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ghostandsoap · 1 year

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Call Signs

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. John “Soap” MacTavish)

Tags: Angst. Gunshot wound. Blood loss. Shock. Hypothermia. Major injury. Mentions of death.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: So I’m not totally sure how accurate some of this is. Also, I’m not sure if parts of this are canon? Read with caution LOL.

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

Military call signs. Clever, crafty, and specific to the person they’re associated with.

There was one main, golden rule when it came to call signs: don’t complain about your own call sign, or else they’ll give you something worse.

Yours wasn’t exactly one that you were thrilled with in the beginning. It wasn’t as badass as you would’ve liked. If you had been given the opportunity to choose, you would’ve chosen something a little more…tough. But once the name stuck, you were stuck with it. You didn’t dare let even a single word of distaste fall from your mouth. If anybody caught wind of you complaining about it, they’d give you something to really complain about.

Over the years, you had heard some good ones — some more creative than others. Depending on the person, sometimes it was easy to tell the reason behind their given name — other times, not so much. You had some friends that you still didn’t know the reason why they were given their call sign.

For example, Soap was just Soap.

In the time that you had known him, you had begged Soap to tell you where his call sign came from. You had even rattled and poked at Captain Price a bit to get him to give it up. But both of them always gave you the same answer.

It’s classified.

With that answer, you refused to tell anyone the reason behind your own call sign. If they weren’t going to tell you about theirs, then you weren’t telling them about yours. It was only fair, you weren’t telling anybody. Nobody knew.

Well…nobody except–

“Gecko. This is Ghost. How copy?” The syrupy-thick voice seeped through your ear that was still ringing from gunfire.

You were cold – miserably cold. You were chilled all the way to the bone to the point where your skin was numb to the touch. The sound of rain registered with you. The sky was pouring buckets, which explained why you were so freezing. There was no telling how long you had been passed out and exposed to the elements. Not a single part of you was dry, despite all your layers underneath and over.

There was pain somewhere. Your groggy state made it difficult to figure out exactly where you were hurt. To be honest, it hurt just about everywhere. A searing sensation settled in your side, but it was migrating all over. Based on the large red spot leaking through that area, you had a really good idea then of what it was.

“Gecko, do you copy?” Another voice spoke that you knew to belong to Soap.

His voice sounded a million miles away, even though it was literally right in your ear. When your eyes opened, you were eye-level with the ground. You were met with a harsh pavement underneath you, muscles trembling with exhaustion and low temperatures. It took a few seconds for your vision to clear, and it took even more effort for you to raise yourself up even to make it onto your elbows.

When you were able to take a glance around, it wasn’t any less unsettling. The slick streets of Las Almas weren’t very pleasant in the dead of night. Even worse, you didn’t know where Soap and Ghost were.

It all came flooding back to you. Graves turned on the team. He tried to kill all of you. You, Ghost, and Soap managed to split up and narrowly escape. It was chaos, the kind that shaved about 15 years off of your life.

“C’mon. Where are you, Gecko?” Ghost asked in an aggravated, yet worried way.

His question was more out loud and to himself more than anything, but it occurred to you that it probably would be nice for him to hear you.

“I’m here,” You groaned, throat dry and scratchy. “Just barely.”

“Oh shit. You’re alive!” Soap replied, and you swear you could feel Ghost relax from wherever he was.

“What’s your status?” Ghost demanded.

You were not telling Ghost that you were hurt if you could help it. It was certainly against protocol, but you didn’t need Ghost getting all worked up when the three of you needed to find one another and get the hell out of there. You knew how he could get whenever you were hurt.

“Where are you both?” You rolled onto your knees, ungracefully managing to get on your feet.

You felt any and all blood rush from your face, an overwhelming feeling of nausea taking over your stomach. The bleeding in your side was definitely a problem. You stripped your outer jacket off, wrapping it around your waist and tying it as tight as you could possibly stand it. It wasn’t like the jacket was useful any other way, considering it was soaked.

“No fuckin’ idea. I’m in and out of these shops,” Soap grumbled. “I’m soakin’ wet.”

“Me too,” You managed to laugh, but it came out as more of a struggled exhale. “Ghost, what’s your location?”

“The church. Soap’s finding his way here,” Ghost said. “What’s your status, Gecko?”

You knew he’d ask again. He always knew when you had dodged a question.

“Just a little rattled,” You lied. “Where’s the church?”

“It’s in the square. Navigate through the shops, they’ll lead you there,” Soap said. “Stay sharp. Shadows are everywhere.”

Survival mode has kicked in for you. You had one objective.

Find Ghost. Don’t get killed.

“Will do. Ghost, I’m coming to you.” You announced, beginning to take the first few steps to get yourself moving.

There was a brief moment of silence before he answered – and he gave an answer that you knew had Soap raising a brow.

“Please be safe.”

A shudder vibrated down your back, and it wasn’t from the bitter cold rain.

Being involved with Ghost was…complicated. It was a forbidden love in a lot of ways. There was a certain disapproval when it came to 2 members dating within the force. It caused drama sometimes, tension other times. Not to mention, it would be painfully awkward for everybody else if the two of you were to break up.

But the connection was undeniable. It astounded you just how in touch you felt with him. He did everything he could to protect you, to make you feel safe in an otherwise dangerous world. He spent every spare moment with you. He spilled all of his most pressing thoughts to you, knowing his words of vulnerability were safe with you. Talking to him was easy, spending time with him was easier.

Loving him was easiest of all.

Despite your likeness toward each other, it was a mutual understanding that no one was to know. Ghost didn’t fancy all the teasing, and you wanted at least one part of your life to be private. In front of others, you were Gecko and Ghost. When alone, you were Simon and [Y/N].

In a lot of ways, the secretive aspect of it was fun. You liked sneaking around with Ghost in the late hours of the night, tip-toeing around sleeping comrades in an attempt at a moment to yourselves. The nonchalant glances…the discreet, yet lingering touches…the whispers of words of affection. It was all something you couldn’t help but get a kick out of. Anybody in their right mind would find it even a little bit entertaining.

But in all honesty, suspicions from the rest were becoming more and more.

Price had known immediately. Not even three days after you and Simon decided to give it a try, he could sense that something was different. He couldn’t really explain it. He could just see it in Ghost’s behavior that he was preoccupied with something…someone else. Something that had been sprouting for a long time was now beginning to blossom in front of the captain’s very eyes. Price was a respectful man. He wasn’t one to get in the way of something that wasn’t his business. He kept an eye on the situation here and there, more for a status update than anything.

It took Gaz about four months. He suspected nothing in the beginning. He managed to miss all the signs at first. Who could blame him? He didn’t know he was supposed to even be looking for them. He didn’t catch any real changes in behavior or attitude. In all honesty, if he hadn’t witnessed it with his very eyes – he might’ve never known. It had been a quick gesture. So quick that Gaz might’ve been able to convince himself that he was mistaken if it hadn’t been so blatantly clear.

Gaz had passed by a bit quicker than he normally would, catching a quick glimpse inside the room he hadn’t planned on entering. What he saw was a kiss being planted on the cheek of Ghost’s mask, and a light laugh from the man as you did so. Gaz had stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he had seen. He was tempted to turn around and question you, but he knew better. Gaz figured if he hadn’t been told outright, then it probably wasn’t for him to know. He kept it in the back of his mind, however, and after that, he began noticing everything.

And as for Soap, the poor lad had yet to connect the dots. He had heard some chatter here and there about Gecko and Ghost “getting it on.” Soap didn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen it or heard it for himself, so in his mind, the rumors were null. That didn’t mean that Soap didn’t like the idea of his lieutenant and one of his closest friends seeing each other. He entertained the thought here and there. He supposed that Gecko and Ghost had a nice ring to it, and it was something that he liked to snicker about. Overall, Soap didn’t think about it too much. There was no way that “LT” and the infamous Gecko were together. Almost a year into it, and John MacTavish was oblivious.

It hadn’t taken you long to develop feelings for Ghost. Suddenly, you were worried about where he was and him getting hurt more often than not. This was one hell of a career to be in when you were an anxious worrier. This job had changed for you. Before, there was no fear of living or dying. It was just you. It was all you. But when there was someone else in the cards?

That changed things. That really changed things.

That seemed to be the only fight that you and Ghost ever had. It was always the same one. One of you fell ill or became injured, it was due to defying an order, the other was scared to death that something worse could’ve happened, and most of all – you both wished that the other would be more careful.

“Careful” was a funny word in this business. No matter how careful you were, that didn’t automatically make you safe.

Roaming the streets of Las Almas while lethargic, unarmed, and bleeding was a definite reminder of that. You followed Soap’s advice, weaving in and out of the stores and getting whatever supplies you could get your hands on. A homemade weapon was better than no weapon, in your mind. Avoiding any and all Shadows was your main goal. There was no chance of you getting out of that alive, if this bullet lodged in your side didn’t kill you first. You hoped that Soap had made it to the church by now. It made you feel better to know that they were together.

The rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. You figured it was fine. It wasn’t like you could get any more wet than you already were. It at least made enough noise to conceal your footsteps, which you didn’t have much control over due to the splitting pain in your core.

You just had to get to the church. Get to the church, get out of here, and get patched up. You’d be fine. You’d survived worse. You weren’t going to-

There was a flash of white over your vision. While brief, it was enough to startle you to a complete halt. You staggered out of the coffee shop, leaning against the back door for support. This was bad. This was really bad.

“Ghost…” You squeaked.

Breathing suddenly became overly difficult. Every gulp of air was a struggle to get the next one. There was a significant wobble in your knees as you stumbled into the nearest alley for cover, knowing your legs were close to giving out. It was notably colder in the space between the two buildings, but the feeling of your soul being slowly sucked back into the universe made that seem minor.

“Talk to me. Where are you?” Ghost asked.

That was when you collapsed, landing on the wet ground with a thud. A whimper escaped from your throat at the impact. Clutching your wounded side was all you knew to do. Your jacket used as a makeshift way of putting pressure on it was proving ineffective.

“The alleyway,” You strained. “Left of the coffee shop.”

Ghost and Soap both heard the trouble in your voice. Ghost had only heard that tone once before — and it was when something was really, really wrong.

“What’s your status now?” Soap questioned.

Lying was no good to you now. They were going to know one way or the other.

“I’m down,” You swallowed. “Must’ve been hit at some point when we got away.”

There was no way you were making it to the church. You were as good as gone as long as there was still a bullet in your torso. Bleeding out in the streets of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t how you had envisioned going out. That was a conversation you had held with Soap more than once. Everybody had their preferred way of dying. You had always hoped that you’d meet your demise in a more memorable way. Maybe in a missile explosion or getting ejected from a helicopter in a hot pursuit.

Dying alone was the part and the possibility that always scared you the most.

This wasn’t what you had in mind. Bleeding to death by yourself in an alleyway in the middle of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t what you had wished for. You knew the day would come…and the day had finally come.

But not if Ghost could help it.

“I’m coming to get you, Gecko. Don’t move,” Ghost remarked sternly, and you could hear that he was on the move. “Soap, we’ll meet you at the church.”

“Copy.” Soap confirmed.

“N-no,” You coughed. “Ghost, don’t leave your location if you’re secure.”

“None of us are secure. I’m not leaving you,” Ghost said sternly. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

Arguing with Ghost was usually a lost cause. When Ghost was set on something, he was surely going to stick with it. It was a waiting game now, and it was one of the most helpless feelings to know that you were relying on somebody else to save your ass. You knew that Ghost would be there in half the time that it probably should’ve taken him, but when you’re dying, the minutes feel like eternity.

This wasn’t the first time that you had been in situations like this. Everybody had their fair shares of “I almost died” stories. But this was different for you. This was the closest you had ever been to not living to tell this story.

Panicking was most definitely not the way to handle this situation. Very rarely was panicking ever helpful in a dire, critical scenario like this. It was the most eerie feeling – literally feeling yourself dying. The blood loss was becoming less, but only because you were running out of blood to lose. Your heart was beating slower and slower by the second. Breathing was now a voluntary action. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the situation set in, your anxiety crept over you and infiltrated any room for collectedness that you had left.

“G-Ghost.” You sighed, a layer of tears pricking at the base of your lashes.

Ghost heard the near sob in your words, putting an even faster pep in his step.

“Almost there, Gecko. What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I’m scared.” You admitted, hot tears mixing with the fresh rain water on your cheeks.

Ghost’s heart shattered into a million pieces, catapulting into every vessel near it like the strongest of shrapnel. He couldn’t stand the thought of you alone and scared.

“I know. Just keep talking to me and Soap,” He breathed, trying to stay calm for you. “I’m coming, G.”

‘G’ was a nickname inside of a nickname. Ghost only used it sparingly, and it was usually when he was trying to be supportive or sympathetic without giving your secret romantic endeavor away.

It felt silly to say. Generally speaking, you didn’t really have the right to be afraid. It was the pure passion for your job and your own willingness that put you in dangerous situations. It was your own free will, your own decision that you made the same choice on every single time. It was one thing to be scared when you ended up here accidentally. It was another when it was a consequence of your choices and actions. Courage and strength were supposed to be your strong suits. They were the characteristics that you were supposed to fall back on every time.

Yet here you were. Scared to death of dying – something that you had thought about and been preparing for since you started this gig.

“Simon, I-I…I don’t want to d-”

“It’s ‘cause I clean house quickly.” Soap’s voice echoed in one ear and out the other, suddenly and abruptly.

What?

Even in a near unconscious-like state, you were still well aware of how that needed some clarification.

“S-say again?” You stuttered, the corners of your vision beginning to go foggy.

“Soap. ‘Cause I clean house and buildings with speed ‘n accuracy,” Soap repeated. “That’s why they call me Soap.”

Soap!

It made so much sense. You were almost embarrassed that you didn’t think of that yourself. You knew it was Soap’s way of distracting you – keeping your mind off of dying.

“That’s a good one,” You nearly wheezed. “Thought it was because you were a bath man.”

“Thanks for that image. Won’t be able to unsee that one,” Ghost piped up. “Almost there, Gecko. Hang on for me, yeah?”

Ghost’s voice was strained as if he were running. Using every ounce of speed and stamina that he had to get you as fast as possible. He couldn’t lose you like this.

He refused to lose you like this.

“It’s because I’m quick on my feet, and because I can scale a building faster than anybody.” You croaked.

“Ah. That’s why they call you Gecko?” Soap chuckled, and you could hear the amusement in his words.

“Came up with that one myself.” Ghost smirked.

“Some people might even say geckos are kind of cute.” You joked, but didn’t quite have the energy to laugh.

“I’d agree with that,” Ghost countered, and you could sense Soap’s internal confusion from forever away. “I have a visual on Gecko. Almost at the church, Soap?”

“Affirmative, Lt. Meet you there.”

Sure enough, Ghost appeared from seemingly nowhere, like a sent guardian angel. Your vision had tunneled, so you couldn’t see much out of your peripherals. He had never seen you so weak and close to going out on him. His eyes behind the mask were wide and dark, focused on getting you out alive.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant.” You shivered.

“Glad you’re not a goner,” He returned, removing the glove from his right hand and pressing his fingers against your cheek. “Shit. You’re freezing.”

“How bad do I look?” You slurred, and you fought to keep your eyeballs from rolling back into your head.

“Probably not as bad as you feel. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Ghost said, working quickly to get himself arranged to carry you.

“Did you see any Shadows on the way?” You gulped, eyelids beginning to flutter.

“They’re everywhere. We need to get going,” Ghost scooped you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing and weren’t dripping wet through multiple layers. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

The journey from the ground to up into Ghost’s arms felt like an airplane takeoff. You were close to slipping out of consciousness.

“We’ll get to Soap and get a vehicle out of here,” Ghost explained, readjusting his arm underneath your knees. “You’re going to be fine, Gecko.”

“G-Guess I wasn’t quick enough this time, huh?” You gave the faintest grin, and Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at your stupid joke.

“Shut up.”

There was relief in knowing that you were with Ghost. Your chances of dying hadn’t changed, but if you were going to die, this was a better way of going out.

The fog in your vision became thicker and thicker until you couldn’t see or hear a thing. The darkness surrounded you, sucking you deeper and deeper into nothingness.

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

The next time your eyes opened, you weren’t met with the dim streets of Las Almas. There was no smell of rain or taste of blood and sweat. The smell this time was sterile air and cheap (but clean) bedsheets. You couldn’t taste anything due to the worst case of cottonmouth that you had ever experienced. The beeping music of an EKG reader and distant chatter was the real giveaway.

The muscles in your legs were stiff, mainly because you hadn’t moved them in so long. A grunt was all you could manage as you shifted, a new type of discomfort erupting where you had been shot. It was all wrapped up now (professionally and medically wrapped), clean and taken care of. There was an IV in each arm, one administering fluids and the other what you could only imagine to be some kind of pain medication. The white walls and tan floors were weirdly comforting…a sign to let you know that you were safe for now.

The best sights of all were the ones seated to the left of your bed.

Ghost’s arms were crossed, ankles crossed over each other, and his head lowered and his breathing steady. His outer skull mask was nowhere to be seen, but his balaclava was clinging to his face as always.

Soap was also snoozing, but less peacefully and quietly. His head was tilted back as far as it possibly could go, his arms draped at his sides, legs stretched all the way out, and snoring so loud that you were surprised you hadn’t already heard it.

You were gentle as you called to Ghost, considering he didn’t always react calmly when being woken up.

“Hey…” You rasped with a dry throat. “Ghost.”

His eyes snapped open, flickering up to you instantly. A monumental wave of relief visibly crashed over him, filling his veins and relaxing his heart.

“You’re awake,” He leaned closer, taking your hand into his. “You’re okay.”

“What…how long has it been?” You asked, bits of your memory coming back to you.

“A few days…four I think, ” He answered with a nod. “How do you feel?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure. Physically you felt terrible, but better than when you were dying of shock, cold, and blood loss. Mentally you felt fuzzy and groggy from being out so long. Emotionally…well, only time would tell.

“Like shit.” You admitted.

“Not surprised.” He grinned under his face covering.

There were a few beats of silence. You took a few glances around, getting familiar with your new setting. Ghost, though, never took his eyes off of you. They were a light shade of red, and even his balaclava couldn’t hide the dark circles under them.

“Have you slept at all?” You asked, knowing good and well he hadn’t left your side.

“A little bit here and there,” He said, motioning his free hand towards Soap. “This is the most sleep Soap’s gotten this whole time. He’s been out for about 30 minutes.”

Soap was indeed out like a light. You couldn’t imagine how tired the two of them were. There was another stretch of silence. This one lasted longer and was much more tense. This wasn’t an easy encounter. How were you supposed to act when you had barely scraped by with your life?

“Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“How close was it?”

Simon stared for a moment. No formation of an answer to your question occurred for a second or two. He didn’t like that question. He had avoided thinking about it until now. Ghost knew that he’d have to do his own mentality check in with himself in a few days. He had almost lost the most important person in his life…he’d need to deal with that.

“Too close.”

Another silence. Another silent thank you that you were here to see another day.

“You were…hypothermic, in shock. You lost a lot of blood before and during surgery,” He said. “Doc said if it had been any later getting you help-”

“Hey,” A groggy voice piped in, unaware that he was interrupting. “Gecko’s up.”

Soap’s eyes were just as bloodshot as Ghost’s, but Soap’s personality was wide awake.

“Happy to see you again, Sergeant. My apologies for being absent from our reunion at the church.” You grinned.

“Yeah, yeah. Left us to do double the work,” Soap chuckled. “Feels weird callin’ you Gecko now that I know where it comes from.”

“Soap doesn’t have the same ring to it, I have to say.” You fired back.

“Agh, I’m crushed. Right in my pride!” He shrieked.

The three of you shared a soft laugh. Nothing like Soap’s comedic relief to break the tension. You felt okay. This was just one of those things. One of the things that you signed up for with this job. It didn’t make it any less unnerving, but now you felt like you could really move on from this.

And you were thankful that you had lived to tell the story.

There was a sudden itch in your throat. An annoying tickle that reminded you that you hadn’t had a physical sip of water in four days.

“Do you think that I could get some water?” You wondered aloud, nearly choking on your own words from the parched feeling.

Ghost hadn’t left your side when you were knocked out, and he surely wasn’t leaving now that you were awake.

“Johnny, could you-”

“Yep! On it.” He scurried out and down the hall without another word.

That left you and Ghost. The man that saved your life by risking his own to come back for you. You didn’t even want to think about what you would’ve done if Ghost had gotten killed at your expense. At least you would’ve died together, but that hardly sounded right or fair. Ghost deserved so much more.

“You scared me.” Ghost confessed, not even hiding the worry in his voice.

“I know…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, doll. Just…” He sighed. “Just really thought that I had lost you this time.”

There wasn’t anything you could say to make him feel better. You knew that because you had been in his shoes. His head wasn’t in the best place. You knew that even better. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that you loved him more than anybody else ever could.

“Thanks for coming back for me.” You whispered, a sudden set of tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ghost raised his balaclava. The material stopped just under his nose, his bare lips coming to press a kiss to the back of your hand. He made a solemn swear to himself in that moment that he’d never take you for granted again. He’d never get too comfortable with having you around and at his disposal.

Because fate was far too cruel for that.

“Always.”

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rainforest-daisies · 7 months

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Day 15|Mask kink

Character: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab!reader

Tags: obvi mask kink, size kink, cussing, manhandling, PIV, dirty talk, unprotected sex(GUYS DONT)

A/n: HEAR YEE HEAR YEE i call Broski nation to RISE🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️

kinktober masterlist

Ghost’s accent rang in your ears, skin burning with desire as his cock slammed into your soaked cunt. “Look at these pretty thighs, shaking for me.” heavy grunts were released from behind his mask, cloth puffing out with each deep breath.

“You gettin’ dumb on my cock? Am I dickin’ you down too good, you can’t think?” His words didn't register in your mind, and the sheen of sweat that glazed your skin made your arms stick to the sheets, causing a struggle as you reached to the hem of his mask, trying to pull it up. “Wanna’ see your face.”

His hand gripped your chin, stopping his thrusts and pulling his face closer to yours, “Don't touch my fuckin’ mask.” his palm shoved your face back down into the pillow, fucking into you at a rougher pace, silent sobs leaving your lips at the aggression. “Touch my mask again, I'll bend you over my knee again. understand?” Your mouth mumbled an abundance of ‘yes’s.

“I'm gonna cum, and you're gonna take it all in this tight pussy, yeah?” A lazy nod from you made him sigh in annoyance. “Use your words.”

“I'm gonna take it all! I promise!” Your hands raised again, trying to hold his shoulders for stability, yet, his hands slapped yours away, pressing them above your head with one hand.

“Gonna make me tie your hands up? hm?” Your head shook, remembering his previous words, “No! I'll be good. I'll be a good girl.” But your wrists began to ache from the pressure of his hand, clenching your fists and trying to wriggle away.

“Then act like one, sweetheart.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley oneshot #simon riley fanfic #simon riley smut #ghost smut #call of duty #x reader #smut #kinktober

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sim0nril3y · 4 months

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Hi bby girl. Love your writing, I told you before as an anon and I came back bc I love how you put into words

(Sorry to use anon, I'm very shy)

I wanted to request you to write about civilian!reader and Simon being emotional in the middle of the act. Reader feels overwhelmed by all the emotions and feelings and it's like she starts sobbing bc of all the pleasure and praising from Simon

Thank you in advance! Keep writing, you make us happy 💗

Note: eeeeeeee thank you so much for your request, I love, love, loved writing it so much, hope that I did it justice! you are so sweeeeeeet for all your kind words, ily! (no need to be shy, i'm super friendly, i promise!) Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, p in v, overwhelming sex, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, caring Simon, canon typical swearing.

It was impossible to say how long that Simon had been curled over your frame, fucking into you deep with his perfectly fat and long cock, his lips pressed against every inch of his skin that he could reach, clasping needily at you whilst whispering the most sinful and sweet notions into your ear.

By now you had lost count of how many times you had spasmed and squirmed to completion on Simon’s cock, panting and clawing at his skin whilst your whined and whimpered. It was overwhelming to say the least. A delicious and intoxicating mixture of cumming hard around his cock as it stroked and prodded at the deepest parts that only Simon could reach.

“There you go.” Simon breathed heavily, smiling against your warm skin feeling you coming apart around him again. “Give it me, baby. Give me everything.” He praised, voice a little strained. “Y’such a good girl for me. You perfect little cunt was made for my fat fuckin’ cock.” Simon nipped at your earlobe. “My good girl. My good fuckin’ girl.”

It was overwhelming. That was putting it mildly. There was this build of emotions that was bubbling in your chest, like a big ball caught rising up and up until falling a fraught sob caught in your throat. Wait, were you crying? What did you start crying? Oh, shit.

The sound had caught Simon’s attention, eyes scanning across your face to try and figure out the problem before finally stilling his hips, keeping his cock firmly stuffed inside your sopping walls. “Babe. Baby, what’s wrong? Tell me.” He urged with so much concern and care to his tone, thinking for even a moment that he might have hurt you or pushed you too far was almost too much for him to bear.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” You whimpered out, nodding frantically. “It’s just so good. It’s so fucking good, Si.” You continued, watching the little smug smile that pulled across his lips. “You’re so good. Your cook is so good.” All the while tears tumbled down your cheeks but an emotional grin on your lips. “Y-you make me feel so good.”

Chuckling lowly, Simon pressed a kiss to your forehead and asked. “So, it’s good?” He teased before listening to your sobs tumble into giggles. “Yeah. It’s good.” You responded. “Alright. Let’s just… take a little break, hmm?” Carefully slipping out Simon rolled you into your side and wrapped his arms around you. “Daft bloody…” He muttered, leaning in to press a couple soothing kisses to your temple. “W-what about you? You didn’t cum…” That much was evident with how his hard cock pressed up against your ass.

“Mm, it’s a good thing I fuckin’ love you.” Simon teased, honestly not caring about his own needs at this moment, just knowing that he needed to comfort you in this moment. With just as much emotion, you whimpered back. “Love you too, Si. Love you so much.”

Masterlist | Ask | 28-01-2024

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ghostlychief · 1 year

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Scary Dog Privilege

Pairing: one shot; Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Wc: 1,100+

Warnings: none; just some guy being annoying; fluff

Summary: Ghost being protective when you go to a bar

A/N: Ok, this idea for this drabble came about when i had a scary incident happen to me on public transportation. In the moment, i was thinking how nice would it be to have a large scary looking dog with me bc men always find a way to make you feel uncomfortable and scared. It really sucks that we have to turn towards other men to "protect" us because men don't take no for an answer or simply will just not leave us alone. But this is fantasy land, so I'll allow it this time.

Anyways, here is a short drabble lmao. Hope you enjoy! <3

-Lee

To say that Ghost had a staring problem, was a little inaccurate. It’s not like he was on one of the most skilled, and covert teams in existence or anything. He was trained to have a good eye, and follow his target with precision. It just so happened that whenever you two went out, you became his target, and stole away all his attention.

One way you liked to rewind after a mission was to go out drinking with your friends, or occasionally, squad 141. This was how you coped, let loose, hell, forget about all the terrible shit you saw on a daily basis. And seeing that Ghost was your boyfriend, he usually (always) tagged along with you when you went out.

Why did he come with you every time?

One might say he also wanted to blow off some steam, and what better way than alcohol? And for you, what better way than dancing, and being carefree with your friends?

Others might say that he couldn’t let you out of his sight. He was very conscious of his surroundings, and also the surroundings of everyone around him. Whenever you were in the same room as him, he always had his eye on you, following you, and knew your position within his proximity.

When you were out, whether it be at a bar, restaurant, store, he always slightly blocked you from the view in any doorway, always standing closest to it. Somewhat shielding you with his body.

He would slightly walk in front of you, hand stretched behind him to grasp yours when you were walking on the sidewalk. And of course, he always walked on the side closest to the cars, you were always in the inside of the sidewalk.

If by some chance you weren’t, he would wrap an arm around your shoulder and gently move you over; so now he was on the outside. He kept his arm around you though.

In restaurants, he always sat in the seat where he could see the whole room, and the entrance. You didn’t notice this at first, but on one of your dates when you initially starting dating, he sat in the booth seat. You joked and said, “Oh, usually that’s my spot.”

He didn’t get your reference and simply stated, “What? This is the spot where I can analyze the whole room in case something happens.”

You let him have the booth.

It was no different when you went out. His brooding stare and massive height and size deterred any man who even had the thought to approach you. And on top of that he was always sporting his black, half skull balaclava, which added on to the intimidation he exuded. Great for you, you think. The last thing you wanted to deal with was a random man.

Needless to say, you hated dealing with men while out. Especially drunk, pushy men. And there was always at least one during these occasions.

Tonight, everything was going smoothly, and just as planned, like your usual nights out. You were dancing, and having a good time with your friends, Ghost was somewhere in the near distance, and you didn’t have to look at him to know that his eyes were already on you. You might have thrown in a couple extra moves while dancing.

You seemed so carefree in this moment. All your troubles wiped clean from your face, your body relieving any tension it held. You moved to the beat of the music, drink in your hand. You were drunk by now, the full effects of alcohol finally hitting you.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grasp your waist. At first you thought it was your boyfriend, and you turned around smiling, but only to be met with a much shorter man, with no skull balaclava covering his face.

Immediately your lips turned down, and eyebrows furrowed. Your body flinched at the unfamiliar contact. Leaning away from the man, you waited to see what he wanted.

“Wanna dance?” His lips upturned as he asked this, and his grimy hand was still grasping your waist, and even started to move downward.

Bold move, you think.

“No, I’m good.” At your response, his friendly (more so creepy) smile vanished form his face and his brows started to furrow, signaling to you he was offended, shocked that you would ever reject him.

He started badgering you, trying to get you to dance, and you grew more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

“C’mon, just one dance.”

“What’s the harm?”

He also kept trying to touch you. Something you didn’t appreciate at all, and he wasn’t listening to your no’s.

All of a sudden you feel your body being tugged backwards until you hit a firm chest. Recognizing the smell of your boyfriend, you immediately relaxed into his embrace and place your hand on Ghost’s forearm that was holding you.

“She’s with me, fuck off.” Ghost’s rough voice cuts through the air.

The man’s face pales as he fully takes in Ghost’s presence. He lifts up his arms as if surrendering, then swiftly left, tail in between his legs.

Once he was out of sight, Ghost turned you around and brought up a hand to gently cup your face, tilting it upwards so you could look at him. His thumb rubbed back and forth on your jaw, soothing you.

“Are you alright?” His voice much softer than when telling off that man.

You sigh, “Yeah. Thank you, baby.”

You grant him a sweet smile and then wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

On your walk home, you’re holding Ghost’s hand, swinging your conjoined hands back and forth. Absentmindedly, you say, “You know, you kind of give off scary dog privilege.”

Ghost knows that you’re drunk right now, and he looks down at you to already find you beaming up at him.

“And what do you mean by ‘scary dog privilege’, hm?”

You start gesticulating with your other hand, “You know, if you own a big scary dog like a German shepherd, Rottweiler, Akita, etc., men are less likely to approach you or harass you; i.e., scary dog privilege.”

You hear him hum in acknowledgement and he squeezes your hand.

You bring you other hand up and rest it on his bicep, and lay your head against his shoulder, basically leaning on him as you continue to walk down the street.

“So, what kind of dog am I then?”

“Hmm. Definitely a Cane Corso. They’re known for being noble, intelligent, loyal and strong. All the things you are; but they are also low key the sweetest on the inside. Also like you.”

You feel him let out a brief laugh and he squeezes your hand again.

“Mm, thank you sweetheart.”

You smile against his shoulder and continue walking with him all the way home, the creepy man from before long forgotten.

masterlist

#simon ghost riley fic #Simon ghost Riley x reader #Simon ghost riley #Simon riley #Simon riley x you #Simon riley x reader #Simone ghost riley x you #simon riley oneshot #Simone riley fanfic #mw2 ghost #ghost mw2 fic #mw2 ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x you #ghost cod #ghost cod x you #ghost cod fic #ghost fanfic #ghost cod x reader #fluff

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suzzukiiii · 11 months

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ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ ꜱᴇx - ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ "ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ" ʀɪʟᴇʏ

i've gotten so lazy lol but here's a shower sex blurb (idk what blurb means)

"fuckin' hell you look so beautiful"

as soon as they're both without clothes, he pulls the curtains of the shower aside and steps inside, turning on the water. the hot water cascades over their bodies and ghost takes a moment to adjust to the heat before pulling y/n close. he's feeling a sense of excitement build within him as he takes her in his arms.

he presses his body up against y/n, letting the hot water splash over her skin as he leans in for a passionate kiss.

ghost feels a rush of desire course through his body at y/'n soft moans. he carefully lifts her up and presses her back against the shower wall.

he spreads her legs open with one hand before using the other to guide his hard cock towards her entrance. he slips inside slowly, tilting his hips upwards as he goes deeper.

ghost savors the sensation of y/n's tightness around him while he slowly move his hips back and forth.

the bathroom is filled with the sounds of groans, moans and ghost's BBB's (big british ballz) slapping against y/n's skin along with the warm water streaming down the shower head.

he leans down and kisses her deeply, turning up the passion as he speeds up his thrusts. his hand wraps around her neck and squeezes slightly in a dominant manner.

"you like feeling me inside you, don't you?" he grunts out between breaths.

as the pace quickens with every thrust, ghost could feel that he was on edge close to cumming.

y/n moans in response to ghost's question, feeling a sense of pleasure build within them as he pounds into her body. she cling onto him tightly with one arm while wrapping her other hand around his neck, pulling him in for a heated kiss.

he reaches down to her womanhood and uses his fingers to rub y/n's clit as he continues moving inside of her.

as the pace quickens between them, ghost could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. his breaths becoming more labored as he feels y/n start clenching around him.

"fuck, im gonna.. im.."

with a loud groan of pleasure, ghost lets himself go over the edge and spills his seed into y/n, rocking against her until they both ride out the waves of mutual release.

#simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 oneshot #mw2 ghost #mw2 ghost oneshot #mw2 ghost smut #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost mw2 x reader #simon riley oneshot #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader

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replaytech · 1 month

Text

imagine training with simon riley😫 (simon riley x female reader)

You fix your form for what seems like the tenth time, letting your fists fly against the punching bag in a way that doesn’t hurt your hands or shoulders.

Simons deep voice rumbles behind you, “Atta girl, love. Much better.”

You take a deep breath and drop your arms, fighting the blush that wants to creep up on your face. Simon loves to mess with you like this. Nothing makes him happier than seeing you all flustered.

You’re still out of breath when you say, “This would be a great time to, ya know,”, you take another deep breath, “sweep me off my feet. Carry me bridal style. All of the gentlemanly things”, you wipe sweat off of your forehead.

He has the nerve to scoff, “Didn’t peg you as the damsel in distress type.”

He hands you a water bottle and you take a long swig, “I am a damsel and I am very distressed, actually.”

“What if I give you something if you go one more round?”

You roll your eyes, “Like what, true loves kiss?”

Simon has the audacity to sound smug, “Is that what you want, love?”

“Shut up, Simon”, you toss the water bottle to the side and get into your starting position.

You’re about to start swinging, but you feel Simon’s presence move behind you. His large hands move to your waist, positioning you differently.

You expect him to let go, but his hands stay firmly placed on your waist, “Simon?”

He sounds unbothered when he responds, “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

“How is this helping me, exactly?”

Simon leans forward, his voice is heard directly by your ear, “What’s wrong love? Somethin’ distracting you?”

You look down and clear your throat, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His right hand leaves your waist to grab your chin, forcing you to look over your shoulder at him. You can’t help but notice the way his eyes travel to your lips. They linger there for a second before his thumb gently swipes across your bottom lip.

He leans forward devastatingly slow, his mask nearly making contact with your skin when he whispers, “Your form still needs work.”

Simon then leans back, removing himself completely from you. You feel his warmth escape immediately as you snap out of your daze.

What a tease.

You scoff and shake your head, once again readying yourself to take out all of your frustration on the stupid blue punching bag.

Simons hand stops you once again, “Let me show you.”

You step back, grateful for the break. He moves in front of you, and you can’t help but notice how nice his back muscles look in his black compression shirt. Every part of him is defined and sculpted. It’s ridiculous, really.

He starts to strike the punching bag. Swift, fast punches that you can barely keep up with. The way his muscles move is almost mesmerizing.

“I need to train in here more often”, you thought.

You snap out of your ogling when he finishes and turns towards you. He looks like he didn’t even break a sweat or bat an eye.

Simon looks at you, “You see? That’s how it’s done correctly.”

You shrug, “You did alright. Your form could use some work.”

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thewulf · 9 days

Text

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I've got this itch for some hurt/comfort with Simon Ghost Riley and the reader from TF 141. Reader's this badass sniper, always on top of her game. But one day she wakes up feeling under the weather. She decides to push through training, but things take a turn when she starts feeling faint during drills after Price gives her shit for not training hard... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh this was challenging but so much fun to right. Please let me know your thoughts below :) Got a little carried away with this one!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 7.7k +

TW: Heat Stroke, Flu, Illness, general COD warnings.

Four years ago, you were a part of a special training assignment with the American Navy, deployed in a remote and sweltering military base off the coast of Africa. It was here in the middle of the grueling drills and relentless heat that you caught the eye of Captain John Price. Your prowess with a rifle was unmistakable. Every target set before you fell without fail. But what truly set you apart was your demeanor: you kept your head down, focused intensely on the task at hand, never boasting about your undeniable skills.

Captain Price who was always on the lookout for exceptional talent to add to Task Force 141, saw in you a rare combination of humility and sharpshooting expertise. Recognizing your potential he pulled some strings, navigated through the complexities of the American Military bureaucracy, and somehow successfully recruited you into the prestigious ranks of TF 141. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One that would challenge your resilience and skill more than any previous assignment.

Joining TF 141 wasn't just a promotion. It was being welcomed into a family of elite soldiers. While Soap and Gaz took an immediate liking to you, appreciating your wit and marksmanship, Ghost was initially more reserved. His trust was not easily won. It had to be earned on the battlefield not just through training exercises back at base.

Your defining moment came during a perilous mission in the frozen expanses of Russia within your first year with the 141. The mission had quickly gone sideways. Ghost found himself in the deadly crosshairs of an enemy sniper. With the situation deteriorating rapidly and no clear shot available to him your actions in those critical seconds would forever change the dynamics of your relationship with Ghost. From a concealed position you took out the opposing sniper with a single, precise shot, saving Ghost’s life.

This act erased any last reservations Ghost might have held. From then on he saw you not just as another sharpshooter but as an indispensable member of the team, his team. Your ability to make life-saving decisions under intense pressure proved your strength. Not just in terms of physical prowess but in intellectual and tactical acumen as well.

Since then you have become an integral part of TF 141's operations. Your journey from a promising recruit noticed by Captain Price to a pivotal player in some of the team’s most critical missions has been defined by relentless dedication and the deep trust you've earned from some of the military's toughest warriors.

The shrill beep of the alarm slices through the stillness of your room dragging you from the shallow waters of restless sleep into the harsh reality of dawn. For a moment as you blink against the dim light filtering through the barracks' curtains, the room spins slightly—a disorienting dance that forces you to close your eyes again.

You’ve always been the type who never gets sick. The one who breezes through the cold season unscathed while others succumb around you. Your robust health has been a point of pride, a badge of reliability in TF 141. But this morning something is different, and you know it immediately.

Your body aches profoundly, each muscle groaning with a weariness that feels bone-deep, and your head pounds with the relentless rhythm of a dull, throbbing drum. Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down your throat. An unfortunate wave of nausea rolls through you as you sit up. It has to be the flu, you think grimly, recognizing the unmistakable and unforgiving symptoms.

Despite the clear signs of illness, the thought of calling in sick doesn’t even cross your mind. It’s not just about pride. There’s also a deep-seated belief that you can handle anything, a belief that has carried you through countless challenges.

With a heavy, determined sigh, you push yourself off the bed. Standing unsteadily for a moment, you use the wall to keep yourself upright. Today is not the day to show weakness, not the day to break your perfect record of health. You decide to power through. To dress and join your team for the morning drills under the rising sun. The thought of letting them down by your absence is more daunting than the physical discomfort threatening to overwhelm you.As you gear up, each movement measured and more deliberate than usual, you steel yourself for the day ahead. Today, you'll prove—not just to your team, but to yourself—that not even the flu can keep you from standing alongside your comrades.

Stepping out into the cool, pre-dawn air, you allow yourself a moment to feel the chill against your fevered skin. It’s oddly refreshing, a natural contrast to the unnatural heat of your illness. It’s bound to be short lived though as the sun’s rays already feel warm on your skin. The training field is a short walk away and with each step you rehearse the day’s routine in your mind. A mantra against the physical discomfort.

As the briefing wraps up and the team begins to disperse to their respective training stations you feel the weight of Ghost’s gaze right on you. Despite the heaviness of your limbs and the fog in your brain, this unspoken solidarity from your teammates, especially Ghost, gives you a sliver of strength.

With each step towards the day’s first drill your resolve hardens. You're not just fighting the flu; you're fighting to maintain the trust and respect you’ve earned. Today, the battlefield is here, within yourself, and you're determined to prove your mettle. You are keenly aware of being one of the few women in the unit and the additional scrutiny that comes with it. It's crucial that you show no weakness even as your body wages its quiet rebellion. Your head pounds with a relentless ache. Your limbs are heavy. And every breath feels like an effort. Despite these symptoms screaming flu, you've chosen silence—no complaints, no excuses.

When you arrive at the training field the usual bustle of activity sharply contrasts with your internal struggle. Everyone is focused on what needs to be done, their attention solely on performance. As Captain Price begins the morning briefing his voice sounds like a distant echo in your ears drowned out by the pounding in your head. The day's challenges loom large, testing your limits before you've even started.

As you make your way to the lineup, the crisp morning air begins to turn warm, almost uncomfortable warm already. Soap falls into step beside you, his familiar grin lighting up his face as he launches into the light-hearted banter that typically marks your mornings together.

“Morning! Ready to outshoot us all again today?” Soap teases before giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, expecting your usual lively retort.

You manage only a weak smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and nod faintly. The flu has buried your usual quick wit under a heavy weight of fatigue and discomfort. It takes all your effort just to keep standing without revealing how much you're struggling.

Soap’s smile quickly falters at your lack of reply, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You okay, lass?” he asks. His tone shifting to something more serious.

You nod again, swallowing hard against the surge of nausea. “Yeah, just tired,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're careful not to reveal the full extent of your ailment, not here, not in front of your team.

From a short distance away Ghost's intense gaze follows the exchange. Though his presence is more subdued, and his demeanor reserved, his attention to detail remains sharp. You can feel his concern even without words. His posture is alert, his body tensed as if ready to act at a moment's notice.

Ghost offers no overt gestures of worry; he doesn't need to. The slight tightening of his stance is a silent signal of his readiness to intervene. His eyes, just visible through the slits of his mask, never wander, tracking your every move with a vigilance that speaks volumes. You know he's always watching out for his team, and today, his protective focus is unmistakably fixed on you.

"Alright, let's warm up! Start with sprints!" Captain Price commands. His voice cuts through the morning air, decisive and clear. You line up with your teammates, the grass cool and slightly damp under your boots. The whistle pierces the calm, and you propel yourself forward. Each step is a battle, your muscles protesting every movement. Yet you push through the fatigue and dizziness.

After sprints the drills shift to push-ups. Down on the warm, wet grass you feel the earth against your palms, stabilizing yet unforgiving. You count each repetition, your muscles burning and a thin layer of sweat forming, which only seems to heighten the chills that intermittently rack your body.

Sit-ups come next and with each crunch a wave of nausea threatens your composure. The world tilts slightly with each lift, blurring at the edges. Captain Price’s footsteps approach. His presence looming. "Let’s see that strength, Y/N! Don’t slack now!" he urges. The encouragement is meant to inspire but it feels like a heavy mantle on your already burdened shoulders.

“Yes sir.” You manage to get out between crunches.

As you struggle through each exercise you can't ignore the hot flashes followed by chills, the hallmark of flu symptoms. Each movement is more taxing than the last and the temptation to give in and rest grows stronger. However, your determination doesn't waver. You are here to prove yourself, to demonstrate that neither flu nor fatigue can break your resolve. You need to showcase the unwavering strength of not just a skilled sniper, but a resilient soldier.

As the whistle blows, Captain Price directs everyone to break into their respective teams for more specialized, team-based drills. You find yourself grouped with Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Your usual teammates and three of the unit's most competent operatives. Your heart sinks a bit. Their proficiency and teamwork are unmatched and under normal circumstances you would feel invigorated by the challenge. Today, however, it feels like an uphill battle.

"Alright, team," Gaz announces with a nod, "we’re up for the relay sprints and tactical positioning exercises. We need to be sharp and synchronized. Let's show these assholes how it's done."

You nod silently, attempting to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. Soap claps you on the shoulder giving you a reassuring smile, likely mistaking your subdued quietness for focused determination rather than the fatigue that’s slowly overtaking you.

The drills begin with relay sprints. You watch as Soap takes off with his usual speed. His figure swiftly cutting through the warming afternoon air. Gaz follows, moving with practiced ease. Then it’s your turn. As you push off your legs feel as though they are wading through molasses, your usually sharp agility significantly dulled by the flu’s tenacious grip. Each step feels heavier than the last as your breathing becomes ragged and unsteady.

Compounding your discomfort, the gear you're clad in feels unbearably hot against your skin. The layers that are usually a second nature in your fieldwork now seem like a furnace, trapping in every ounce of body heat. Your temperature rises not just from the fever, but also from the exhaustive exertion and the insulated heat from your tactical vest. Sweat beads on your forehead, not entirely from the physical activity but also from the early signs of heat exhaustion—your body’s desperate attempt to cool down under the layers.

Despite feeling increasingly overheated and nearly overwhelmed, you hide your discomfort well. Your face remains stoic, betraying none of the battle raging within your body against the heat and illness. To an outsider you might just appear intensely focused. But beneath the surface you're fighting a much tougher battle, trying to keep pace while your body screams for relief.

Ghost, from his vantage point, watches closely. His sharp eyes catch the subtle signs that others might miss—the slight falter in your step, the way you're breathing a little too hard after your sprint. His gaze intensifies with concern etched across his face as he monitors your every move, aware that something isn’t right but waiting for you to signal if you need assistance.

When you pass the baton to Ghost your hand trembles slightly. He catches it and for a brief moment your eyes meet. There's a flash of concern across his usually impassive face, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. He nods at you before taking off, his movements fluid and precise, yet his mind clearly not fully on the drill. His glance back at you is quick, discreet, checking to ensure you’re still on your feet.

As the exercises continue with the tactical positioning drills, the demands increase. This part of the training requires quick movements and even quicker thinking as each team member needs to cover different angles and work together seamlessly. You position yourself to cover Ghost’s flank, aiming to maintain your usual high standards. However, the world begins to tilt alarmingly. Your vision swims and the ground beneath you feels as if it’s shifting forcing you to steady yourself against a nearby tree.

Ghost, now at a slight distance, turns sharply in response to your stagger. His eyes narrow, not with disapproval, but with intensified concern. He makes a subtle move to close the distance between you, his instincts as a protector kicking in. Yet, he stops himself, respecting your pride and your ability to signal if you need help. He positions himself strategically, so he’s close enough to intervene quickly if needed. His body tensed and ready to act.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gaz’s voice suddenly cuts through your fog of discomfort, and you realize you’ve attracted more attention than you intended.

You straighten up quickly, nodding more sharply than necessary. “Just lost my footing for a second,” you lie. Managing a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Ghost, who has now subtly shifted his position to provide you with both physical and moral support, keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer. He doesn’t call you out on your obvious discomfort. Instead, he gives you a nod, an unspoken communication between you two. It’s his way of saying he’s there, just in case, without putting you on the spot in front of the others.

His presence helps you gather your strength to continue. Despite the unease churning inside you knowing that Ghost is watching over you with such attentiveness gives you a small, but significant boost of confidence. You focus on the drills, pushing through the nausea and instability, bolstered by the knowledge that help is just a few steps away if you truly need it.

You begin to feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you more intensely than before. Each breath feels like you're inhaling fire. And the tactical gear, usually a familiar weight, now feels like an unbearable burden. Trapping too much heat against your body. More and more sweat beads on your forehead mixing with the slight dizziness that refuses to fade. The discomfort is escalating and despite your best efforts to mask it the heat is becoming unmanageable.

Ghost was still maintaining a discreet distance, watches you with sharp, observant eyes. He senses the subtle changes in your posture and the slight grimace that you can't quite hide each time you move. His concern deepens but he waits for a sign from you, respecting your pride and your position within the team.

As the drills continue you find it increasingly difficult to focus. The world seems to shimmer with heat around the edges and you feel a wave of nausea stronger than before. Recognizing that you might be in more trouble than you initially thought you catch Ghost's gaze across the field. It's a silent plea for understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that you do need his help after all.

Ghost responds immediately, his instincts as your LT kicking into high gear. He crosses the distance between you with a few quick strides. His approach discreet yet filled with purpose. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly. His voice low enough that only you can hear. It’s clear he’s prepared to step in, to offer whatever support you need without drawing unwanted attention to your struggle.

Your attempt to respond is less than reassuring. "Heat… too, it’s not the... can't—why can’t the air?" you mumble. Your words tangling into an unintelligible mess, a clear indicator that you are far from alright.

The expression behind Ghost's mask tightens, his protective instincts flaring as he assesses your condition with even greater alarm. Your face is flushed from more than just the heat. It's clear you're struggling significantly under the weight of your gear and the relentless sun.

At that moment Captain Price's voice cuts sharply through the air, his tone laced with the urgency of the drill. "Let's move it, Ghost, Y/N!" he commands from a distance, seemingly oblivious to the severity of your distress. His focus is on the continuity and discipline of the training. Unaware that one of his own is teetering on the edge of collapse.

Ghost’s response is swift and decisive. Without drawing attention to the situation, he steadies you with one arm, his other hand signaling subtly to Captain Price that something isn’t right. "Give us a moment, sir," he calls back firmly, his tone respectful yet insistent enough to convey the seriousness of the issue without alarming the entire unit.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense. "We need to get you out of the sun," he states quietly, directing you towards a shaded area nearby. His hand remains supportively on your back, guiding but not pushing. His presence a steady force as you stagger slightly under your own weight.

Once under the shade, Ghost helps you remove your tactical vest, easing the burden of the heat trapped against your body. The cooler air hits your skin, offering a momentary relief that you hadn't realized you needed so desperately. But as your body starts to cool an unexpected shiver runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. It feels as though the temperature has plummeted, though the day remains swelteringly hot.

"Ghost," you stutter out between shivers, "it's so cold." Your teeth chatter, a stark contrast to the sweat that still beads on your forehead. The sudden coldness is disorienting, confusing, and you clutch at your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

"Simon," you manage to say between shivers. His actual name slipping out amidst the confusion—an unusual slip that does not escape his notice. Ghost, or Simon as you now call him, recognizes the gravity of the situation immediately. The usual protocols and formalities fade into the background as he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

You blink rapidly trying to focus as your surroundings become a blur. The ground seems to tilt beneath you for a second time and a wave of darkness edges your vision. Simon watches you closely with an arm around your waist in case. His trained eyes catching every sign of your deteriorating condition.

“Hang on,” he urges. His voice steady but the concern is palpable. Before he can offer more reassurance your knees buckle beneath you. Your body finally giving way to the overwhelming symptoms. And suddenly the world goes dark in your eyes.

Simon catches you before you hit the ground his arms securing you firmly yet gently. “Medic!” he shouts. The urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air without a hint of hesitation. Captain Price who had been overseeing the drills from a short distance, turns sharply at the sound. His quick assessment of the situation bringing him running.

Price approaches just as Simon adjusts his hold on you, bringing your body to the ground so you were laying. “What happened?” Price asks. His voice a mix of command and concern.

“Heat stroke, I think—she’s out,” Simon responds curtly. His gaze fixed on you as he checks your pulse and looks for any sign of recovery. Your brief moments of unconsciousness are fleeting but each second is critical.

As you flutter your eyes open, confusion mingles with the need to communicate. “Simon... it’s all spinning,” you murmur with your voice overly weak. The use of his first name again in such a vulnerable state only cements his resolve to get you the help you need immediately.

As Simon kneels beside you he carefully supports your head, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asks again. His voice a mix of firmness and concern trying to assess the level of your disorientation.

You blink slowly but the effort to focus feeling monumental. Your gaze drifts over the familiar yet strangely distant figures of Soap and Gaz before returning to Simon. “We're... in Bosnia?” you murmur hesitantly, the name of a recent mission location slipping out, completely unrelated to your current setting on the training field.

Simon’s expression tightens, a flicker of worry crossing his features as he realizes the depth of your confusion. He exchanges a quick, grave look with Captain Price who has been monitoring the situation closely. The incorrect answer confirms the seriousness of your condition, prompting Price to look around, expecting the medics to be approaching swiftly.

However, as Simon scans the area his frustration mounts. The medics, possibly delayed or misinformed about the severity of the situation, are nowhere in sight. Realizing that waiting even a moment longer could jeopardize your well-being he makes a decisive call.

"Not fast enough," Simon mutters under his breath. His protective instincts overriding protocol. Without waiting for the medics to arrive he gently but firmly scoops you up in his arms. His movements are swift and determined as he begins to rush you towards the infirmary. His concern for your immediate safety taking precedence over everything else.

Captain Price, upon seeing Simon’s sudden movement, understands the gravity of the decision and immediately acts. "Clear the way!” he shouts, commanding the attention of everyone on the field.

As Simon carries you, the world around you becomes a blur of motion and sound, but his steady grip provides a reassuring constant. "Hang on love, we're almost there. Just stay with me," he urges. His voice a soothing presence amid the confusion.

With each step Simon takes your sense of time and space dims, the urgency of his stride and the rhythm of his heartbeat blending into the background noise of the base. As you approach the infirmary you see figures moving quickly to prepare for your arrival.

Simon’s pace doesn’t falter until he reaches the medical staff waiting at the infirmary doors. As he gently hands you over to their care his gaze lingers on yours filled with concern and an unspoken promise of unwavering support, no matter the circumstances.

In the cool, sterile environment of the infirmary, Ghost stands a vigilant watch beside your bed. His gaze locked onto your face as the medical team works rapidly to stabilize your condition. The typical stoic mask he wears has fallen away, replaced by an expression etched with deep concern. Each furrow of his brow and tight set of his jaw reveals more than usual concern. It speaks of a profound fear that he rarely allows others to see.

As the medical staff step back momentarily to fetch additional supplies, Ghost's role shifts subtly but significantly. He transforms from a mere observer into an active caretaker, a role those in TF 141 rarely witness. He picks up a damp cloth and gently wipes your forehead. His touch delicate and caring, betraying the roughness expected from his formidable field presence.

"Hey, love, can you hear me?" he murmurs. His voice soft and laden with a tenderness that surprises even him. The word 'love' slips out naturally. A term of endearment that he hasn't used lightly before. This slip, this small but significant deviation from his usual manner, is a clear sign of his deepening feelings. Feelings he might not have fully acknowledged until this very moment.

You blink slowly, responding to the sound of his voice. Ghost watches for any sign of recognition, any indication that you understand his presence. As you meet his gaze, there's a moment of relief that passes over his features. But it's quickly replaced by renewed worry as he continues to monitor your responses.

He is utterly overwhelmed. A feeling that's foreign to him. He's faced countless dangers without flinching but the sight of you so vulnerable stirs a fear in him that battlefield threats never have. He realizes perhaps more clearly than ever how deeply his feelings for you run. It's not just friendship or brotherly protection. It's something much deeper, more personal.

He stays close, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The contact is meant to comfort you but it also grounds him, reminding him that you're still here, still fighting. "Stay with me, okay?" he adds quietly, almost pleadingly. This is not just a command from a superior officer; it's a personal plea from someone who cares deeply.

Ghost's presence in the infirmary becomes a constant, a guardian ensuring that no detail is overlooked, no necessary treatment delayed. His commitment to your recovery is unwavering, his actions driven by a mix of professional duty and personal concern that has become inseparable. The realization that his feelings for you have evolved adds a new weight to every decision, every action he takes on your behalf.

A few hours later, the haze of confusion and illness that enveloped your mind begins to clear slightly. As your eyes flutter open, the stark white lights of the infirmary momentarily blind you, and the unfamiliar sounds of medical equipment beep rhythmically in the background. Disoriented, you try to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment.

Sitting beside your bed, Ghost notices the subtle signs of consciousness returning. He leans forward, his presence reassuring amidst the clinical surroundings. "Hey, you're awake," he says gently. His voice a soothing contrast to the beeping machines. "Take it easy. You gave us quite a scare out there."

As fragments of memory return—the unbearable heat of the training field, your faltering steps, the feeling of collapse—your face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. The realization that you succumbed in front of your team, particularly because of a flu exacerbating the situation, is hard to accept.

Ghost reads the embarrassment in your expression and quickly addresses it. "Listen, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re dealing with the flu on top of everything else. Heat stroke is serious and it’s a lot for anyone to handle. Especially when you’re already under the weather," he reassures you earnestly.

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch grounding. "Even the toughest soldiers need to take a step back sometimes. It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re human, that you have limits. It doesn't diminish your strength," he continues in your silence. His voice imbued with empathy and understanding.

Feeling the sincerity in his words helps ease some of your discomfort. "Thanks, Simon," you manage to whisper, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. The informal use of his first name in such a vulnerable moment speaks volumes about the trust and comfort you’ve grown to have in him.

Simon offers a gentle smile. His eyes softening. "You’re always pushing yourself to be the best and that’s certainly admirable. But sometimes, taking care of yourself is part of being the best. Don’t blame yourself for this. I certainly don’t blame you for trying," he adds, affirming his support in you.

"Sleep now. Don’t worry about the rest for now. We’re all here for you," he suggests while still holding your hand, his steady presence a comforting constant as you drift back towards unconsciousness. His commitment to your well-being is clear not just as a teammate but as someone who cares deeply on a personal level.

As you close your eyes, comforted by his words and presence, you feel a profound sense of relief. Simon's quiet vigil lets you know that no matter what, you’re not alone. Periodically, he checks the IV line and adjusts the cold packs making sure to monitor your recovery closely.. Each time you stir or grimace in discomfort, he’s there, adjusting your position or simply offering a reassuring touch.

As the hours pass Ghost remains by your side, a silent sentinel. Even as you're asleep he doesn’t leave, instead pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed. Occasionally, other members of the team peek in offering quiet words of support. But it's clear Ghost has appointed himself your primary guardian during this vulnerable time.

This unexpected role of caretaker reveals a depth to Ghost that goes beyond his tactical prowess and battlefield grit. In the infirmary, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background, his softer, caring nature comes to the forefront, showcasing a profound sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards his team. Especially towards you.

As the day's tension slowly ebbs away in the quiet of the infirmary, you sleep deeply, recovering from the ordeal. Ghost sits steadfast by your side. His focus is solely on you. His usually impassive gaze softened by concern. The door creaks open softly as Soap and Gaz walk in. Both their faces splitting into mischievous grins when they see Ghost in his uncharacteristic role as your caretaker.

“Never thought I’d see Ghost play the doting nurse,” Soap chuckles quietly. Trying to keep his voice low to avoid disturbing you. “What’s next? Will you be knitting her a sweater?”

Gaz joins in leaning against the door frame with a smirk playing on his lips, “Maybe a nice scarf to go with it, mate. Make sure it matches her eyes, yeah?” His comment draws a soft laugh from Soap. Their teasing lightening the atmosphere of the infirmary.

Their laughter, though subdued, is a needed release after the day’s stress. It’s filled with genuine affection and respect for both you and Ghost. They understand the stakes of such moments and the bonds they forge.

Ghost, not missing a beat, shoots them a pointed look. His response is tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Keep it up, and you'll be on the next solo recon mission in the coldest part of Siberia," he replies. His tone firm but with a faint smirk betraying his amusement.

In the background Captain Price stands silently in the doorway. His observant eyes taking in the scene. He watches Ghost’s interactions with a discerning eye, noting the subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. Price is no stranger to the complexities of personal dynamics within his team. And he senses the potential implications of Ghost’s deepening concern for you. There’s a hint of understanding in his gaze, mixed with caution, as he ponders the path this could lead down.

As the laughter begins to die down Price steps forward, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. He gives Soap and Gaz a brief nod, a clear signal that it’s time for them to leave. The moment for jokes has passed and it's time to restore some decorum. As they exit Soap can’t resist throwing one final teasing comment over his shoulder. “Take good care of her, Ghost!” he calls out as his tone is playful yet sincere.

Price remains a moment longer his gaze lingering on Ghost and then shifting to you, asleep and unaware of the exchange. There’s a quiet gravity to his demeanor, an unspoken reminder of his leadership role and his understanding of the deeper currents flowing beneath the surface of his team’s interactions.

Captain Price approaches Ghost, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. He pauses beside him, his voice low and measured to ensure privacy. "Simon," he begins. His tone serious but not without warmth, "you're handling this well and it's clear you care deeply. Just remember, maintaining balance is crucial." His eyes, steady and understanding, meet Ghost's, acknowledging the depth of his concern while gently reminding him of his broader responsibilities.

"Don't lose focus. We rely on you—not just for her, but for the whole team," Price continues, his voice softening slightly to underscore his supportive intent.

Ghost nods, the gravity of Price's words resonating with him. "Understood, sir," he responds, his tone reflecting both respect for Price's leadership and an acute awareness of the weight on his shoulders.

Price places a hand on Ghost's shoulder, a gesture that speaks of his care and mutual respect. "Keep me posted. If there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask," he adds. Emphasizing his role not just as a commander but as a supporter willing to provide resources rather than merely oversee.

"Will do, sir," Ghost says, his voice steady as he watches Price prepare to leave the infirmary. Price gives him one last affirming nod—an acknowledgment of Ghost's commitment and his understanding of the emotional complexities involved. As Price walks away his demeanor reflects as a leader who trusts his team to handle personal challenges with professionalism yet remains ready to step in if the balance shifts too far.

Once alone again Ghost turns back to you, his expression softening as he adjusts the blanket around you and checks the monitors to ensure everything is as it should be. In these quiet moments his demeanor reveals the profound loyalty and protectiveness he feels. Traits that define him just as much as his combat skills.

The room is quiet, the only sounds are the gentle beeping of the medical equipment and your steady breathing. In this sanctuary away from the battlefield's chaos, Ghost’s vigilance continues, a promise of unwavering support.

In the dimly lit infirmary, the soft beeps of the monitor blend with the quiet sounds of the night. Ghost sits closely by your side, his eyes tracing over your peaceful face, contrasting sharply with the day’s earlier tension. The room is calm now, the urgency has passed, but the weight of the day lingers in the air heavy with unspoken words.

Leaning closer Ghost watches you for a long moment. His expression a mix of concern and something softer, more vulnerable. He knows you can’t hear him, but the words slip out quietly anyway. A whisper meant only for you. "You’re killing me here, love," he murmurs. The hint of a smile touching his lips despite the worry in his eyes. It’s a rare admission. One that reveals just how deeply he’s been affected by your condition.

He sighs lightly, the sound almost lost in the quiet of the room. Adjusting the blanket around you one last time to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, he finally leans back in his chair. His gaze remains fixed on you a moment longer as a guardian watching over you.

Realizing the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion settling into his bones Ghost decides he wasn’t willing to leave you yet. Not when you’d hardly regained consciousness and certainly not when you might need him upon waking. He shifts to make himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside your bed, his body angled to keep you in sight.

As he settles in, his eyes slowly close but it’s clear he’s not completely given over to sleep. Even in rest, he’s alert, ready to wake at the slightest change in your condition. In this quiet vigil, his presence is both a promise and a protection. A steadfast commitment to be there for you when you finally do wake.

The night deepens around the two of you. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant in the otherwise still room. Ghost, in his chair, remains by your side. A figure in the dim light embodying both the warrior and the caretaker in this rare moment of peace.

As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds of the infirmary your eyes flutter open greeting the new day with a mix of confusion and sluggish awareness. Initially, your vision is blurry, the shapes and colors of the room melding into indistinct forms. Gradually though your eyes adjust, and the figure slumped in the chair beside your bed comes into sharper focus. Ghost, asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the wall.

The sight of him so uncharacteristically vulnerable in sleep immediately warms your heart. Despite the residual fog clouding your mind a soft smile plays on your lips. "Ghost," you call out, your voice hoarse but audible enough to stir him from his light slumber.

At the sound of your voice Ghost snaps awake, instantly alert. He straightens up before rubbing the stiffness from his neck as he turns to face you. His eyes that displayed a flicker of reprieve meet yours. "Hey, you're awake," he says. His voice rough with sleep but tinged with unmistakable relief. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," you reply. Your voice was still weak but filled with gratitude. "You stayed all night?"

Ghost nods, a soft expression crossing his face as he hears your voice. This subtle return to normalcy reassures him. Warming his heart and letting him know you must be feeling a bit better to revert to familiar terms. "Yes, I stayed. Didn’t want you to wake up alone here," he replies. His tone gentle. Ghost’s eyes scan your face for signs of pain or lingering confusion, ever the vigilant guardian.

"Thanks, Ghost. Really," you manage to say feeling comforted not only by his presence but also by the return to a semblance of normalcy. His constant vigilance, even as you slept, speaks volumes of his dedication not just to his duty but to you personally.

Ghost offers a slight smile, one that reaches his eyes this time. "No need to thank me. Just glad to see you're doing better," he says. He pulls a chair closer to your bed, settling in. "Need anything? Water? More pain meds?" he asks. Ready to assist with whatever you might need.

The simple exchange is light yet filled with unspoken care helps to ease the remaining tension from the ordeal. As Ghost continues to make sure you’re comfortable, you feel a profound sense of safety and appreciation for the bond that has only deepened through this experience. The conversation drifts into a comfortable silence filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. In this quiet early morning hour, a new layer of your relationship has been gently unfolded. Revealing the depth of connection that hardship and vulnerability can foster.

As the morning sun continues to pour a warm glow into the infirmary the doctor finishes his examination and nods with satisfaction. "You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I think you're ready to be discharged today. Just remember to take it easy for the next few days," he advises as he begins to pack away his equipment.

Ghost's reaction is almost immediate, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure she’s ready?" he questions the doctor. His voice carrying a protective edge that makes you smile inwardly. His overt protectiveness is both touching and reassuring. A stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The doctor, accustomed to dealing with the cautious nature of soldiers about their comrades, reassures him with a confident nod. "Yes, she's stable. Just ensure she rests and avoids any strenuous activity. She should be fine," he explains patiently.

Despite the reassurance Ghost still looks unconvinced. His gaze flicking back to you, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering weakness. "Maybe another day for observation?" he suggests. His tone half-questioning, half-requesting. It's evident he'd prefer you stay under medical supervision a bit longer.

Your heart warms at his concern and though you find his overprotectiveness endearing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Instead, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand instead. "Ghost, I think I’ll be okay," you assure him gently trying to alleviate his worries.

Ghost manages a small smile. His usual impassive facade softening. "Just making sure," he mutters. Though his eyes remain tender with concern. He finally nods accepting the doctor's verdict, but his posture stays alert, protective.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But we’re taking it slow for the next few days. I’ll let Price know." he declares. His tone firm, directed more at himself than anyone else.

As the doctor leaves Ghost assists you in gathering your belongings. His movements careful and considerate. He checks in frequently asking if you're feeling alright to continue, his cautiousness evident but heartening. It’s clear that although you’ve been given the all-clear Ghost will be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring your recovery proceeds without issue.

His unwavering attention not only makes you feel deeply cared for but also subtly deepens the bond between you, underscoring a shift in your relationship where his role as protector has become as instinctive as it is essential.

As you swing your legs off the bed and attempt to stand a momentary wave of dizziness makes your legs waver slightly. Instantly, Ghost is there, his hand firm on your waist, steadying you. His touch is gentle yet secure, grounding you in the moment.

You laugh it off with a light flush coloring your cheeks. "Just wobbly legs," you joke trying to ease the tension you feel from his close presence. Despite your attempt to downplay the situation your movements are still a bit too brisk. A clear sign you might be overestimating your current strength.

Ghost doesn't smile but there's a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Take it slow, love," he advises, his tone almost demanding. His hand remains on your back as a discreet but constant presence. He guides you slowly out of the infirmary. You feel the steadiness of his support with each step you take. His careful pace ensures you don't overexert yourself, allowing you time to adjust as you walk. The corridor seems longer than you remember but Ghost’s reassuring presence makes the journey feel safer, more manageable.

"You don’t have to rush this," he continues. Sensing your eagerness to prove your recovery. "We’ll get there when we get there." His words are simple but effective reminding you that your health is the priority not the speed of your recovery.

As you proceed you lean slightly into his support realizing how crucial his support has been, not just physically but also emotionally. Ghost’s unwavering steadiness helps bolster your confidence, making you feel that no matter how shaky your steps might be you won't fall as long as he’s by your side.

The walk back to your room is quiet but comfortable. It’s filled with an unspoken understanding that something significant has shifted between you. When you reach your door, Ghost finally pulls his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

"Thanks again, Ghost. For everything," you say while meeting his gaze. It's an open acknowledgment of all he's done and all he might continue to do.

"Anytime, love. Just... please take care of yourself," he responds. There’s a promise in his words, an implication that he'll always be nearby, watching over you.

As you reach the door to your quarters, Simon pauses, his hand resting lightly against the frame. "Can I help you get settled back in?" he asks. His tone as soft as it has been before, something new that has overcome him in your incident. His concern clearly evident.

You nod, touched by his attentiveness and as you enter your room he follows close behind. Simon watches carefully as you slowly make your way to your bed and sit down, still feeling a bit shaky. The room is familiar and comforting but his presence makes it feel even safer, more serene.

Once you're seated on the bed, he scans the room quickly, always alert for what you might need. "You sure you don't need anything else? Some more water? A snack?” Ghost asks, already moving towards your small kitchenette. He assumed a role that went beyond duty into something more personal.

You smile at his back, warmed by his concern. "I’m fine, Ghost. Really," you reassure him. But he shakes his head, not entirely convinced.

"It's no trouble at all. You should eat something," he insists gently while fetching a glass of water and a small snack from your stash. Simple things that you hadn't thought you’d needed until he presented them. As he hands you the glass his fingers brush yours lightly, sending a small, unexpected shiver up your arm. You thank him with a soft smile, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Noticing a few strands of hair falling over your face, Simon reaches out and gently brushes them back, his touch delicate and caring. His hand lingers for a moment, a silent expression of his deeper feelings.

You’re momentarily stunned but thrilled, nonetheless. You find it hard to find words as his hand lingers on your face. "I know I keep thanking you but thanks again Simon. For... well, for everything," you say after a moment. Your voice low and sincere. Using his first name feels natural, reflecting the shift in your relationship.

He pauses, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be," he replies. His voice so soft it’s nearly a whisper, revealing the depth of his feelings.

"If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be just a call away, love," He adds imbued with a warmth that reassures and comforts. His use of ‘love’ is tender, an endearment that resonates deeply, marking a significant moment in your ever evolving relationship.

He gives you a lingering look that was filled with care and a promise of protection before he reluctantly steps towards the door. There's a hint of hesitation in his movement, a subtle pause that conveys his desire to stay longer.

As he exits, gently closing the door behind him, you lie back against your pillows, the glass of water in your hand. His presence has left a comforting warmth in the room. A sense of safety that lulls you towards rest. The thought of Simon being just a call away brings a smile to your face. And as you close your eyes it’s not just the fatigue that makes you feel at ease. It’s knowing Simon is there, caring for you with a tenderness that goes beyond the call of duty.

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ghostlywhiskey · 8 months

Text

Simon Riley (Priest AU) - Forgive me, Father.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,203

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ☆ Sacrilege, priest, mentions of prayer and common language used in confessionals - overall religious content that may upset some. Abuse of power. Mentions of being used and somnophilia. Cussing. Masturbation (Simon & reader).

Summary: After having improper thoughts weighing guilt on your mind, you decide to resort to confession. Simon has methods of how you can be forgiven.

Notes: Um, well, yeah. I’m not sure what to say. Writing this whole thing was a 'damn, Catholicism ingrained in me fr' moment from how I literally closed my eyes to remember how I would walk into church & what would be said in confession. Ha. Anyway. Minimal proofreading, I felt too dirty to re-read.

find my masterlist here

You weren't a frequent churchgoer. After years of Catholic school, it all became tiring and felt almost forced at this rate, but you went for the holidays like Easter & Christmas - at your grandparents request to be fair.

But, old habits die hard and one day you find yourself pulling into the parking lot of the church. Maybe it was the Catholic guilt ingrained in you that drew you to go today.

The large wood doors creaked as you opened them and walked into the church. Every Catholic church looked the same to you - the stained glass, the architecture, the same old wooden pews either their original wood or coated in layers of white paint refreshed over the years. And every church you had ever been to was always so cold - why?

Every single move was like muscle memory. Your fingers dipped into the font that contained the holy water, quietly whispering as you did the sign of the cross and genuflected.

Your eyes scanned the church, noting the layout as you located the confessional. Once you entered and sat down, you rang the tiny bell to indicate your presence. Heavy footsteps outside getting closer as you heard the priest enter the other side of the confessional, the divider sliding open so you can only make out the figure through the tiny holes.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The words are spoken in unison. His voice is clearer to you now as he only speaks now, "May God who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy." In response, you quietly whisper 'amen' in return.

Clearing your throat and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you prepare to speak. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was 5 years ago. These are my sins.." The list of sins are far more minimal in nature such as disrespecting your parents, gossiping, lying and so forth.

Then, you finally get to what has been weighing on your mind like a ton of bricks. "And impure thoughts.." Your words trailing off, the sound of the priest shifting on the other side noticeable from the close proximity despite the divider separating you both. "In order to truly know the severity, what do these impure thoughts include, my child?" He asks, your body tensing as the question catches you off guard. "Ah, regarding premarital sex acts, Father." You respond, fingers fidgeting with the rings on your hands. "Explain." This is all he says before the silence lingers in the small space before you speak again. "This is only to help your absolution." His voice urges you to continue, the words trying to ease you to come clean. “Well," Swallowing the lump in your throat, your cheeks burning from embarrassment despite your identity being unknown to him. "The thoughts consist of being used at will by a man. To be degraded and fucked until I'm begging for him to stop, but my whines only encourage him to continue. I don't want him to stop.” Your voice is strained, as if you're scared to admit it out loud. And truthfully, this was the first time you had admitted the thoughts out loud. Your thighs squeeze together as your brain digs deeper into the thoughts you’ve been suppressing for a few months now.

The sound of the priest clearing his throat pulls your attention back. “Surely that isn’t all, my child.” He says, and you shake your head in response even if he can’t see. “N-No. That isn’t all.” Rings spinning around your fingers as you continue to fidget from nerves. “Please remember, I need to know everything to offer you absolution.” Nodding, you swish spit in your mouth to coat the dryness to some extent and swallow.

“I-I think about being woken up in the night, the man already buried deep in me. My body doesn’t resist the feeling and clenching around him as my consciousness regains from sleep.” The heat between your thighs grows as you now shift in the seat, one leg moves to cross over the other in an effort to control the sensation.

The sound of a zipper coming undone is undeniable as your ears pick up on it, your lips parting slightly from shock as you process what’s happening on the other side of the confessional. “Father?” Your voice barely whispers, wondering if you acknowledge it, then he would stop. “Are these thoughts about anyone specific?” He mutters, his hand palming himself through his boxers. “No, just general desires, Father.”

He inhales a breath and exhales before he speaks. “Have you acted on these thoughts?” No, but you fucking wish. “No, Father.” And maybe it was your own thoughts warping, but you could have sworn you heard him mumble the words, ‘Forgive me, Father’.

On the other side of the confessional, unbeknown to you, the priest had now pulled his cock free from the constraints of his briefs. Biting back a groan, his hand comes up to his mouth as he quietly spits into his palm before he wraps it around himself. “For your penance, you must do exactly as I say, understood?” He speaks, his voice sounds low, demanding in a way.

“Understood, Father.” You reply, your chest rising and falling slowly as you anticipate what he is going to say next. “We must rid you of these thoughts. You need to release them.” He murmurs, his hand slowly pumping up and then down. “Be a good girl and spread your legs.”

Oh my God. Like actually, oh my God. Your brain rings in your head, doing as you're told and spreading your legs. Hearing the movement, he continues to speak. “My child, what are you wearing?” The question is simple, your hand already sliding down to the exposed panties your dress reveals once your legs are spread. “Knee length sundress.” You respond, your head leaning back against the wood of the confessional as your fingers rub the fabric covering your already wet cunt. “Hmm, and I suppose that length is useless as your legs are spread. Exposing yourself like a good girl, but such a slut.” The word slut drips from his mouth like venom, the tone of his voice sending excitement through your body. “Slide the panties off.” He orders, and you obey as you reach for the waistband and slide them down to your ankles, shaking them off to the floor of the confessional. “They’re off, Father.” You whisper, glancing at the divider. Never in your life did you want to be seen more than in this moment. “Father Simon.” He corrects. “Call me Father Simon.”

“Father Simon.” You repeat the name he asked you to call him. A quiet groan travels to your side of the confessional and you can’t help but move your fingers to rub between your folds. The fact he was groaning to you just saying his title was causing your stomach to tie into knots. “What do I need to do, Father Simon?” You beg, wanting him to continue directing you. “Such an eager girl to be forgiven. You wouldn’t need forgiveness if you weren’t such a slut.” He hissed. “But you come into this confessional and speak of how you wish to be used. To be degraded. Do you think you can be forgiven?”

“I-I want to be forgiven.” Your fingers build up your excitement, teasing your folds as your fingers move to give your clit some attention as you rub it gently. “I’m sorry, Father Simon. I’m sorry.” You choke out, almost forgetting to breathe amidst the pleasure. “Just because you’re sorry does not guarantee forgiveness.” Simon’s own hand continues to pump his cock, his thumb brushes over the head as some pre-cum oozes out. “You sound stupid saying sorry. Saying sorry while I can hear your hand moving as you touch yourself. Take those fingers and fuck yourself with three of them.” The order coming out of his mouth leaves you breathing shakily.

“F-Father, three?” You ask in order to clarify his demand. “R-Right away?” You needed time to adjust, even with your own slender fingers it took time before you could even have two. “You heard me.” He responds, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t disappoint me, sweetheart.” Simon’s hand starts to pump his cock faster, his free hand moves to massage his balls.

While you’re already wet, just to be sure you take your index, middle and ring finger to your lips. Your mouth wrapping around the fingers, sucking and swirling your tongue to coat them in saliva. Pulling them away, you carefully position them, teasing your entrance before you push into yourself. Your free hand covers your mouth as you feel them stretching you slightly. A moan muffled by your hand is the additional sound mixed with your fingers starting to pump in and out of you, the wet stickiness filling the confessional. “Oh, sweetheart. You must look so beautiful spread out fucking yourself with your fingers.” Simon coos through the divider, his breaths shallow. “I wish I could bury my cock into that wet, tight cunt. Let me hear you pray to God for that.”

Closing your eyes as he speaks, you imagine the priest grabbing your hips and forcing himself into you, despite having no idea of his appearance. Your head against the wood of the confessional again as you try to hold your moans in even with your hand over your mouth, scared if anyone else were to enter the church they would hear you both behind these curtains. “I don’t hear you.” Simon growls, glancing at the divider to barely see the movements of your hand as your body moves in response. “G-God, please. I want Father Simon’s cock.” He hears you whimper quietly, a grin forming on his face. “Oh..such a good, good girl.” Simon’s voice acknowledging your compliance. Your fingers curl inside as he praises you, allowing yourself the small reward. “Father Simon, I-I’m so wet.”

“Mmph..those pretty little fingers must be slick with your juices.” Simon’s own head leaning against the wood of the confessional now, eyes closed as he pumps his cock faster and pushes down hard. The image of his cock disappearing in between your folds making his thoughts spin. “Keep pumping those fingers. We need to make you cum. Release the thoughts that are rotting your brain.” Simon’s teeth grit together, a soft hissing sound coming out as his pump down puts pressure on him.

Not trusting yourself, your hand is back on your mouth. The sound of your wet cunt getting pumped with your fingers fills both your ears and Simon’s, the squishing sounds push him closer to his own release. And for you, the thought of his cock instead of your fingers pulling you closer to the edge before you jump off and release. Whimpering into your palm, you clench around your fingers and pump a few more times before releasing around them. Your thighs immediately squeezing shut as you try to control your shaking. “S-Simon.” You cry softly, lips parted as you pant softly. “F-Fuck.” He groans, the hand not pumping his now cum covered cock fists and hits the confessional wall. The release that had been building up in him for months now.

“In addition, you leave your panties behind. Along with that, I expect you to recite twenty Hail Mary’s and twenty Our Father’s after your release. Make an act of contrition.” His voice strained from his recent climax. Dazed from your own climax as well, the words come out of your mouth without hesitation, “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good…” Pausing for a brief moment, you swallow a lump in your throat. “I have sinned against You, whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us. In His Name, my God, have mercy. Amen.” After the words leave your lips, you catch your breath again.

The sound of Simon readjusting and zipping himself up is the only sound you hear in response. “F-Father?” You say softly, awaiting for him to absolve you. “My child…” Simon’s voice sounds like it did when you first sat in the confessional. “God cannot give you pardon and peace as of today. Therefore, I cannot absolve you of your sins. Come back in five days after I’ve had some time to rest and ask God for a final answer.”

And with that, the sound of footsteps fill the church once more, followed by the door to the sacristy opening and closing indicating he would not be seen by you when you left. The response leaves you stunned for a few moments, before your legs get the strength to stand up and exit the confessional. The hand you didn’t use to finger yourself gently dips into the font as you leave, the sign of the cross spoken softly as you walk out.

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley au #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #call of duty #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley au #priest au #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley oneshot #simon riley oneshot

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 10 months

Text

Soundly (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

Summary: You’ve injured your arm, leaving you frustratingly helpless to complete everyday tasks, like cleaning yourself. Your boyfriend and colleague Simon understands your apprehension towards accepting help for such a task and tells you how he does.

AN: Working title was “Sprain” for those of you who voted in the poll. I’ll be posting the Soap fics shortly and posting another poll for my other upcoming fics afterwards! Meanwhile, let me know what you think in replies or inbox me, tell me your thoughts on fics - present or future.

I just want Ghost to feel loved and to recover from all the shit he went through. I did a fic for that and sharing a bed, so I’m doing this one for the reader a.k.a. me. Plus I like the head canon that Ghost is actually kinda talkative, like in the Alone mission. I know he’s probably partly chatting to Johnny to because he’s trying to keep him focused, guiding him to regroup and survive. But he’s telling dumb jokes and joking about watching his torture video. He’s got banter and trauma!

Content warnings: Allusions to Ghost’s time being tortured by Roba and the Mexican Cartel - specifically his SA as well as the reader’s. Reader is GN, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3

For “just a sprain”, your elbow hurt like a bastard. It was resting in the hammock of the sling your doctor ordered you to keep on. Almost smugly, it sent a few stings across the bone when you were also instructed to restrict your movements and get support to complete day-to-day tasks before you were signed off on a month’s medical leave – pending review at the end of it for being brought back to work.

It was half your fault. The sprain in the first place was caused by some asshole who would not go down quietly and attempted to dislocate your limb. Thankfully, your training automatically twisted you into a position preventing that but then you had to shoot that asshole and your gun was in the arm he’d injured. The bullet that you fired solidified the damage and you were forced to focus hard on aiming with your non-dominant hand whilst slugging it over to the Heli half a klick to the west for recon. You didn’t have to shoot the guy straight away. You’d kicked him down and he was too far from his own weapon to have made it before you could have swapped your gun to your other hand and ended his life the same miserable way. But nah, in the heat of gunfire, you’d decided to end the fight as quick as possible then ran like a bat out of hell back to safety where the rest of your crew was headed.

Simon had known you long enough – and dated you long enough – to not treat you like glass. He wouldn’t insult you like that. Therefore you were very grateful that he was the one to take you home, and that his driving was a lot steadier and smooth on the motorway.

Letting you open the front door, he carried both his and your bags inside, ready to start your medical leave this instant. He was heading out of the hall with his shoes dropped loudly onto the rack when he asked:

“You want anything specific for tea?”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever.”

Despite years of therapy, this injury had dealt a hefty blow to your pride; you didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you were going to be over the next few weeks. Thank God you’d been to his place enough times for it to be considered familiar.

From the airing cupboard, you collected the towel that Simon had bought you after your fifth stay here and smiled at the memory of shopping for it together. He’d asked for what colour you preferred then gathering other items into the trolley that were the same shade: toothbrush, wash cloth, cup to sit by the bathroom sink. He was nice like that.

The bathroom door locked behind you, the final ebbs of afternoon reaching in through frosted glass. You thanked the sun for enabling you to keep the lights off; the buzz that accompanied their stark spark on the silky tiles was always too much for you. However as warm as the daylight was, it failed to soothe your state. When you tried to retrieve the memory of how you’d gotten this t-shirt on in the first place, your mind offered you a blank slate and tears of frustration bubbling over, stinging worse than the injury as you tried to warp it against its will. But to no avail. Your bitten tongue surrendered so that the crying could commence with your t-shirt still stuck on your body.

Gentle rapping at the door didn’t halt anything. Surrendering felt like an admission of weakness, failure, and it poisoned you against yourself as you twisted the lock in the handle and slumped on the rim of the bath.

A pair of plain-socked feet appeared at the top of your line of sight, lingering on the cobalt carpet side of the door frame.

“Can I borrow your scissors please?” You asked, toying with a stray string dangling from the hem.

“You gonna stab me?” Simon inquired semi-sarcastically.

“Yes.” It was a pathetic little reply. But Simon pushed off the bath, belongings tinkling against one another as he rooted around then retrieved a small pair of scissors from the top shelf.

He sat down beside you on the rim, holding out the scissors by the blade, “It’s a nice shirt.”

You wiped your nose on the hem before taking the scissors, “It’s just Primark.”

“I can help you out of it, if it is Primark’s finest.”

“Was just cut it off.”

But of course your dominant hand was tied up in the sling, and you only just realised now.

“I could help you take it off.”

You’d never been undressed around Simon. The closest you’d gotten were jogging bottoms you’d cut into knee-length shorts and the sleeves of your t-shirt pushed onto your shoulders whilst you both worked out at opposite ends of the gym. Towards the end of your set, you mopped at your brow with the hem of your shirt once and the sliver of skin nearly sent Simon into anaphylactic shock.

He knew why you grappled with the notion of undressing. But he didn’t ever linger on you going elsewhere to change. Across your relationship, and even before it started, he’d shown you love in so many other ways that you would forget about what had happened to you.

Today was the first time he addressed it: “I understand why you wouldn’t want me to help.”

Without moving your head, your watchful stare latched onto his adjusting to the nuisance of sitting on a thin perch of porcelain. He withdrew his skull balaclava from its suffocating in his pocket and began kneading at it until the eyehole faced the ceiling you’d stared at many times, wishing you could be more intimate with the man you loved more than life.

“Your reasons aren’t so different from mine.” And he held out the mask to you.

The olive branch was accepted and you thumbed over the skull plate as best you could with the scissors still in your grip. Only when your thumbnail caught against the paint depicting a cheekbone did it dawn on you what your boyfriend was referring to.

“Simon-”

“None of that,” He interrupted you, gently, firmly, “I get it. I don’t wanna bother you if you don’t want me here.”

He rubbed along your shoulder as you matched your deep breaths to his, resting your eyes to bask in his comfort and crushing the mask in your loose fist. You’d always equated it to anonymity. Never had you thought of linking it to another form of comfort.

“You can bathe with your clothes on,” Simon suggested after a minute’s silence.

“Do you know how hard it is to remove wet denim?” You muttered with a crooked smile.

“I do,” and he pressed a kiss to your forehead – his preferred place to do so. “Let’s give this a go.”

You handed back his balaclava and took in his bare face, the medical mask – the one he’d been wearing whilst you were in the hospital and all the way home - gone, his expression carefully crafted to be neutral so that you didn’t have to be.

He eased your sling off you after the taps were thundering steaming water into the tub. Then he vanished to his room, returning with a pair of baggy sports shorts. Cradling them like a baby, your nose welcomed their softness and the steam whilst Simon knelt onto the fluffy bathmat, nodding after splashing the bathwater and twisting the taps into silence.

“I’m gonna stink if I don’t wash properly,” You whispered.

After opening his palms to you, Simon took your shorts and arranged them on the floor, “I’ll get you some wet wipes to use while we wait for your arm to heal up.”

You held onto his shoulders whilst he undid your jeans and eased them down your legs, his hands careful to stay hidden in the fabric whilst you stepped out of them and into the shorts. Simon to pulled them up to your hips.

“Why did the magician take a bath?” He asked you as you lowered yourself into the water.

“I dunno, why?”

“To clean up his act.”

Your chest quivered, struggling to hold in your groans and giggles whilst Simon pumped some blueberry body wash into his palm, “That’s good.”

Tenderly he circled the soap across your forearm, “Fancy another?”

“Go on.” You were nothing if not his little enabler, indulging in his humour even after the rest of 141 had lightly roasted him for it.

“Knock, knock.”

Your free hand fiddled with the sodden hem of your t-shirt, “Who’s there?”

“Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

Soaking the flannel and wringing it out over your arm, Simon began to wash the suds away, “Dwayne the bathtub before I dwown.”

Your smile was not dampened by the tears that rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the shallow waterline. Instead, you focused your blurry vision on Simon’s hoodie sleeves that were pushed up to his elbows, those broad forearms sprinkled with droplets and soapsuds.

When Simon was lathering up some more body wash, you offered your own joke: “What did the man say after he swallowed a clock and went to the toilet?”

“What?”

“Watch out.”

Simon snorted loudly whilst carefully manipulating your injured arm amidst the blueberry bubbles.

You wiped a new tear away on your shoulder: “I’ve already told Kyle but you can tell it to Johnny.”

“Much obliged.”

With permission and a slow touch, he started soaping up your shins. His contact always lingered for hours on your skin. This felt like a polish, not a scratch or a dent, which is why you felt so overwhelmed now, just as you did that first time he gave you a proper bear hug. You didn’t mind the blueberry, something else to focus on instead of letting yourself meander towards conjuring disturbing imaginations of what you’d just learnt about Simon’s capture in Mexico.

He let you take over for washing your thighs, sitting on the toilet still talking to you with a smile that cracked up his face like the scar, from lip to brow. His eyes never strayed from your face, though it never felt like you were a target down his scope, more like feeling the sun first thing in the morning with a delicate breeze that danced around your being. Such a gaze wasn’t alien to Simon, even if he rarely showed it to you, and never to anyone else. You were just grateful that he was able to be like this, and that he still chose to.

That same stare, he held it whilst draping a towel around your shoulders, patting over your arms before he gathered it at the front for you to hold in your healthy hand. Then he collected a pile of clean clothes from the bedroom, placing them onto the closed toilet lid, you noted the crisply ironed button up folded on top. You settled for nestling your head against his chest since you were unable to hug him.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner.”

The door was locked after Simon disappeared behind it. You did end up cutting yourself out of the shirt, rest in peace. Fogged-up, the mirror wasn’t so bad to stare at whilst you moisturised with your good hand. You could still feel where Simon’s calloused hands had brushed over your skin, tingling in each follicle, and it was protected by the button-up you were able to slide on – one of the few Simon owned. His bulk was once again your gain; the shirt was loose enough to give you some wiggle room whilst dressing.

Clattering from the kitchen caught Simon in the act of putting away the ironing board. He was taking loud and rehearsed deep breaths that hissed through the fabric of his freshly-donned balaclava, the board under his arm before he tossed it into its assigned slot. His hand shook as it released the cupboard door handle, searching for something to distract himself with until he latched his stare onto you bunching your shirt in the front.

“I can’t do my buttons up,” You said quietly.

Your stomach impulsively sucked in on itself when his hands reached for the buttons before it, joining them with the fabric. Nevertheless, your gaze found solace in the thatch of fine chest hair growing in the lowest peak of his V-neck.

Simon started from the bottom button and made his way up. With each wince, his fingers stalled. But you knew he’d never hurt you, never on purpose and never like that. He made steady progress until complete and even helped you replace your sling. But then he sniffed and brushed his nose briefly, stepping away and back to the kitchen. For five minutes he alternated between sifting through the cupboards and staring helplessly into the fridge, his face washed out by the stagnant light inside. You took the time to help him in one of the ways you knew how.

“I’ll order us a takeaway.”

Immediately he slammed shut the fridge door, “You’re a fucking star.”

You were not put off by his pacing back and forth, nor were you by his hovering over you like a gargoyle whilst you tapped at the screen – which you held in a way for him to see clearly in case he wanted to add something. A wide berth allowed you to approach him on the couch with the takeaway when it arrived half an hour later (always reliable, hence why it was your go-to takeaway place). Simon also accepted the drink you brought him, but only because he’d already gotten you one plus two pain meds he made sure you took after getting some food into your stomach first.

The cushioned lap trays you’d invested in were already paying for themselves.

Dinner inhaled and rendering you quite soporific, you mirrored Simon’s earlier actions and tentatively shuffled closer to him, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” His arm dropped to around your waist, and you tugged on his wrist to keep it there. Only then did you tentatively wrap yourself around his full belly.

“Fuckin’ softie,” He said under his breath. That didn’t stop him from giving you a little squeeze – his hand no longer trembling - and sinking himself lower so that there was no pressure on your sprain. He turned the volume down a little, which sparked inspiration in your mind.

Half hiding in his t-shirt, you projected loud enough for him to hear you: “The local TV controller museum shut down due to no visitors. Turns out people aren’t remotely interested.”

“Have you been researching these instead of doing your paperwork?”

“What makes you think I haven’t been doing my paperwork?”

Simon looked down at you, those expressive eyes communicating both the “are you fucking for real?” and the “you’re lucky you’re cute” in equal parts. But from the way his balaclava was balanced on his face, you could tell he was smiling at you. So you smiled back at him then snuggled back against him with a contented sigh and the existence of your new joke book still a secret (for now).

The next time you opened your eyes, it was much darker in the living room. A blanket was tucked around your legs. The glow of “Are you still watching Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang?” from the flat-screen, despite that not being what you were watching when you first drifted off, bathed you in enough low light to allow you a comfortable adjustment period. You squinted up at your boyfriend. Head back in the pillows, his chest was rising and falling with each breath he drew and released through his nose. You adjusted the blanket around to cover his legs too and, tucking yourself back into your bundle, both you and Simon slept soundly.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley oneshot #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod oneshot #mw2 fanfic #my writing #r: gen #wc: >2k

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lucid-loves · 4 months

Note

Hello

I have a request for ghost a one shot where the reader is a member of 141 and she falls for him

You got it! ❤

Come a Little Closer

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.3k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, fluff, bullying, slight mention of violence, one-shot, clear attraction

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You have just joined the 141 and getting to know the boys has been a lot of fun. The only one that you seem to be having trouble getting close to is Ghost. It doesn’t stop you from having a crush on him or trying to catch his attention any chance you get.

Part 1 ~ Part 2

“Welcome to Task Force 141! I’m sure that you will find this team much more fitting to work with given your skills.” Price congratulated you as he escorted you to the base’s leisure room. Many of the soldiers hung around there to relax with drinks, television, billiards, and other games. The 141 was no exception.

You had been struggling with your assigned team on base. Teamwork and trust wasn’t there. A lot of it stemmed from jealousy as you demonstrated much better skills then they had on missions. You usually ended up taking home all the glory. However, the full picture was that the others often made mistakes or overlooked things. It wasn’t your fault that you were a perfectionist when it came to your job.

They still tried to make your life on base difficult in petty ways. Trashing your room in the barracks, stealing your clothes while you showered, bumping into you on purpose. It was very clear that the team you were assigned to before was full of people that peaked in high school and thought that the military was an easy way to make money despite being intelligently average at best.

Not you, though. You worked hard. You dedicated your time to getting better each day. You stuck to your work with maturity. Thankfully, Price noticed this pretty quickly when he was looking at recruit files. Nothing out of pity either since he didn’t know about the bullying. You didn’t report any of the bullying to anyone in order to keep peace and establish your maturity.

And now, you are reaping the rewards. Being assigned to the 141 team was a fresh start. When you walked into the leisure room, almost everyone looked up at you. Women didn’t often come into the room because it resembled something more like a man-cave. Beer bottles everywhere, sports usually on the TV, and a strong, masculine energy that often made women too uncomfortable to visit.

You, on the other hand, found it exciting. You really wanted to hang with the big boys. Earn your place. Prove to everyone that you deserve to be on the base and a part of the 141 as their newest member. That started with getting to know your new teammates.

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were surrounding a pool table, clearly in the middle of a game. Whoever was solids was getting absolutely destroyed. When Price and you got closer, they stood at attention. Price waved his hand, putting them at ease. “Men, this is our new member. She has incredible skills that are sure to add to our team’s strength. A sharp-shooter, highly intelligent, and great with hand-to-hand combat.”

You smiled brightly as you finally introduced yourself. It was time to make a great impression. Plus, you already felt like you could be yourself while doing it. “Y/n. Thank you for this opportunity. My condolences as well to you, Soap.”

Soap raised a brow in confusion, clearly not understanding what you were talking about. “Pardon?”

“Your loss. At billiards. What a brutal way to lose too. You might as well give up now and give Gaz the betting money.” You smirked, eyeing the expressions light up at your quick-wit and observation skills. Gaz and Soap were the only ones holding pool sticks. A couple bills rested on the side of the table. Their expressions before they noticed you and Price gave away who was winning and who was losing.

“Well, the newbie is sharp. You should listen to her while you still have your dignity, Johnny.” Gaz laughed, already accepting you fully into the team. Soap shot him a glare before turning to you with a mischievous look on his face.

“You think you can turn this game around for me, y/n?” He inquired, pool stick already being held out to you. Smiling like a kid on Christmas, you took the stick to play.

Kyle was quick to protest Soap’s sly move. “That’s cheating! Don’t make her do your dirty work for you, Soap. Just take the loss, bruv.”

You fished your wallet out from your back pocket, taking out a few bills of your own to add to the betting pool. “How about this? If I can beat Gaz by starting off with Soap’s miserable disadvantage, I get all the money. If I don’t, then Gaz takes all.”

Soap and Gaz looked to each other, and then to Ghost who just sat in his stool, overlooking the entire game as their referee in a sense. He’s been watching the situation unfold carefully even since you walked into the room. You caught his eye when you entered. Not many women were working at the base in general, let alone waltzing into a presumed boys-only club like you have always belonged. Not only that, your deduction skills were sharp. Your smile was optimistic. You seemed to have no fear in any of the changes you were going through.

Out of curiosity to see if you could put your money where your mouth was, he nodded. His deep, rich voice lit a little fire inside you as he finally spoke. “I’ll allow it.”

You took the stick from Soap and looked at the table, examining your situation entirely. Everything was considered as you planned your move. The position of your remaining balls, Gaz’s, even the weight of the stick in your hand. Doing the mental math, you carefully lined up a shot, your form perfect and deliberate. The margin of error wasn’t something to scoff at. You were a perfectionist when it came to your job, after all. This, you considered to be part of your job.

As you posed yourself on the table for the shot, Ghost couldn’t help but look over your form. Neither could most of the other guys in the room since women coming in was rare, but his opinion mattered the most. You were on his team now. He was going to be working with you nearly every day from here on out.

And damn, did you look fine bending over the table like that.

You took a deep breath as you struck the cue ball, having it hop over Gaz’s stripe in front of it to hit the solids behind. From the force, the solids scattered, three of them sinking based on pure luck. You stood up from your position, satisfied from your play. Bewildered expressions looked between you and the game. “Your move, Garrick.”

And just like that, you earned more respect from your team. Price chuckled at Kyle’s nervous look, now realizing that he was probably going to lose all his money if your skills and luck withstood for the rest of the game. It seemed like he had nothing to worry about when it came to you. You fit right in like a piece of their puzzle.

The following several weeks have been a blast for you. You have gotten close to your team in a way that made the base feel more like home to you. They helped you train, gave you pointers, invited you to meals, and played all the games you wanted to play. Except, they no longer wanted to put money on the table lest you rob them blind.

The relationship between everyone was a breath of fresh air for you as well. No fighting, no bullying, no arguments. They clearly respected each other. They respected you too. There was teasing a lot of the time, but it was all out of friendliness and brotherhood.

The only thing you were wary about was Ghost. You’ve caught him staring at you on occasion, his eyes giving nothing away once you noticed his gaze. He didn’t talk to you much either. But you knew that he noticed you. You knew when too, given that you were growing attracted to him.

Ghost has always been a legend around the base. He had impressive records of nearly every scoreboard around the training centers. Tales of his missions spread like wildfire each time he would return from deployment. The rest of the team was equally as impressive as well. Yet, there tended to be more of a buzz when it came to Ghost. Part of it was due to his expertise. Another part of it was the mystery of the skull mask he always wore. The last part of it was his physique. He was huge compared to a lot of the guys around here.

You were no exception to the admiration bandwagon. Seeing Ghost’s records and hearing the stories actually inspired you to hang in there with training. You aimed to be strong, resolute, and confident in work just as he is. However, that was purely a muse infatuation. Nothing more than looking at him as a prime example of what a soldier should be. Now, you began to see him differently.

It started with the little things. Subtle shifts in his body language, changes in tone when circumstances changed. You took notice of those things as a means to find a way into getting more friendly with him. As you continued to observe, however, you felt your body reacting more to his being. The way he towers over you with his massive frame. The way his muscles flex with each movement when you sparred. The way his fingers lightly brush against yours when you hand him completed paperwork.

There were moments of chivalry from Ghost too that never failed to make your heart hammer inside your chest. He’s caught you from losing your balance when you tried to reach for a file that was too high on a shelf a couple of times. His hands would instinctively grab your waist, pull you close to him, and anchor himself to stay steady from the force of your fall. He never failed to ask you if you were okay as well in that baritone voice you began to get butterflies from. It didn’t take long until he began reaching for things you needed for you after those instances.

Ghost has also taken up the habit of always opening the car door for you, making sure you could get your spot sitting in the middle without having to crawl over anyone. Even in instances of realistic training, having to rush into a vehicle as quickly as they could, Ghost always made sure the door was open for you to get in first. The close proximity to him given how small the backseat usually was contributed to your growing crush on him too.

On the surface, Ghost never seemed to mind helping you out. Many of his new habits were taken upon himself once he began working with you. Yet, he still never really talked much to you and you could never decipher his staring. It made you worried that he was growing resentment over feeling like he needed to help you out with the mundane.

Ghost still had a strong wall when it came to you. However, you were determined to break it down.

It was the first Saturday night back on base after a tense, two-week long deployment. For the first time, the 141 saw you in action. You picked things up quick, you followed orders to a tee, and you were spot-on with your sniper. It certainly helped the team get things done, but it didn’t stop the mission from being long and dangerous. There were a couple of medical scares, plenty of gunfire, and a few secrets revealed. It didn’t end until you put a bullet through the target’s brain.

So, the team wanted to decompress on their first Saturday back on base. They also wanted to congratulate you for getting the final snipe on the terrorist leader they were hunting. It was your first deployment with them, something that also deserved to be celebrated too.

The team headed out to a nearby bar. A hole-in-the-wall kind of place that not a lot of people knew about. A classic place with an old-school jukebox, war-plane memorabilia, and a simple bar menu. After buying you your first couple of drinks, the men began to disperse to socialize and see if they could get a little lucky tonight. All except for you and Ghost who sat quietly at the bar, drinks in hand. The silence between the two of you was awkward at first. At this point, you have never been in a casual setting alone with him. You were either working with him or the rest of the boys were with you.

However, to say nothing would be a wasted opportunity. Even if being alone with him made you feel gooey inside like a school-girl with her first crush, you still wanted to know him better. Soap had given you good information about him to use too.

Casually, you took a slow slip of your liquid courage. “Johnny says you have a good sense of humor.”

Underneath the mask, Ghost quirked a brow. He didn’t realize that you talked about him with his teammates when he wasn’t around. He wondered what else you talked about when he couldn’t be there with you. For now, he played along. “It’s dark humor. Probably not your cup of tea.”

When he looked at you, he saw a bright light. Clever, ambitious, brave. Ultimately sweet too. Along with him acting chivalrous for you, you have been considerate of him as well. You often brought tea to the team, but Ghost’s cup was always different. You always brought his favorite tea flavored exactly how he liked it. Everyone else liked theirs plain. He liked his with a little milk.

You have also tidied his desk a few times after he complained about not finding something he needed. He never knew how it would get so messy. Before he knew it, his desk would look like a tornado ran through it. However, you would straighten it just enough for him to find what he needs. Enough to jog his memory of where he put it down without having to look through unfamiliar organization.

In his mind, you were someone that needed to be protected for the darkness of the world. Starting with himself and his dark humor.

Still, you persisted. “Try me.”

Ghost looked at you for a moment, causing your heart to skip a beat. You could see him contemplating something. Fortunately, he let you have this one. After the past two weeks, you deserved just a little glimpse into who Ghost really was as a person. “Why don’t blind people skydive?”

“Why?” You grinned, eager to hear the punchline. Finally, you were talking with Ghost like this!

“Scare the shit out of their dogs.” He finished, taking a sip of his bourbon while waiting for your reaction. He expected you to scrunch your nose up in disgust or give a fake laugh just to humor him.

Instead, he was graced with your genuine laughter. You actually found the joke pretty hilarious. “Damn, that’s pretty good! Alright, I got one for you. Why did Sally fall off the swingset?”

A small smile crept along his face as you began your own joke. “Why?”

“She doesn’t have any arms. Here’s another one. Knock knock.” You continued, not feeling at all discouraged by his lack of laughter at the first joke. The second half was always better.

“Who’s there?” He followed along.

“Not Sally.” You finished, earning yourself an honest chuckle out of him. This was the first time you have seen him smile and laugh. The sight made you feel warm and fuzzy. Slowly, the crush you had was turning into something more. You actually imagined a future with him for a second.

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, garnering your full, undivided attention just as he gave you his. “That was actually pretty funny. I’ll give you that one.”

Before Ghost knew it, his walls were crumbling down as you exchanged jokes and laughter with him. His own curiosity about you was turning into something that he didn’t think he would ever have for himself.

You and Ghost had been growing closer ever since breaking the ice at the bar. He felt more comfortable talking to you casually, you felt more comfortable asking for his help, and there was more peace within yourself as you learned that Ghost never harbored resentment towards you. He was just a little rough around the edges.

For some reason, that made him even more attractive to you. The thought that you have actually been able to get his guard down around you had you chipper than a songbird in the morning. You’ve been eating up his special attention too. Every time the team went out, Ghost and you would always find the time to talk. Just the two of you. It had you over the moon each time.

Despite your growing feelings, you kept them to yourself. You didn’t want to ruin the peace that you have so carefully inserted yourself into. You didn’t want to jeopardize your friendship with him as well. It took a lot of time to get to where you were at with him. Being open about your love for him wasn’t worth the risk.

However, it didn’t stop you from daydreaming. You often found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like if Ghost was your boyfriend. You haven’t seen his face yet or used his real name even though you already knew it. Yet, you knew that he was devilishly handsome and his name would feel incredibly on your lips. You wondered what kind of pet name he would pick out for you if he was the type.

You even thought about what he may be like between the sheets. It was hard not to imagine it when you sparred, feeling just how powerful he could be when it came to getting what he wanted.

Jesus, you were down so bad for him.

Your daydreaming continued as you showered in the community bathroom. It was late at night, most soldiers already turned in for the night. You had just gotten back from another great night at the bar with your team. Humming and bathing, you didn’t even notice the door to the bathrooms open up.

Once you were all done, you wrapped a towel around yourself and stepped out of the stall in order to grab your clothes. However, you were surprised to see that they were missing. This kind of thing hasn’t happened in a while. You nearly forgot that it did since you were having such a great time with your new team.

How could your old teammates still hate you after being gone already too? To even go as far as to pull this kind of shit again?

You sighed in frustration, looking around the bathroom to see if the culprits were still hanging around. When you found no one, you tightened the towel around your torso and prepared to head to your room as quickly and quietly as possible.

The barrick halls were quiet save for a few snores from behind locked doors. Your hair was dripping water along the beige tiles. The stone was cold under your bare feet. The halls seemed freshly waxed too. If you weren’t careful, you could genuinely fall and break your neck.

As you carefully made your way to your room, you could hear footsteps behind you. As soon as he called your name, your cheeks began to turn red in embarrassment.

Ghost was taken aback by your appearance. You were in nothing but a blue towel, dripping hair creating a slipping hazard in your path. In and outside of work, you were careful to keep up appearances. You didn’t seem like the type to shower and walk the halls nude.

It would be a lie if the only feeling he had was concern, though. At the same time, his feelings of attraction towards you began to stir. Something that has been getting harder to fight since meeting you.

You gave a nervous laugh, refusing to turn around to face him. This was mortifying. “H-Hey! I forgot my clothes back in my room. Guess I had one too many from earlier. My room isn’t much farther now. So. . . what are you doing here in this part of the barracks?”

From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a wallet. Your wallet. You haven’t even noticed that it was missing. “Found this in the backseat of the car. Figured that you would be missing it sooner rather than later.”

Now, you were hoping that someone would assassinate you to save you from embarrassment. Perhaps your white lie earlier was actually a little true. More importantly, it felt like Ghost was giving you no choice but to completely turn around. But, you couldn’t possibly face him like this. Face on fire, heart racing, breath shuttering. What started as a fun night was now one of your most humiliating ones.

“Thanks, Ghost. . . Do uh. . . Do you think you can hand it to me after I change?” You scrambled, trying to find the most graceful solution to your predicament. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Ghost avert his gaze and give you a nod, trying to give you as much privacy as he could given the circumstances.

Awkwardly, he followed you to your room, trying not to completely violate you with his eyes. It was difficult trying to determine what was enough distance to put between the two of you. Ghost wanted to be right next to you, shielding you from the world as you were obviously very uncomfortable. At the same time, he didn’t want to upset you by crossing a boundary.

On top of that, he really wanted to see what was under that fluffy towel of yours. It was an involuntary thought, but he still felt horrible about it.

Finally, you approached your room and took out the key that you made a habit of hiding in your shower caddy rather than with your clothes. However, it became apparent that despite having locked the door, it didn’t stop anyone from invading your space.

When you opened the door and turned on the light, you revealed a complete disaster. Bedsheets ripped to shreds, mattress stained with beer, personal belongings destroyed. Even family pictures that you so delicately framed on your walls were scattered along the floor, broken glass everywhere. Your dresser had been rifled with as well, all of your clothes ruined from various stains, rips, and wrinkles.

Everything was damaged. All of it. And you didn’t understand why. It has never been this bad before. Why now?

When Ghost noticed that you haven’t walked into your room yet, frozen in a state of shock, he finally walked over. He nearly took a step back himself when he noticed all the damage. He’s never seen anything like this before. It made him upset immediately.

No, not just upset. Furious. How could anyone think this was okay? How could anyone do this to you?! Ghost clenched his fists and his jaw, trying not to explode with fury. At first, he wanted to make his anger be known for all the barracks to see. He wanted to call everyone out of their rooms and force a confession. He would then beat the absolute shit out of the culprit right in front of everyone.

However, that’s not what you needed right now. It’s probably not what you would’ve wanted either. Over the time he’s spent with you, he has realized that you preferred logical, calm, and peaceful solutions. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself or anyone else from calling attention to mistakes. You took care of things with grace. Yet now, you looked like you were going to fall apart.

Ghost was quick to realize that this wasn’t a sudden attack based on your expression. This was something that you have been dealing with for a while. It just got to its worst tonight. If he had to guess, he would guess that you hadn’t just forgotten your clothes back in your room either. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were stolen.

The fucking bullies were gonna make you walk around the whole base naked. Ghost really wanted to kill someone now.

But first, he had to take care of you. Swiftly, he removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, covering you up as best as he could. Your attention trained on the disaster that was your room slowly began to shift towards Ghost as the warmth of his jacket seeped into your chilly shoulders. Gingerly, he draped wrapped his arm around you, using his body to cover you up even more. “Let’s go, love. I’ll take care of you.”

Needing comfort, you followed Ghost closely, not minding at all how close he was pressed to you as you walked side by side. His warmth was welcomed as you shivered from the chill of being nude and the shock of losing your valuables. With the pace you kept up with, it didn’t take long for the both of you to approach the door to a different room across the base.

Ghost’s room.

He unlocked the door and ushered you in, making sure that no one saw you out in the hallways. Once the coast was clear, he closed the door and turned on the light. Compared to his desk, his room was pretty clean. His bed was made perfectly, his clothes were all put away, and his TV stand was free of clutter. The whole room smelled of him too. Teakwood, leather, and bourbon.

You almost couldn’t believe it. You were really inside of Ghost’s room, a place that not even the other 141 men have ever been in. As you looked around, Ghost went through his dresser for suitable clothes for you. Soon after he began looking, he picked out one of his shirts and adjustable pajama pants to wear. “Here. I’ll turn my back.”

Silently, you began to dress in his clothes, your senses flooding even more with everything that was Ghost. The t-shirt and pants were large on your frame, but they were warm and soft. It covered you well enough too. As soon as you were done, Ghost turned back around. Once he saw you, it was like his breath was stolen straight from his lungs. He didn’t think that you would look so good in his clothes. As oversized on you as they were, he still found it perfect.

He cleared his throat, regaining his composure at the sight of you. You yourself were feeling restless about being in his private space. The way he looked at you, the way he protected you, and the way he held you made you really realize that you definitely had more than a crush on him. You fell in love with him.

With each gesture that he made towards you, you fell even deeper for him. You could hardly find the words to say back when he spoke so softly towards you. “Take my bed tonight, love. We’ll get you squared away with a new room first thing tomorrow.”

Not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable than you probably already were, Ghost attempted to make his way out. However, you grabbed the back of his shirt, making him freeze. You couldn’t just take his space without at least sharing some gratitude. You were grateful, and he deserved to know it. Besides that, you saw this as more of an opportunity to be with him. You were getting greedy. “Thank you, Simon. But. . . do you mind staying? If you want to leave after I fall asleep, that’s fine. I just. . . don’t want to be alone tonight.”

At the sound of his name upon your lips, he melted. He could feel all of his insides heat up as you said his real name. As dangerous as it was now to be alone with you, he could never say no. Not when you asked him like that.

“Get into bed. I’ll turn off the light.” He agreed. Relief washed over you as he reached for the light switch and waited. As soon as you got into his bed, cozied up in soft, clean sheets, the room went dark.

You could hear the shifting of clothes as he changed into something more comfortable. With the moonlight shining through the window, you could just make out his broad, bare chest, strong shoulders, and scars along his toned body. You hoped he didn’t notice you staring as he got changed, your gaze not even breaking once as he began unbuckling his belt. A part of you was hoping that he would crawl into bed with you half naked like that.

After he threw on some pajama pants and a cotton t-shirt, he reached for his mask. For a moment, he contemplated taking it off. You were still in the room with him after all. Was he ready to show you his face, even in the dark?

Finally, he decided that he was. Not just ready to show you, but ready to pursue you too. You’ve earned everything from him. His respect, his praise, his space, and his trust. You even earned his heart as he realized that he had fallen for you. His bright light. The perfect puzzle piece in his life. It was scary how seamless you seemed to insert yourself right into his life and his team. However, he wasn’t going to take it for granted. You belonged with them. With him.

Whoever wanted to mess with that was going to face Ghost’s wrath. Starting tomorrow after he helped you get a new room.

Now, he removed his mask, revealing how right you were about him being devilishly handsome. His defined jaw, his perfect lips, his silky blonde hair. You could shower it all with kisses if you could.

He got into bed with you after the mask was off, his body heat immediately warming up the bed. Still keeping some comfortable boundaries, Simon made sure to leave some space between the two of you. You didn’t mind it. You were just happy to have gotten this far with him. Perhaps having a romantic relationship with him wasn’t completely off the table after all.

When he finally settled in, you whispered good night. “Really, Simon, thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it, love. Just try to sleep tonight.” He humbly brushed off, his heart bursting at the seams with how sweet you sounded in your gratitude. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from calling you by the new, truthful nickname either. Something that your own heart couldn’t get enough of.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep, the comfort of Simon being with you like this much too nice to fight. Once he knew you were fast asleep, he began to try to rest as well. Eventually, he took the risk and wrapped his arms around you while he slept. He normally had a hard time sleeping. Nightmares usually kept him up. However, tonight was different. He felt more at ease with you even if you did make his heart race at the same time. For the first time in a long time, he managed to have a good night’s sleep.

All it took was to have you in his arms.

293 notes · View notes

ghostandsoap · 1 year

Text

Cards and Communication

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Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. Soap, Gaz, and Price) Tags: Soap being Soap. Kinda jealous Ghost. Slightly aggressive Ghost? Price eating up all the drama. Word Count: 5.3k “I…I really want to talk to you,”

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Alejandro’s safe house had been an absolute blessing.

It wasn’t much to look at. In many ways, it was almost nothing to look at. The structure was well outdated and parts of the building were nearly ready to disintegrate. The outside was overrun with untamed weeds growing in the area around the house, and some of them had even begun to venture up the sides.

It was no movie star mansion, but it would do. If you were being completely honest, you found the safe house rather endearing. It wasn’t often that you were graced with a safe place to stay and call “home” while you were on a mission.

There were times where you could go days (or even weeks, if it was really bad) without anywhere to crash in those periods of waiting to move into action. Alejandro had provided a safe zone and a home base for the remainder of the team’s time in Mexico. That was something that everybody appreciated.

The inside was a tad more appealing than the outside, but not by much. The innards of the house were pretty beat up as well. The furniture inside was worn and washed out, some pieces even falling apart. The wooden floorboards squeaked and creaked, and a few of them had become loose from their not-so secured position.

Soap, Ghost, and yourself had been the first ones to arrive, Gaz and Price were scheduled to be there later, so the three of you got the first look at the place. The sun was close to setting when you arrived, and the sky was already dotted with speckles of stars.

The most fortunate part was that all the windows and doors were intact, which offered great relief from the weather of the world outside. However, that didn’t stop the outside temperature from creeping in, and Soap had immediately commented on the house’s chilly nature.

“Fuck. It’s freezin’ in here,'' Soap hissed. “Gonna get a fire going, Lt.”

“Affirmative. Need a hand?” Ghost offered as Soap kneeled to inspect the fireplace in the living area.

“I don’t think so. You and Gecko can go ahead and get first dibs on where you wanna set up your stuff.” Soap politely declined.

Ghost released his backpack and all of his gear into a pile on the floor at his feet. It was no wonder that Ghost stayed in such flawless shape. All of his gear put together must’ve weighed a ton and lugging all of that stuff around was a workout in and of itself.

“Actually I’m going to scope out the perimeter before it gets dark.” Ghost remarked.

That was typical Ghost behavior. On the off chance that you were able to score a safe house or some kind of temporary base, Ghost always checked to make sure that it really was safe.

“Alejandro swore this place was secure, and no one followed us, Ghost.” You piped up, turning to the colossal man preparing to exit the house.

Ghost’s stare into your eyes was lingering. He knew that your words were a reassurance rather than a criticism. It was even more typical for you to attempt to keep Ghost from getting stressed. But Ghost believed that there was no such thing as being too careful.

“I know. I just want to be sure.” Ghost replied.

“Okay. Do you need help?” You offered, a certain sparkle gleaming in your pupils as you asked.

Ghost noticed that glimmer. It was the same one that shined in your eyes every time you wanted to do something with him. It was also the one that made his heart revel in the fact that he had someone who cared about him enough to want to do such menial tasks with him. Of course he wanted to say yes. He always wanted you with him – but if there was some kind of external threat waiting for him outside, he didn’t want to take that risk of you getting hurt too.

“No, I can handle it. Go ahead and pick a spot. Take a load off, G.”

With that, Ghost disappeared outside, armed and ready for any potential unwanted visitors. A quiet sigh escaped your chest as you closed the door behind him, a slight twinge of disappointment pecking at you. It passed quickly though when you turned around and saw Soap peering at you through squinted eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin’…” Soap squeaked as he scrambled to return to assembling the fire.

“No – what is it, Soap? Why are you looking at me like that?” You demanded, your hands landing on your hips as you glared at your sergeant.

“It’s nothin’ really, it’s just…he called you ‘G’ again.” Soap pointed out, tossing the last log into the fireplace.

There was a roll of anxiety over your stomach. This wasn’t the first time that someone had questioned you on Ghost’s demeanor when it came to you. It had gotten easier to dismiss over time, but if Soap was noticing it – then you and Ghost had gotten really sloppy when it came to hiding it.

“Yeah? Lieutenant calls me G sometimes.” You shrugged, refusing to let the knowingness show on your face.

“Sure, but…he’s the only one who calls you that,” Soap returned, turning to look at you. “I’m pretty sure he’d shoot me if I even tried to call you G.”

“Oh, come on, Soap. You’re a nut,” You groaned with a grin. “I highly doubt Ghost takes it that seriously. You should try it sometime.”

Soap only hummed with uncertainty, but a beaming smile appeared on his features when the fireplace erupted into flames of orange and red. A rush of heat flushed through the living room, and it made you realize just how cold you were. Who knew that Mexico could get this chilly?

Your hands ran up and down your arms, rubbing through the material of your jacket and long sleeved shirt underneath to create some extra warmth.

“Here,” Soap moved over to allow you to get closer. “I’ll share with you this time.” Soap joked.

You gratefully accepted the empty space in front of the fire, kneeling down next to Soap in front of the flames. The house would be warm in no time, as long as there was someone to tend to it. About the time that you and Soap were fully warmed up, the front door of the safe house opened to reveal Ghost once more. Based on the fact that he wasn’t frantically running to cover, it was reasonable to assume that the coast was clear. The sky had gone fully dark now, and the night hours had officially started.

“Good call, Johnny. It’s warmer than when I walked in the first time,” Ghost kicked the door closed with his foot. “Check all the windows and doors to be sure that they’re closed. Don’t want any heat gettin’ out.”

“Sure thing, L.T.” Soap rose to his feet and scurried off to check the rest of the house.

Once Soap was gone and out of earshot, you turned to Ghost.

“Didn’t you check the windows and doors when you scoped the house?” You asked.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.” Ghost grinned under his mask.

You laughed at that, and Ghost used it as an invitation to join you by the fire for a moment. He’d been on his feet all day, and he needed a moment.

A moment alone with you.

“Are you warm enough?” Ghost whispered in your ear, his voice sounding like more of a coherent rumble more than anything.

“Yeah, I’m warm.” You replied, voice just as quiet as his.

“Good,” He pressed a swift kiss to the crown of your head. “Did you get your stuff put somewhere?”

“No. Didn’t have a chance to.”

“There’s one bedroom in the back,” Ghost suggested. “The bedroom is bigger.”

“I mean, I don’t particularly need the space,” You snorted. “Give the bedroom to Price.”

“He won’t do that. He always likes to hang out near the door,” Ghost bantered. “How about you take the bed and the rest of us can camp out in here?”

“The bed might be better for you. It’ll keep you from being so stiff in the morning,” You countered. Ghost’s large frame was a constant victim of sleeping on the floor, and it never boded well for him the next day. “You’re taller.”

“Mm. You’re prettier,” He raised his balaclava just enough for a fast, real kiss. “Take the bedroom. Please? For me?”

“Alright,” You rose from the floor, collecting your pack and smaller belongings that you had dropped by the front door when you had entered. “Be right back.”

Ghost watched you traverse to the back of the house to mark the bedroom as yours. A shudder and an exhale of air fluttered from his lungs. For a moment, albeit he knew it would be brief, he felt relaxed. The house was secure, the team was safe…you were safe.

He could take a breather and collect himself over the course of the next few days to follow. He was no good to Force 141 if he was all strung out with himself and unorganized. Ghost was learning how to be just as skilled and good at his job as he always had been, while simultaneously making sure that you were happy and taken care of. This safe house was a life saver for literal and metaphorical reasons. He was grateful to have it.

And for now, the lieutenant could rest.

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Sleeping never came easy for any of you when you were in the midst of completing a mission. When there was too much at stake and danger always on the horizon, a good night of decent slumber was hard to come by. Nights like this usually consisted of everybody spreading out and staying up until they had even the slightest urge to fall asleep. Ghost usually stayed on watch, considering he didn’t sleep much to begin with.

This meant long night hours with hardly anything entertaining to do. The first night at the safe house was no exception.

Gaz and Price showed up at the safe house well after the sun had gone down. They were cold, weary, and in need of a minute to decompress. Their arrival sparked enough conversation to last an hour or so. Price filled you, Soap, and Ghost in on what to expect in the next few days to come. You talked strategy and theorized on what could go wrong, but also what could go right if things worked out. The plan was explained and understood, and everyone was on the same page.

The initial buzz of excitement for having a legit place to hole up had worn off. Now the boredom had set in. The five of you had run out of things to talk about that weren’t work related, and you could only talk shop so much before it grew old.

It was around 1:00 a.m. when everyone had hit burnout. Ghost was sitting on the battered sofa by the window closest to the front door, keeping a watchful eye out for anything or anyone that might appear outside. He had discarded his outer skull mask an half an hour before, but the infamous balaclava was clad to his face as usual.

Price was sunken as far as he could go into the armchair next to the sofa, cradling his left boot in his hand and inspecting the newly formed hole in the side of it. Of the five of you, he was the closest to feeling any kind of desire to get some sleep.

You accompanied Gaz in front of the fire, sitting on the floor as he prodded the logs to keep the fire burning. Soap was roaming around, scrounging for any kind of morsel of entertainment. No one said anything, and the only noises were the crackling of the flames and Soap’s rummaging through cabinets and drawers. Surely there had to be something to do here. Even if Alejandro intended for it to be an emergency safe house, someone had to have left something behind at some point.

“Ah! I hit the jackpot!” Soap shrieked from the small kitchen that was adjacent to the living room. He came barreling back in with a laugh, a small cardboard box in his hands. The box was ripped in places, and there was no way to really know what it was. “Anybody up for a game of cards?”

“Me!” You gasped.

“I’m in,” Gaz nodded. “Price? Ghost?”

“The only card game I play is poker.” Price responded, which was his way of saying no considering there weren’t any chips or real items to bet with.

“I’m on watch.” Ghost mumbled, never once looking away from the window he was seated next to.

Soap was hardly listening as he joined you and Gaz in front of the fire, the three of you making a halfway triangle. This would keep you occupied for at least a little while. There were plenty of card games to play to keep you busy.

“Let’s start easy. How about Go Fish?” Soap questioned.

“Sure. Hopefully all the cards are in there.” Gaz remarked.

Soap slid the deck out of the box, his hands thumbing through the stack. The cards had definitely been sitting around for a while because they smelled of stale paper, and they didn’t look to be in the most pristine shape. Regardless, Soap shuffled the deck and dealt five cards each. You were sitting across from Soap on the left, meaning you were the starting player.

“Soap. Got any twos?”

The Scotsman glanced over his cards, squinting at the numbers that had either faded or been rubbed off completely.

“Nah. Go fish.” He smirked.

There was a light grumble from your chest as you plucked a new card from the draw pile, adding it to your already hefty hand.

“Any queens, Gaz?” Soap asked.

“Nope.” Gaz sighed.

The banter back and forth continued until the end of the first round, where Gaz was the winner. It was a simple and rather bland way to kill time, but it definitely beat staring into the fire for the rest of the night. Price listened to and watched the game being played in front of him. He watched the three of you argue over Soap’s “adjustments” to the rules and listened to you giggle every time Soap nearly rage quit.

Ghost was listening to bits and pieces, picking up a comment here and there – and really only tuning in when your voice and laughter registered in his mind. For the most part, he was more focused on keeping his attention on watching through the window.

Or at least, that was his focus until something very peculiar graced his ears.

“You have any sevens, G?” Soap asked, and you nearly passed out.

Ghost nearly gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned to look. His eyes were wide as he stared at his best pal. His cheeks were running red, and he couldn’t help but notice the overwhelming sting of annoyance in his chest.

Gaz and Price sucked all the air out of the room and spit it right back out. Price’s eyes were trained on Ghost with a bit of a smirk, waiting for a reaction. Gaz avoided eye contact with anyone in the room – only boring a hole into the card that was in the middle of his hand.

Now, an outsider might say that you set Soap up for this rocky encounter that was about to ensue. After all, you had quite literally told him to call you the very special nickname that was generally reserved for Ghost. Ghost was the only one allowed to get creative with your call sign – it was an unspoken rule amongst the 141. It was common knowledge that you were Gecko and Gecko only to everybody except Ghost.

In your defense, that rule was lost on you…and also you didn’t actually expect Soap to try it.

But you would’ve been a fool not to notice how tense the room became after Soap’s test run of your Ghost-only-nickname. Based on the way that Ghost’s shocked stare had turned into more of a glare, you were pretty confident in saying that he wasn’t happy.

“Sevens?” You cleared your throat with a meek tone. “Yeah, I have a seven.”

You shoved your hand forward that was holding the 7 of spades, but Soap was hardly paying attention, because he could feel the searing stare of his lieutenant on the back of his head. Soap said had a silent appreciation for the fact that he was sitting with his back towards Ghost. Soap had regretted saying it as fast as he had said it.

It felt wrong. It felt straight up illegal even uttering what he had said. Soap felt like Ghost could kick his ass all over the street, and he wouldn’t even have the right to stop him.

“That’s Gecko to you, Soap.” Ghost nearly boomed.

So much for being sneaky. If Soap hadn’t caught on before to what was going on between you and Ghost, he definitely had a better idea now. At least it wasn’t a mistake he’d make twice.

“Right. Uhm…” Soap chuckled nervously. “Sorry, L.T.”

“Sorry is not an answer,” Ghost went on, and suddenly the fire didn’t seem so warm anymore compared to the heat he was spitting out. “I don’t want to have this conversation again, Sergeant.”

“Understood. Won’t happen again, Lieutenant.” Soap gulped.

You didn’t like the tone that Ghost was taking with Soap. You understood Ghost wanting to have something to himself when it came to you, but you’d be damned if you allowed him to get aggressive with his best friend like that. It wasn’t in your best interest to pick a fight about it right at this moment, but it was definitely a conversation that needed to be had.

You gave Ghost a look. A look that was very annoyed and a look that read “what hell is your problem?” Ghost knew that look, and he didn’t like the way it sank his stomach.

The next hour to follow was rather quiet.

Price was barely holding it together. Even though the room was incredibly uneasy, he found this situation exceedingly funny, and the burning red in his cheeks as he withheld his laughter was evidence of that. Every few minutes, a stifled chuckle would sound from him – which only made the tension worse.

Gaz was too afraid to say anything. He tried his best to pay attention to the game of Go Fish once the three of you continued. He had debated on making a joke to at least try to ease the room, but he feared that no response to it would make this unbearable.

Ghost’s mood had gone sour. He was irritated for the most part that Soap had said that, a little hurt that you were so okay with it. He returned to watching the window and was about one pout away from straight up sulking.

In the back of his mind, Ghost understood that it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

So what that Soap called you the name that only Ghost used? It wasn’t like Ghost had ever explicitly said that the name was only for his own use. Soap really hadn’t done anything wrong. Soap hadn’t done it with any intentions that weren’t innocent. Ghost knew that.

Ghost didn’t get much to himself. It had been like that his entire life. There hadn’t been many things that Ghost felt like he could really call his own. You were your own person, of course. You were as independent as could be and Ghost didn’t see you as anything less than the most wonderful, loving person on the planet.

But Ghost would even admit that there was this part of himself that was so unbelievably happy that you were his. Happiness was something that was foreign to him for the longest time. It was something he didn’t understand as well as most people probably did. He had the seed for it, and it was well watered. But you were the sunshine that really allowed it to grow and blossom into something beautiful for him.

He didn’t like the thought of something or someone else getting in the way of that. There was nothing that he adored and cared for more. In a lot of ways, his harsh overreaction had been a defense mechanism, something that he was very familiar with.

Ghost knew that was something he needed to work on. Building a stronger sense of trust would prove beneficial to both of you. He didn’t want to ruin this just because he flipped out over every little thing. He needed to find a balance – a healthy one.

Ghost’s busy mind traffic was cleared when he heard Gaz finally speak up, despite his previous hesitance.

“As much as I’d love to keep playing, I think I need to get some shut eye.” Gaz mumbled, returning his cards to the pile.

“Not a bad idea, Gaz. Think I’m going to turn in for the night myself,” Price announced, rising from the chair with a groan. “Need to switch out, Ghost?”

Truthfully, he didn’t. Ghost could stay on watch all night without getting tired. But Price’s hard glance was a hint to Ghost that he needed to swap and take the opportunity to have a chat with you.

“Sure, Captain.” Ghost shifted, standing from the window and fully extending his massive frame.

“Alright then. Soap, you’re up.”

Soap was quick to clean up the cards, shoving them back into the box and into his pocket. He was keeping them on him just in case. At least he could play Solitaire in the base of the window when he got bored. He practically rocketed to his feet, taking Ghost’s former position on the sofa to keep an eye on things.

Ghost felt a pit in his gut when he realized that you had retreated to the bedroom without a word. That was a telltale sign that you weren’t very happy with him. Ghost shoved his hands into his pockets, dragging his heavy boots across the creaky floorboards to get to the closed bedroom door.

He debated even knocking at all. Odds were that you would probably be a little easier to talk to in the morning…but Ghost didn’t like the thought of leaving this unresolved for the remainder of the night.

“Hey, Gecko?” He called, and his voice nearly cracked. “Can we talk? Please…?”

There wasn’t a response, so he knew you were ignoring him.

“I…I really want to talk to you,” He tried again, a bit softer and quieter this time. “Please, baby?”

There was a quick moment of quiet on the other side, and then a reply.

“Okay.”

He felt a jolt of relief, and he turned the brass knob to allow himself in. You were standing at the foot of the full sized bed, removing all of the items out of your pack to no doubt rearrange the contents as you always did when you had a spare moment.

The room was fairly dark. There wasn’t much to it. There was a bed, dresser, and one bedside table on the left side. The battered curtains were drawn, and the full moon outside was the only source of light spilling into the bedroom.

Ghost wasn’t sure what to say, but he wasn’t surprised when you hardly waited for him to come up with something.

“That was uncalled for.” You started.

He swallowed hard, his head lowering as he shifted his feet,

“I know.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it.” You went on.

“I know.”

“He’s your best friend. You can’t just talk to him like that.”

“I know,” He repeated. “I’m sorry.”

His timid and meek apology brought a ping of sympathy to your chest. It was that same feeling of sympathy that plagued you any time you knew that he was aware that he had done something out of line. He took accountability and responsibility for his action and his words…and he knew when it was time to make things right.

All at once, you were reminded of why he reacted to certain things the way that he did.

All you could imagine was a young, tiny Simon Riley – a defenseless and teary eyed kid who was scared to death of every person in his life that was supposed to love him. He was once a little kid who was terrified of making anybody in his life angry (even over the small things) because of the consequences and emotional misery that always followed.

Now, he was a grown and scarred man who shut down every time that he made a mistake. No one was harder on Ghost than Ghost himself.

He never wanted you to be angry with him. He never wanted anyone that he cared about to be angry with him over something that he did or said. Simon didn’t handle fights well. The two of you had only fallen into a real argument a couple of times. It was never anything permanently altering, and it was surely never enough to make either of you resentful of the other. If there was a way to resolve a situation without fighting, that was the route he always took.

“Simon…” You took a breath, keeping a level tone when you turned to look at him. “Why did that make you so upset?”

“I didn’t like him calling you that,” He answered, eyes trained on the tips of his boots that were as worn as could be. “It’s just…I like calling you that.”

“Did it bother you because Soap said it?” You went on.

“I don’t like the idea of anyone saying it.” Ghost admitted.

Ghost closed the door behind him considering that this conversation was just getting started. He didn’t want any of the rest of the team eavesdropping.

“Okay, sure. But it isn’t that serious. It’s just a name, Simon.” You pleaded with him.

“It’s not just a name. It’s my name for you.” He stressed.

“So just because you came up with it, you get to yell at Soap for saying it?”

“No, love. I don’t know what I’m trying to tell you,” He huffed. “I didn’t like it because I like having you to myself.”

His wording was specific. You caught this, and it was just enough to let you take the invitation to transition to the real reason for all of this.

“You…you always have me to yourself,” You said, a brow raised. “I’m nobody’s but yours. You know that.”

Simon was disappointed in himself more than anything. He had made a lot of progress when it came to himself. He worked hard to better himself mentally and emotionally to be the best person to you that he possibly could be. He was grateful that you were willing to work with him on a lot of things. He liked your support in helping him through some of the challenges. But every progress journey had its slip ups. Those moments of insecurity and doubt that would always set him back a step.

“I know,” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck through the fabric of his balaclava. “I guess I just had a moment.”

He was beating himself up over an issue that was far bigger than the fact that he had gotten out of line with his best friend. It was a battle that he had been fighting since long before he had ever been blessed with the chance to merely even lay eyes on you. It pained you to see him so hard on himself, especially when you had seen the progress he had made for yourself.

“Come here.” You stretched out a gentle hand, a sign of comfort and reassurance.

It was an invitation that he always accepted, and one that he was always thankful for. He slipped his hand into yours, its size was always laughable with how it made yours look so petite. The skin of his palm was calloused as always as he held your hand in his. He towered over you from where you were now sitting on the edge of the mattress, the springs making a rickety noise as you sat down.

He looked into those eyes of yours. The very same ones that he had gotten lost in the first time he had a real chat with you. They were pools of love, swimming with adoration and care for a world that was otherwise doomed.

He had seen stars of joy dance over your irises on many occasions. He had seen your pupils dilate in an angry rage when things didn’t go as planned on a critical mission. He had seen rivers of tears fill their space and stream down your cheeks in moments of hurt and despair. He’d witnessed all the stories that your eyes could tell, and some of them were stories he was ecstatic to be a part of.

“Simon. It makes sense how you feel. I understand what you’re saying,” You spoke to him sweetly and smoothly. “But you can’t lash out like that when you feel that way. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” He said for what felt like the millionth time. “Just let my head get the best of me.”

“It happens. It’s okay. But I think you owe Soap an apology in the morning…or, well, whenever we get up again.” You suggested, noting aloud that it was indeed already technically the morning.

He nodded. Soap wasn’t one to hold grudges – not against his pals anyway.

“Alright. I’ll talk to Soap.” He agreed.

You stood from the bed, your chest pressed against his sternum as you looked up at the giant of a man.

“I’m yours. Completely and totally yours,” You smiled, and he felt every neuron in his body combust. “And I’m proud of you.”

He never understood it. How could someone like you be so wrapped up in someone like him? Not that he complained, of course. Here you were, praising him for doing nothing more than calmly working through his emotions and communicating his problem. He felt like that really should’ve been the bare minimum, but he supposed that if it was important to you, then it was important to him.

His free hand came to cup your face, his hand nearly engulfing the right half of your face. His thumb dragged across the apple of your cheek, which was his silent sign for you to do the honors. Your fingertips slipped under his balaclava just enough to raise it above his lips that were just begging to be kissed. He softened when you kissed him, as he always did.

He loved nothing more than sharing moments like this with you. The ones that reminded him that one little fight wasn’t enough to destroy what you had. Those moments of conflict really were necessary for a relationship to grow. And with time, he’d learn to be more comfortable with that.

He exhaled when you pulled away, returning his mask to its correct position on his face.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” You told him. “Want to stick around and get some actual decent sleep?”

“You take the bed. My feet are gonna hang off the end I’m afraid.” He chuckled.

The bed was rather short. Tall people problems.

“You sure?” You asked one more time.

“Yeah. Think I’m going to go talk to Soap now since he’s on watch.” Simon said.

Another beaming smile spread on your face. He couldn’t help but grin a little too.

“Okay, Ghosty.”

Ghosty. That was a new one. He nearly melted all over again.

“Goodnight, my love. Call me if you need me, yeah?”

You nodded as he exited, your heart swelling with love for him in a way that grew stronger and stronger each day.

“Goodnight.”

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mlmxreader · 5 months

Text

Mornings At Home | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Ghost with

31 “Y'know, I hate being a thousand miles away from you”

73 "Try and stop me from stealing your clothes, I dare you" ❞

: ̗̀➛ Ghost isn't used to being home, but he does have moments where he adores it.

: ̗̀➛ dissociative symptoms, trauma, swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Ghost grumbled as he yawned and turned onto his side, still not quite used to there being a dog at the foot of the bed or another person at his side; for months, he had been away on deployment, for months, he had gotten used to sleeping on dingy cots that were too small for him and harsh cold floors that made him shiver and shake something awful.

He was home now, but that didn't seem to change a damn thing. He still slept mostly on his back with his arms stiff at his sides. He still drank coffee black with no sugar, even though he always used to drink it with milk and two sugars. He still refused blankets at night, no matter how cold it was.

He still woke up sweating, screaming and panting heavily. His hands still shook when he looked at himself in the mirror, and although he rarely told you, he sometimes thought that he was in a film. Watching himself from a distance, He felt like that a lot. He never told anyone but Gaz about it.

Ghost told Gaz everything. Gaz told him everything in return. But he couldn't tell you.

You were… different.

Ghost never wanted you to panic, he never wanted you to become worried and anxious for him; he couldn't stomach the thought of such a thing. There were a lot of things that Ghost never told you, wanting to save you from the fact that he had been to Hell and back and had come out more than burned and charred.

Wanting to save you from himself. But as he turned over now, and he felt you squirm into him, fitting into his embrace as he lazily allowed his arm to flop over you, he couldn't help but to smile a little. There was no doubt in Ghost’s mind that he had already gotten a text from Gaz asking if he wanted to go for a morning run, or maybe one from Price asking if he would be down for going to the pub and playing a game of darts or snooker.

But he couldn't honestly find it in himself to care as he pressed his face to the back of your neck and inhaled the scent of your cologne, your shampoo and body wash, your conditioner; he grumbled softly, a weak protest when he felt you start to stir. Stretching and nearly breaking free from him.

“I need a hoodie…” you murmured. “I've gotta meet Hesh later…”

“Don't steal mine,” Ghost mumbled, pulling you tighter to him.

You laughed, the sound low and breathy as you relaxed, turning over and onto your side so you could get a good look at him. “Try and stop me from stealing your clothes, I dare you.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he moved to lay on top of you, his head on your chest as he grabbed the bedpost. Trapping you. “Consider it down.”

“That's not fair,” you huffed, squirming beneath him as you did your best not to laugh. The dog looked up, his ears perked up as he tilted his head to the side. “You woke the dog up.”

The dog in question was more yours than Ghost’s; a dark blue greyhound, he had golden eyes with one being slightly lighter than the other, and long thick black whiskers on his muzzle.

You had talked Ghost into getting him, insisting on getting a rescue greyhound instead of the retired military working dog that Ghost wanted. He caved after you showed him the skinny, beaten up, shell of a dog.

“You woke the dog up,” Ghost muttered, moving to kiss your neck sweetly. “You were the one squirming.”

You laughed, pushing him off of you and wheezing when the dog, thinking that Ghost wanted to play, pounced on him and started barking.

“Get him, Greywind! Go on!”

Ghost laughed as he gently pushed the dog aside, giving him a good pat on the shoulders to let him know he wasn't in any trouble before he turned to you. “Y'know, I hate being a thousand miles from you… ain't the same when I wake up without you.”

You smiled, daring to lean your head on his shoulder as you put your arm around him, gently running your hand up and down his bicep as you hummed softly. “Why do I always feel like there's something you're not telling me?”

He shrugged, swallowing thickly and frowning. “There's stuff I can't tell you. You know that.”

“I don't mean about work,” you sighed.

“I don't want you to worry,” he told you, shaking his head. “I can't tell you.”

“You promise if you're not alright, you'd tell me?” You asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Ghost lied with a curt nod. “Of course.”

“I'm still stealing your hoodie,” you told him softly. “I'm stealing your camo one, it's warmer.”

He rolled his eyes, but knew that he had lost that war; if there was any fight he was bound to lose, it would be over you asking for something. But then again, it had always been a war that he was happy to lose.

Seeing you smile made him feel less like he was utterly hopeless, and knowing that he was the reason behind it made him feel like he wasn't entirely too far gone.

Any war lost to you was a blessing.

Besides, as much as he didn't particularly like to admit it to anyone else except you and Gaz, there was nothing more that Ghost liked than to see you in his hoodies; knowing that you would smell like him, knowing that you would be infected by it and that everyone would be able to smell it on you.

He liked knowing that.

“Where are you and Hesh off to?” He asked curiously.

“We're gonna go to the museum,” you started, “and then we're gonna grab some food, then do some shopping… you're still welcome to come, y'know.”

“He's your friend,” Ghost hummed. “Not mine… I'm sure me and Greywind will be fine for a couple of hours without you… you deserve to have fun.”

Gently, you missed his cheek. “If you're lucky, I might just buy you a new hoodie.”

Rolling his eyes, Ghost grinned as he laughed.

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stillarat · 1 year

Text

Lovers on a Sunday

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! reader

Word Count:638

Warnings: none, pure tooth rotting fluff, no use of y/n

Synopsis: Helping your boyfriend settle into his leave.

Your face pushed deeper into your pillow while your alarm blared, feeling around for your phone on the nightstand to silence it. A warm hand comes over top of yours, rough and warm and all too familiar. You lift your head up from the crook of his shoulder, his overnight stubble scratching your cheek when he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“I'm back love." You could hear the grin in his voice before you had even turned over.

You wrap your arms around him– tight, like it was the last time, just like every time he came home to you. Cradling the back of his head, your fingers brushed the soft baby hairs at the base of his skull. Returning the gesture he let his hands wander your back– memorizing every bit he could. Nose pressed to your shoulder as he breathed you in, you smelled like home and he couldn’t get enough.

“God, it felt like years.” He only pressed you closer, while you mumbled into his skin.

“It always does love, always does.”

“Can we just stay here all day?”

“Mm, you could persuade me.”

“That so?” You looked up at him, eyes still heavy as the sun that shone through the blinds hugged your bodies between the covers and blinded you, falling back onto your pillow. Simon’s elbow rested next to you holding him up– staring at you with those puppy dog eyes he could only muster for you with those big brown eyes.

He shifted himself off his arm coming crashing down onto you. The bed creaked, and the air left your lungs.

“Fuck, Si!” His face was already buried into your belly, holding either side of your hips, grinning into your shirt.

“Hush.”

“God you’re heavy.”

“You’ll live.”

“Not if I can’t breathe.”

“Fine then.” He pushed himself up to the edge of the bed, stretching his arms above his head all the while, you watched as his back tensed and flexed–pushing against the grey shirt stretched tight over his shoulders.

“Breakfast?”

You rolled over to your bed’s sunken center.

“No, it's too early.” Your voice stretched through your yawning.

“Hun, s’already eight.”

“I know what I said, you madman.”

“What you in the mood for anyways?”

“Since when can you cook?”

“I try.” He pressed a soft peck to the top of your head before he eventually pushed himself up, your shared mattress creaking from his weight.

“You know where to find me.” He gave a soft tap to the doorframe, leaving you in your pillowy bliss of a bed.

Your nose woke you up not too long after, with the smell of toast and eggs promised in your kitchen. The cold chill of the morning’s air rose goosebumps across your legs when you pulled the sheet from yourself. Lazily pushing yourself up, you made your way onto the chilled tile of your shared kitchen. You snaked your arms around his waist while Simon scraped the eggs from pan to plate.

“Smells great baby."

He returned you a grunt of approval, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Go sit down, I got it.”

“So bossy.” You chuckle to yourself, stealing a chaste peck from the corner of his lips.

You had insisted on being the one to wash the dishes after you had both eaten. While Simon sat on the couch reading, while he waited for you to set them out to dry. Listening to him leisurely flip page through page as you went to dry off your hands. Wrapping your arms around back of him, peeking down at his book he’d been steadily working through while he away.

“C’mere.”

He slung an arm around you as you cuddled in next to him. Reading page over page with you, while you helped him settle into his leave, with something besides an empty house waiting for him when he came back home.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #cod mw2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #mw2 #mw2 x reader #ghost fluff #simon riley oneshot #ghost oneshot #gn reader #mw2 oneshot #simon riley fluff #simon riley #ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost cod

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ghostlychief · 1 year

Note

Hey i hope your doing well! I was wondering if you can do a oneshot of just ghost taking care of their partner while they're on their period. Kinda like a comforting type thing. Idk i just need some type of comfort at the moment and i would appreciate this so much 💜 thank you

Hello! This request came at the perfect time because i just started my period so, thank you for requesting! The thought of having Ghost as your boyfriend to help you through the aches and pains of it all sounds so nice😭 so, i hope you enjoy the little oneshot i threw together. I also hope that it provides you some comfort, and i hope that you're doing ok <3

Heating Pad

Oneshot- Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

wc: 1062

warnings: none really unless you count periods as one lmao; there's like one mention of blood; otherwise just cuddles and kisses from your big boyfie Ghost

summary: It’s that time of the month again. The time when you’re bloated, bleeding, in pain, and a bit sad. Luckily for you, your boyfriend makes sure you’re looked after during this emotional time.

Simon secretly loves how much you need him when you’re on your period. He loves the feeling of being helpful and wanted for something, and one could argue that you’re the neediest during this time. But who can blame you? You’re cramping, bloated, in pain, and overall, just not having a good time.

The first time you got your period when you guys initially started dating, he wasn’t quite sure how to provide for you, or comfort you, in the best way. Did you want to be left alone? He couldn’t imagine you wanted to be around people during this time, but he was wrong. You rarely wanted him to leave your side.

He may or may not have researched the menstrual cycle and learned how your hormones dip and rise throughout. He understands when your energy levels are at their highest and lowest, when you’re most fertile, anything you name it, and he knows it.

He started tracking your cycle, so now he knows which day is your potential ovulation day, and when your period begins and ends. He’s very conscious of the ups and downs you go through throughout your cycle, never one to judge you for having good and bad days. He understands after all, he has good and bad days too.

He quickly came to the realization that you love cuddles and naps when your cramps are raging. You have a heating pad that is never turned off during this time, and can always be found placed on your lower belly. One of your favorite things to wear while bundled up in bed with your heating pad is one of Simon’s large black t-shirts; the lingering smell of him comforts you.

He’s a heating pad himself of sorts, his large frame and body is just always warm, so you love to cuddle with him either on the couch or bed, soaking up all his warmth. Your favorite positions to lay with him are either little spoon, or tucked under his arm with your leg thrown over is waist.

If he’s spooning you from behind, he will stretch an arm out for you so you can rest your head on his bicep. He wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you into him, leaving kisses behind your ear. He will also massage your lower tummy, trying to assuage any cramps or discomfort you may feel. His large hand working wonders. Though his hands are usually calloused and a bit rough, they are always so gentle in handling you, taking extra care and caution when touching you. He knows you’re not made of glass, but you seem so vulnerable during this time and he finds himself being extra protective of you.

If you’re cuddling in your other favorite position, Simon will wrap a secure arm around your shoulders, pulling you as close to him as possible. His other hand will either be holding your leg that’s thrown across his waist or, rubbing your head; something that always makes you sleepy.

You’re typically more tired during the days in which you’re bleeding, so often times your cuddle sessions with Simon end up with you falling asleep. In these cases, Simon just continues to hold you, and sometimes he'll find himself trailing his fingers along the plush areas of your stomach, and tenderly massages you, continuing to provide you with sweet caresses as you sleep in his arms.

If you were lounging on the couch and Simon found that you fell asleep, he would gently wake you up so you could wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He’ll carry you to the bed and tuck you in, and place a kiss on your cheek before leaving you to peacefully sleep.

Along with offering you consolation with his touches, Simon also does little acts of service to make your time more bearable.

When you wake up in the morning, you’ll usually find him making your favorite breakfast and a steaming cup of coffee is already waiting for you on the counter. In these instances, you always greet him by wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and give him a warm, long hug. He immediately turns around to properly hug you, swaying you back and forth. You sigh into his chest, tightening your arms around his waist, hands gripping the material of his shirt. He leaves a kiss atop your head before breaking away and leans down to kiss your sweet lips.

If one morning you woke up and there was an unfortunate dark red stain on the sheets, Simon would just coo in your ear and rub your head letting you know that it’s alright. He ushers you to the shower to so he can throw the dirty sheets in the washer and put a clean set on the bed.

When he notices that you’re avoiding his eye, he reassures you that it’s ok and nothing to be embarrassed about.

“A little blood doesn’t scare me, sweetheart. Now go get in the shower and I’ll take care of it.” He leans down and gives your nose a kiss before he gets to cleaning.

When you get out of the shower, you feel much cleaner and more refreshed. You notice that your towel is warm, and conclude that Simon must have thrown it in the dryer to warm it up for you. You change into a fresh set of pajamas, and your find that your socks are warm too.

Like most women, the week of your period generally comes with heightened emotions. You feel overly sensitive and sad, crying at the silliest of things. Sometimes Simon will come home and find you laying on the couch sniffling while you watch tv. He of course comes over to you and makes you sit up so he can pull you into a tight hug, gently rubbing your back before asking you what’s wrong. No matter how big or small of a thing you may be crying about, Simon never laughs at you or makes your feel invalidated. He always accompanies your tears with forehead kisses and warm hugs.

Simon never fails to provide you with a blanket of protection and warmth as you bear the aches your period brings. He’s extra attentive towards you, making you feel comfortable and safe, which eases the pain of it all.

masterlist

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eksvaized · 6 months

Text

Masterlist. My links.

As you toss and turn in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, you pull the soft blanket over your body, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders. Your face burrows deep into the pillow, the cool fabric against your warm cheek providing momentary relief from the heat your thoughts are generating. A weary sigh escapes past your parted lips, getting muffled by the pillow as you push your face deeper into it. For a fleeting second, welcoming darkness swallows your consciousness, akin to a starless night sky, and you dare to hope that, at last, the sleep that has seemed so elusive all night might finally grace you with its presence. But this moment of serenity is short-lived.

Out of nowhere, it’s as if a bright light has been switched on inside your restless mind. Like inquisitive tendrils of ivy, thoughts weave their way back into your consciousness, shattering the fragile silence that had enveloped you. They revolve around one person: Simon. You wonder if he’s sleeping. And if he’s awake, is he thinking about you? Because no matter how hard you try, all you can think about is him.

An entire hour passes, each tick of the clock hanging above the door echoing in your ears. You realise won’t be able to fall asleep tonight. Your irritated groan reverberates off the room walls, and with a swift move, you kick off the blanket, letting it tumble to the foot of the bed. After peeling your body off the mattress, your bare feet touch the cool floor. The thought of spending the night alone in the dark, deafening silence is unappealing. So, you decide to seek out some company to help you pass the time until dawn.

The once bustling barracks now lie in an unsettling stillness, drowned in an eerie silence that echoes in your ears. As you cautiously emerge from your room, the only sounds are the muffled padding of your footsteps, a stark contrast to the incessant buzzing of the flickering overhead lights. Their dim glow casts long shadows that creep across the barren floor, revealing the emptiness that fills the empty corridor ahead. Your fingers delicately glide along the concrete wall. With each step, your eyes shift from door to door, each one identical to the last. But as you draw closer to Simon’s room, a rush of anticipation surges through your veins, creating a tingling sensation that travels down your spine, quickening your heartbeat.

You knock twice; the noise trailing off into the surrounding silence. As your knuckles brush against the grainy wood, you feel its rough texture beneath your fingertips. With a nervous shift of weight from one leg to the other, you graze your arm back down to your side, instinctively biting down on the inside of your cheek. Suddenly, a distinct noise fills the air - the creaking of a mattress under pressure, accompanied by a soft grunt and a flurry of at least five curse words. The heavy footsteps draw nearer, each one resonating with growing intensity, and finally, the door swings open.

“Were you sleeping?” You ask, keeping your voice low.

“Yes,” Simon murmurs, his drowsy eyes landing on you. You can hear the slight irritation in his voice. He sighs softly, his hand moving to rub his face and scratch his stubble. Still groggy, he leans against the doorway, his tall frame looming over you. He crosses his muscular arms over his chest, sleep still clinging to him, and waits for you to explain why you thought it was a good idea to wake him up at this late hour.

“I can’t sleep,” you confess, taking a deliberate step closer to him. Your eyes skim over his bare chest, coming to rest on the grey sweatpants he put on after climbing out of bed. You’re aware of the way your gaze lingers, the way your eyes greedily drink in the sight before you and the fact that Simon is watching you, but you can’t make yourself look away. A desperate desire, yearning to trace your fingertips over the defined lines of his abs, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your touch consumes all your thoughts.

Another sigh slips past Simon’s lips. His eyes roll slightly when you finally shift your gaze to meet his. Leaning out of the doorway, he scans the empty corridor, his gaze darting from side to side. After ensuring that no prying eyes are glued to the two of you, he moves aside and opens the door wider, allowing you to step into the room.

You and Simon are friends who occasionally fuck. But what began as quick and meaningless sex, over time, turned into a friendship. The loneliness that comes with being a soldier stationed far from home is a universal experience, and neither you nor Simon were exceptions to this rule, which is why you kept coming to see him, and which is why he never pushed you away.

After the first time you slept together, Simon was apprehensive, so, for a while, he kept his distance from you. He would leave the room when you entered or avert his gaze when you looked at him, acting as if he didn’t notice you trying to talk with him. However, as time passed, and once you reassured him on countless occasions that you didn’t expect to date him and were content with being just friends, the walls Simon had built around himself crumbled. He allowed you to see a side of him that was kept hidden from the rest of the world.

“Scoot,” he orders as you settle onto the bed. Your hand moves across the blanket, feeling the soft texture underneath your palm.

You slip off your slippers, discarding them without a second thought. Next, you take off your sweater in one swift motion, throwing it on the floor. You are left in shorts and a black lace bra. Moving closer to the wall, you make space for Simon. As he crawls in the bed and lays down, the old mattress creaks under his weight. Each movement he makes causes it to groan in protest. You sit patiently and wait for him to get comfortable. When his head hits the pillow, his fingers wrap around your wrist. He gives your hand a gentle tug and you tumble straight into his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his.

The silence settles over you like a soft velvet blanket; the air hushed and tranquil. You nestle your head on Simon’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your hand, warm against his skin, finds its place on his torso; his free hand, rests on your knee and begins to move, his thumb drawing soothing circles on your silky-smooth skin. The subtle touch sends a wave of warmth coursing through you.

“I told you that you should have stayed,” he murmurs, after closing his heavy-lidded eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. The scent of your perfume and the familiar aroma of your shower gel is clinging to the sheets, which makes you realise that he didn’t bother changing them after you left his room earlier tonight.

As your fingertips slide over his skin, tracing invisible patterns, you can feel the ripple of his well-defined muscles and firm abs tightening beneath the gentle pressure of your touch. His body, tense as a coiled spring, only relaxes when he draws a long, deep breath. The moment is stretched out as he slowly exhales through his parted lips, releasing the breath that he had been holding in his lungs, and with it, some of the tension that had built up within him.

“I thought I should sleep in my bed at least once this week,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I love waking up in your arms every morning, but I hate being late because of it.”

“Next time, I won’t let you leave.”

“Mmm.”

You don’t say anything else, but your fingers continue to skim across the contours of his waist, your touch feather-like but still enough to make him shiver. He allows you to continue for a little bit longer, but then his hand suddenly clasps around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, making you stop.

“Close your eyes and go to sleep.” The words that he utters sound a lot like a command, but you, being a brat, and because you like to annoy Simon until he has enough and puts you back in your place, shake your head, your loose hair tickling his chest.

“I’m not tired.” You lift your chin to meet his gaze. When his eyelids flutter open, revealing those brown eyes that are now fixed on you, a playful pout forms on your lips. Slowly, you inch your face closer to his as if being pulled by an invisible string. You halt your movement only when the tip of your nose brushes against his.

His fingers hook around the soft curve of your thigh, causing an involuntary reflex as your knee bends. As his fingertips embark on a journey, they glide up the length of your leg. He doesn’t rush; he savours every moment, every reaction he evokes from you, whether it’s a hushed gasp or you biting your lip to quell your racing heart. When his hand reaches your ass, he digs his digits into your skin and begins to knead your soft flesh through the flimsy fabric of your shorts. This creates a tingling sensation, a shiver of anticipation that originates from the point of contact but doesn’t stop there. It travels up your back, setting every nerve on fire, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and stirring a whirlpool of emotions within you.

“If you want something, love, use your words and say it,” he says, his voice low and enticing. His lips twitch, struggling to suppress the beguiling smirk that desperately attempts to make itself visible.

When his hand slips under your shorts and curls around your hip, your body tenses, and your breathing ceases. But that only lasts until your cheeks begin rapidly heating up and you melt into his touch. The tension is palpable. You can taste it on the tip of your tongue each time you part your lips to take a shallow breath. Wanting to escape the electric atmosphere for a mere moment, you place your palms on the mattress, and, with a soft, barely audible grunt, you push yourself into a kneeling position.

Despite the overwhelming darkness of the room, a soft, almost ethereal grey glow fills the space as the moonlight seeps in through the slightly ajar window. Your eyes travel down his body, and you swallow hard, trying to drown out the loud beating of your heart that echoes in your ears. You notice the snug fit of his joggers around his crotch. When Simon realises where your eyes are fixed, he slips further down into the sheets, stretching out his legs.

You don’t have to be looking at him to know that a smirk emerges on his face. You can practically hear it in the silence of the room as his brows lift in amusement, and he continues to wait to see what you will decide to do next.

The air in the room is thick with desire and mounting tension, a palpable energy that makes your skin tingle with heat.

“You have to stop staring at me with those big doe eyes...” His voice is laced with obvious amusement. His hand lands on your knee, a casual yet intimate touch, and you can feel the warmth seeping into your bones, sending a wave of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I’ll give you five seconds, love.”

You know what he wants you to say, but you keep your lips sealed. As he starts counting, each time he utters a number, his index finger lightly taps your knee.

“... Four. If you keep those pretty pink lips sealed and stay quiet...” Another tap. “Three... I’m going back to bed.”

You bite your bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth in a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. Your eyes flicker between his hand resting on your knee and his face. Your cheeks are still flushed a bright red, and each time you catch his smirk, the heat intensifies, painting your cheeks with an even darker shade of embarrassment. Even though you are dressed only in shorts and a light lace blouse, the room still feels stifling. The air is thick and hot, and the temperature seems to only rise with each passing second.

“I want...” You wait until the very last second, drawing out the suspense before finally speaking.

“Two.” He taps your knee one last time, the finality of the gesture causing a knot in your stomach. His hand retreats, falling back into his lap. “And... one."

“I want you. Now."

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