a soft look. Simon paused in his approach. Alejandro joined him from behind.

“Don’t worry, he’s married hermano. Alejandro sets a brotherly hand on Simon’s shoulder, but the Englishman shakes his head, offering a surprising reply:

“I'm not.” 

Alejandro is surprised at such a revelation, but the grasp of Simon’s hand at his dog tags is all he needs to know.

“I understand.”

Simon turns at this and offers his hand, the two shake hands and with a pat on the back Alejandro sends Simon on his way. Simon cuts through the crowd, watching with interest as whatever you say sends Rudy into a bright red blush, barely hidden by his darker complexion. Soap, having heard, was sent into heavy laughter as he leaned back into the bar. Well, attempted to, as he slumped he miscalculated the distance and fell back. You lunged forward to grab him while laughing yourself and you fell as well. The floor approached quickly but a swift hand grabbed you by your arm and another grabbed Soap by the collar of his shirt. The arm holding Soap flexed forward and pulled the bewildered man back onto his stool. The free hand then joined the other stabilizing you. 

“Thanks, L.T.” Soap waved.

You were then engulfed by Simon, his arms coming to rest on the bar with your form in between. The position was questioning but with the festivities, no one other than Soap and Rudy was paying attention. Your surprise melted into pleasure.

“Hey L.T.,” his arms close in around you and he steps between your knees, your words fizzle out at the look in his eyes. There was a shimmer of pride mixed with deep affection. In the time you knew him you had learned to tell Simon from Ghost, besides the removal of his mask of course. The being before you carried the pride of Ghost, seeing your clean KO did things to him. But it was Simon who pressed his hand against your thigh. The touch was subtle compared to his massive form but he pressed his hand over them, fingers taping absentmindedly. It was a possessive action that sent your heart soaring.

He leaned in to talk to you, free hand coming to trace the American bandana, 

“good job my Love” he dips his hand, tugging at the chain around your neck, and fingers brushing softly over your bruised knuckles.

Your dog tags escaped but something much more precious hung there. And as the party continued, most none the wiser to the deep connection between the American and the Brit, two matching silver rings glinted in the light. 

#ghost mw2 #gn reader #ghost x reader #philip graves #simon riley #simon riley x reader #american reader #possible ooc #protective ghost #protective reader

[8-rae-rae-8]

👉👈 might i inquire about ghost's blackmail for the WIP game? love your stuff btw!

Thank you!!! (⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ ⁠) /p

With the least detail I can give you... Here is the plot so far, with some bits I wanna share >:3

I think this was how this ask game was supposed to go,,

SPOILERS FOR ALL OF GHOST'S BLACKMAIL SO FAR and future stuff.

My thoughts for Ghost's Blackmail were mostly from a conversation I think I had with some friends, but it honestly could've been a dream (/hj).

In the event Simon escaped, the zaragoza cartel would have tapes to force him back. To release if he refused.

They died before they got the chance to use them on him.

But someone else has their grubby hands on it.

Ghost was Shepherd's before he was ever Price's. Ghost went from Roba to Shepherd to Price. He's a tool to Shepherd, no more than a dog. Shepherd has no problem leaking it. Plus, he has men to do his dirty work.

They kidnap Ghost.

But with the whole fic in Price's POV (not first person, but following Price), he doesn't know what was said. Or everything that happened.

But he knows something is fucked.

It always is with Shepherd, isn't it?

Ghost's Blackmail takes place in between the end of MWII and after they learn that Graves is alive, if that makes sense. But like if MWIII hardly existed.

Anyway.

Something is off with Soap once they get out, he's silent and gruff with everyone. He's latched to Ghost for the most part.

Price doesn't want to think about what could have happened in there. Kyle was by his side the whole time, being his rock while his own anger simmered. He wanted them as bad as Price, but their men were most important.

Shepherd had connections to the zaragoza cartel. Like Major Vernon, he could have been in their pocket. And now it's his job to keep Ghost on a short leash. Threats, capture, etc, all part of the plan.

Shepherd needs him back before the chain on the mutt snaps. Price lets him go too far, Shepherd thinks. Ghost was nothing but a tool for Shepherd to use, much like Shadow Company was for him. And damnit, he used his tools till they broke.

He wanted to break Simon, like Roba was unable to.

#Manuel Roba #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghosts blackmail - fic #general shepherd #cod #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #cod mwii #phillip graves #John price #asks