constantcrisis19 - Tumblr blog

constantcrisis19 · 4 days

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Loose Lips Sink Ships - Part 1

Dean Winchester x GN S/O

AN: Hey guys! I know that I disappeared for a bit, but I promise that I'm still alive and kicking! I've just been really consumed by the SoapGhost fics that I've been writing/planning for ao3 and that made it hard for me to find time to write for Tumblr in between irl things when all of my free time seemed to be dedicated to COD. But I finally decided to just sit down and work on one of my numerous WIP's which led to me cranking this bad boy out! Hope you like it!

Word Count: 2,118

You moved your hands out of your jacket pocket, revealing your well-loved wallet that you’d had for years, and pulled the card with your current alias printed onto it out of its assigned slot in a practiced motion.

You tapped the chip against the screen of the card reader in order to pay for the obscenely greasy food that you’d ordered for yourself and Dean –who you had left fast asleep in your shared motel room– watching with a keen eye as the payment processed and then was accepted with a little innocuous green check mark, the receipt printing with a soft whir.

You startled a little as a phone suddenly began to ring, the tune echoing loudly in the store, and it took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it was actually your cell that was going off, your free hand –which wasn’t currently juggling both your card and wallet– darted down to the back pocket of your jeans in order to collect the device with a sheepish smile.

You swiped your thumb across the screen and answered the phone without looking at the caller ID, quickly wedging the device between your ear and shoulder in order to take the receipt that the bored looking cashier was impatiently holding out toward you with your newly freed hand.

“Hey, where the hell did you run off to?” Dean was already talking before you could even manage to get a greeting out, his voice rough in a way that it only was immediately after waking up, which told you that he most likely called after rousing from sleep and noticing that you were no longer in the motel with him.

“Just figured that I’d treat your lazy ass to some breakfast since you didn’t look like you were getting up anytime soon.” You said as you took the long strip of paper from the cashier with a small nod of thanks before stepping off to the side in order to make way for the next customer to step forward and be assisted, folding up the receipt and carelessly cramming it into your wallet before shoving it back into your jeans.

You had wanted to let Dean sleep in for once since it was technically your fault that you were both up so late last night, the two of you having been all wound up after running around all day asking anyone and everyone about the suspicious deaths that had been happening around town only to come up with fuck all, so you and Dean had decided to dispel all that pent up energy and frustration by testing Dean’s so-called ‘endless stamina’ that he constantly bragged about.

Needless to say, you had put him through the wringer and managed to come out the other side a little less worse for wear than Dean had.

You settled in with your phone now comfortably resting against the side of your head as you waited for your order to be called, and you bit your lip in an attempt to repress the love-sick smile that wanted to overtake your neutral expression when you heard the telltale shift of blankets over the line.

You could see Dean carelessly sprawl his limbs out across the bed in your mind's eye, your fingers twitching with the urge to brush your fingers through his –no doubt– adorable bedhead, the impulse always bubbling up without fail when you saw his hair sticking up at all sorts of odd angles.

“Rough night?” You asked, your voice practically dripping with faux-concern as you idly watched the people milling about the pop fountain, and Dean let loose a distinctly unattractive snort that had a smug grin spreading across your lips, your salacious smile earning you a dirty look from a woman who had just finished filling a large cup with cola that you unfortunately just so happened to make eye contact with.

“You’d know.” Dean groused, the sound of him moving about restlessly nearly drowning out his petulant response as he heaved himself upright with a groan that had him sounding like he was an old man rather than a spry twenty-six year old, and you winced in sympathy.

As hunters, your line of work was unforgiving and you yourself were subject to the various aches and pains that came from such a physically demanding job on more than one occasion.

“You order yet?” Dean asked suddenly and you blinked rapidly, his voice abruptly pulling you from the aimless staring that you’d been unknowingly doing as you recalled how stiff and sore you were when you woke up this morning. Though, if you were being honest with yourself, that was definitely a byproduct of last night's rigorous activities rather than having to fight for your life against some bloodthirsty creature or another for once, which was admittedly a nice change of pace.

“Yup. Got you a bacon breakfast burrito, hash browns, and a slice of cherry pie.” You replied with a wide grin, a bark of laughter erupting from your chest and startling the few people standing near you when Dean let out a truly sinful moan of appreciation.

“I love you so fucking much.” Dean declared, the mattress springs creaking as he pushed to his feet and walked across the small room before clicking on a lightswitch, his voice taking on a distinct echo as he entered the borderline claustrophobic motel bathroom.

“I know.” You said smugly before suddenly remembering the woman that you had run into on your way to the restaurant, causing you to be out longer than you’d originally intended, which was the whole reason why you were back with breakfast before Dean woke up.

“Also, while I was out, I happened to run into a friend of the ex-wife of the last victim and I may have found a lead on this case.” You stated after briefly glancing around and taking a couple of steps back in order to make sure that no one would be overhearing your conversation.

The most that you’d been able to get out of the shell-shocked woman when you and Dean had went to interrogate her the previous day was that her ex-husband had broken into the house while she was home alone and, after saying some shit that made no sense at all whatsoever, had dropped dead right there in the dining room before she could even process what had happened.

And that wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened, the person before that had slumped over dead in a church confessional booth after saying about three words to the priest and the one before that had just randomly collapsed to the ground in the middle of a crosswalk after angrily yelling at a reckless driver that had almost ran her over.

“Alright, hit me.” Dean said, sounding much more awake now but, before you could say a word, one of the employees called out your order number over the general chatter of the restaurant. You snapped to attention, muttering a quick warning to Dean that the food was done and you were gonna go grab it, before moving forward and maneuvering your way through the small crowd that had accumulated between you and the front desk.

You took the grease-stained brown paper bag with a grateful smile and a polite nod before turning on your heel in order to make your way over to the exit. You shamelessly used your foot to bully the door open –since your hands were full– before stepping outside and squinting when the sun made your eyes ache, unused to the intense brightness after having spent so much time under the fluorescent lights that they had installed indoors.

“As I was saying, apparently there’s an old legend–” You began as you trotted over to the nearby sidewalk in order to begin the long walk back to the motel, only to be almost immediately interrupted by Dean.

“There always is.” Dean muttered to himself through a muffled yawn, but you expertly ignored him –a talent that had been born from being around the older Winchester for several years– and continued on as if he had never even uttered a word.

“–that a witch used to terrorize the area way back when this place used to be just a tiny trading town and, considering that there is definitely some kind of curse involved here, I figured that a witch –if not the very same witch from the story– is most likely our culprit rather than a cursed object, like we initially suspected.” You continued explaining your findings, lifting a hand to wave at the driver of a pick up that had slowed to a stop and motioned to the street in front of them, allowing you to quickly jog across the crosswalk.

“Fucking witches man.” Dean growled, the deep sound sending the wrong kind of signals to your brain and making your core heat up in anticipation as images of last night came to the forefront of your mind, an overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction blooming in your chest when you recalled the plethora of possessive marks that you’d shamelessly left all over his body.

The deafening blare of a car horn unceremoniously yanked you from your internal musings and you gave Dean a noncommital hum as your gaze scanned over the street in an effort to find the origin of the noise, pausing your search and freezing mid step when you noticed a man and a woman standing stock still on the other side of the busy road, both of them just staring at you as passersby gave them a wide berth.

“Hello? You still there?” You heard Dean’s voice as he called out over the phone, but your attention was firmly locked onto the pair on the opposite sidewalk who were very openly watching you with an intensity that made your gut churn, your eyes widening when you made the mistake of making eye contact with the woman and she shot you a mean grin.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just– There’s a man and a woman staring at me… and I have a feeling that they’re not coming over here for a friendly chat.” You relayed warily as the two finally moved, the woman taking the lead as they stepped off the curb and began making their way across the road toward you.

And, no sooner than the words had left your mouth, you heard the telltale sound of Dean grabbing his keys and jacket before the rhythmic thump of rapid footsteps and the heavy slam of a door signaled his rushed exit from the motel room, the relative silence of the room being replaced by the whistle of the wind and general bustle of the city as Dean climbed into the Impala.

“Don’t hang up and don’t move, I’m coming to you.” Dean snapped furiously –though you didn’t take his harsh tone to heart since you knew that he was just worried– and you winced when you heard the deafening squeal of tires on asphalt from Dean’s end of the line, the commotion promptly being followed by a flurry of irritated honking as he drove like a mad man.

“The not moving thing probably won’t be an option, but you can access my location from your own phone and use that to track my movements. I’ll keep the call connected if I can.” You said quickly before acting as if you dropped the call and stashing your cell into the right pocket of your jacket moments before the woman came to a halt about a foot away from you, her companion not too far behind.

“Hello. You’ll have to forgive my rudeness, it’s been awhile since I’ve come across a hunter. Especially one who is brave or stupid enough to travel with someone as infamous and recognizable as a Winchester.” The woman –who you assumed was in charge– greeted with faux-remorse, and you swallowed nervously as her red lips stretched into a wide smile that showed off too many teeth to be strictly friendly.

You scrambled for something to focus on as you began to panic at the realization that the mystery woman –who you strongly suspected was the very witch that you’d been looking for– not only knew who you were but also why you were there, your brain stupidly choosing to latch onto the fact that the pair were going to cause you to be delayed even longer, which meant that it was becoming more than likely that your food was going to be stone cold by the time you made it back to the motel.

If you managed to come out of the confrontation alive, that is.

#supernatural #spn #pre series #pre season one #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #protective dean #hunter reader #established relationship #shameless flirting #banter #case fic #hunt gone wrong #witches #curses

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constantcrisis19 · 1 month

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Introduction

My asks are OPEN!

Hello there and welcome to my blog, my name is Crisis. If you like what you see here and are interested in seeing more of my writing, I'm also active on ao3 under the pseudonym: ConstantCrisis.

Please check out my Rules Page before sending in an ask to make sure that you don't request anything that I've already done or don't feel comfortable with doing.

I will try to finish asks as quickly as possible, so please be patient. Other than that, enjoy! I look forward to seeing the new inspiration you guys give me! Also, feel free to take a gander at my fandom Masterlists so you never miss out on any of my posts!

Masterlists

Supernatural

The Walking Dead

Stranger Things

Hannibal

COD: Modern Warfare 2

=============================

Current WIP's

Found Family | Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O [Married Series]

When A Stranger Calls | Muder husbands x GN S/O [Babysitter Reader]

Peer Pressure | Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O [Truth or Dare, Pre-Relationship]

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constantcrisis19 · 4 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers (& Artists)

AN: I wasn't tagged, but I saw this and just had to do it!

1. How many works do you have on ao3(Tumblr)?

44 works on ao3

50 works on Tumblr

2. What's your total ao3 (Tumblr) word count?

570,835 words on ao3

81,750 words on Tumblr

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Honestly, whatever I'm into at the time (but I have a tendency to bounce around a lot) so I'll just list off a few of my favs to write for:

Call of Duty: MW2

Spider-man: Across the Spider-verse

Teen Wolf

Stranger Things

Supernatural

The Walking Dead

4.What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

What Is Meant To Be (Always Finds A Way) | Geraskier | 2,687 kudos

Tell Me Every Terrible Thing You've Done (And Let Me Love You Anyways) | Montgomery Gator & Gregory [Gen] | 2,359 kudos

The Goal Isn't To Live Forever (It's To Create Something That Will) | Winterberg | 1,897 kudos

Sometimes Peace Come From Painful Things | Winterberg | 1,143 kudos

I Just Wanna Hunt You, Hunter | KiriBaku | 1,025 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I don't always respond to comments and I usually leave that to my co-writer (and partner in crime) Tibby since we both collaborate on most of the fics I post and they're more comfortable with responding to comments. But if it's a solo fic, then I work through my anxiety and respond to anyone who's kind enough to leave a comment because I genuinely love getting feedback and seeing people enjoy my work really inspires me to keep writing!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uhhh... That's gotta be my newer oneshot, Free Fall. It's a SoapGhost fic and a rewrite of the ending of MW3 (Yeah, you know the scene).

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I've got a few (cause I'm a sucker for a happy ending) but the one I'm gonna go with has to be The Goal Isn't To Live Forever (It's To Create Something That Will). It's a part of the list above and it's currently one of my only completed, multi-chaptered fics.

8. Do you get hate on any fics (Art)?

Unfortunately, yeah. But mostly on my smut pieces (especially the ones that include a trans character).

Though I also remember recently getting a particularly rude comment accusing me of using chat ai to write my Geraskier fic, even though it was first published it way back in 2020, before chat ai was even a thing that people used.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yup. I usually stick to my comfort zone and write M/M stuff.

Though, in my longer fics, the smut isn't really the main focal point so I keep it pretty tame.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Oh boy. My co-author has actually got me hooked on a crazy rare pair to the point where we wrote a whole fic for it (and are working on the second in the series). It's a Daryl Dixon/Dean Winchester pairing set in the TWD universe.

A close second would be my Among Us x KiriBaku AU.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope, thank god.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup! Someone reached out to me and asked to translate my FNaF: SB fic into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Sure have, but only with one other person.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Omg, no! I have to pick!?

Well, if forced with a gun to my head, I supposed I'd have to say Rinch (John Reese x Harold Finch from the TV series Person of Interest). I love the show and the characters and the story and the world building. It's just a pairing that I will always keep coming back to no matter how many other ships/fandoms I fall into.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My KiriBaku x Among Us crossover fic. The main page, where I had planned out the entire fic, was accidentally deleted and I don't know if I'll ever recover from that since I'd have to rehash the entire rest of the story from scratch if I decided to one day come back to it.

However, that being said, I'm still holding out hope that I'll randomly get a burst of motivation for the story. Who knows.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'd say my strengths are writing angst, witty banter, and transition paragraphs (since my co-author often gets stuck going on tangents and writing really detailed scenes so they often ask for me to make a segue in order to get us to the next plot point, which works out for everyone).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My weakness is definitely in-depth, detailed scenes, hands down. It's kinda embarrassing, but my writing can sometimes lack the descriptive, engaging language necessary to make the story/situation/characters interesting (especially when it's decidedly not a writing day) and it often reads like boring exposition.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I am not fluent in anything other than English, but that doesn't exactly stop me from (relying heavily on google) and using other languages in my fics, especially if the character that I'm writing for prefers another language. Take Miguel O'Hara for example, who is canonically bilingual.

The same kind of goes for accents too. I try my best to emulate how it the words would sound while speaking it while writing dialogue. Take for example my SoapGhost fics, where both characters have a thick, distinct accent.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Unofficially (as in never posted): Vampire Diaries.

First fandom I posted to Wattpad (yikes) when I was like twelve: BBC Sherlock

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Jeez, another difficult question. Um... I'm gonna go with What Is Meant To Be (Always Finds A Way), for several reasons.

It was the very first fic that I posted to my ao3 account.

It was the first multi-chaptered fic that I'd ever completed.

I managed to finish and post the final chapter on the day of my birthday (which was a pleasant surprise).

I love it so much that my co-writer and I are actually currently in the midst of lovingly revisiting/revising the entire fic to make it even better!

_____

That was fun! Now for the tagging!

@mistertiberius, @ghostao3, @captain-mj, @fogsrollingin

#tagging game #tag game #tag chain #fanfiction #writing #ao3 writer #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 author #writers on tumblr #tumblr writing society #tumblr writing community #join us

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constantcrisis19 · 5 months

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oml hiiii, i rushed here immediately when i saw your requests are open ive been in love with the idea of maybe ghost having a teenage niece (his older brothers daughter) who he basically raised when he wasn't on duty but like none of the 141 knows about it because he keeps her a secret. He's basically her father at this point cause the rest of the family was murdered when she was only a baby. Anyways, you can do whatever you want with this prompt or not if you don't want to. But like I can totally just imagine Soap just seeing them in a Tescos and absolutely losing his shit when seeing a teenager swinging from his Lieutenants arm.

if you choose not to do this prompt that's completely fine!!! thank you!!!

—Sole Survivor

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞

When you were the only one to live, the sole survivor of that massacre, Simon knew he was in trouble.

He’d found you under the bed. The blood was still congealing over the wooden floors—whoever put you there, Tommy, his mother, Beth, or even his nephew, was all a mystery that no one would ever know the answer to. Yet, the larger question was how you, a baby, had managed to stay silent through it all.

Simon had picked you up with panicked breath and tears in his eyes as the sirens of the police had gotten closer, holding you to him as you blinked awake and yawned. The bodies of his family were strewn around the floor, broken and bent; murdered. But you. Little you.

Alive.

It would be best to leave you to be found by the authorities. To go somewhere far away from him and the future that was now stained into his soul—the pact of revenge and horror that would live through him like a brand. It was the right thing to do; the correct thing.

And then he remembers his mother’s eyes, and he’s already rushing to the back window while cradling your squirming body. The rest, of course, passed as the flow of time always did.

“I’m thinking we should have steak,” your voice pipes up as Simon grabs a bag of crisps from the shelf. Brown eyes blink down at you, balaclava tight to this face.

“You have steak money?” You were a teenager now, older and figuring life out one day at a time. He hadn’t told you the whole story, and he won’t until much later, but you know enough to a point that you were comfortable with.

You know your family loved you.

“You’re the one with the job,” he huffs at you as you utter under your breath.

“Exactly,” Simon grunts. “Eatin’ me out of house and home like I never feed you.”

“I,” you point a finger into the air, “am growing. Soon I’ll be just as tall as you, y’know that? I’ll be towering over everyone and giving them that same dead-eyed look that—” brown orbs level with you, unimpressed. You beam, punching his shoulder. “See! That one!”

“Fuckin’ piss off, would you?” Simon grumbles, moving down to the next aisle in his large and darkly-clothed glory. Your laugh trails after him, feet heavy on his heels. “Givin’ me a headache.”

You both walk around the Tesco, Simon getting strange looks while a beaming teenager walks beside him talking about supper, class, and anything in between. He offered short responses, sometimes sarcastic and sometimes serious—it depended, but the point was that he did answer you, no matter how pointless the conversation.

“I think I’m going to join a club this year,” you speak as you gaze at the items your Uncle puts in his basket. A gaze side-eyes you slowly.

“What, then?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, shoulder bumping into his arm and tilting your head. “Were you in any clubs?”

He grunts, shaking his head before a hand descends to your hair, ruffling it as you hiss in annoyance. “Never had time.” Simon hadn’t told you about his father or what he had done, and God help him if he ever uttered a word about it. That wasn’t something that mattered in your story, just his…he’d never place that weight on you willingly.

You frown as your uncle's arm loops your shoulders casually, keeping you to him as other people walk past you. Brown filters over posture and facial expressions—looking for the barest hint of ill-intent. When there’s nothing, and the forms move around you as easily as they had come, Simon’s attention leaves, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

“Try Debate.” Your face turns to him, curious.

“Debate?” His eyes twinkle, and behind his face covering you immediately find the tell-tale twitch of a smirk.

“Argue so bloody well you could convince a rookie that a P890 can hold 10 rounds.”

You fight the shocked smile that pulls at your lips. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” Eyes swirl, and a hand squeezes your arm; jostling you slightly.

“It’s a compliment.”

“You’ve always been shit at those.” You get a firm glare and a grunt from above.

“Fuckin’ language.” Your lips mock his response, making fun of him before he sends a flick of his thumb and forefinger into your temple.

“Hey!” Simon chuckles lowly, walking closer to the front of the store to get ready to pay as you mutter. “Jerk.”

It was a surprise though, that when you had barreled onto your Uncle’s back for an impromptu piggyback ride as payback—which the man didn’t even flinch at, already used to your antics—that the wide eyes of a man with a mohawk met yours. Your head is atop your Uncles, resting there as the lady at the front gives you strange looks from behind the register as Simon places the items in front of her.

He was gobsmacked, this stranger with his hair all done up like that, and your eyes blink at the display of tags around his neck that mirror your guardians. Broad, yet not so like Simon, and muscled, also, not as much as Simon.

“Unc?” You ask, and the man below you hums in question, pulling out notes from his wallet absentmindedly. “Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

Simon tenses under you, fingers freezing.

“With the what?” It wasn’t really shocking that no one knew about you besides Price—and the only reason he knew was that in the event something happened to him, Simon had made the Captain swear that you would be taken care of.

Imagine his horror when his brown eyes darted up only to find them meeting the cobalt blues of his Sergeant, the Scot's hand outstretched to a box of pancake mix with a pack of Irn Bru in the other.

There’s an immediate sinking feeling in Simon’s chest when Johnny awkwardly tips his fingers in a shocked greeting—eyes flashing up to your curious face before he thins his lips and blinks.

You wave enthusiastically back.

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”

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constantcrisis19 · 6 months

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Spoiled Rotten

Miguel O'Hara x GN S/O

AN: The results of the poll are in, the people have spoken, and I am here to deliver as promised. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,545

You trotted down the impersonal halls of the Spider Society HQ, the styrofoam container that you had in your hands held close to your chest in order to avoid upending the contents if anyone had the misfortune of running into you as you dexterously weaved through the throng of spider-people filling the building.

You nodded a quick greeting at any of the other spider-people that happened to make eye contact with you as you passed, the crowd predictably thinning out until it was only you creeping through the halls the closer you came to your destination.

You slowed your hurried pace when a familiar door came into view, the obstruction opening with a low hiss without you even having to touch the keypad located next to the door frame since Miguel had demanded that you hand over your dimensional travel watch so he could add an upgrade, an ID that the camera above the entrance to his office could scan and recognize so you would be allowed entry with little to no effort.

And, as far as you knew, you were the only person to receive this particular upgrade.

The room beyond the door was dimly lit, the lighting unnervingly akin to what you’d see in a horror movie, and you cracked a smile at the thought of Miguel keeping his lab and adjoining office dark in an attempt to scare off any spider-people that might’ve been brave enough to grace his presence. Though, even as humorous as the thought was, you knew that the true reason behind Miguel’s lighting choices was due to his sensitive eyes.

You heard the door slide shut behind you as you moved further in, carefully maneuvering through the mess of wires and half-finished projects with a grace that pretty much all spider-people were endowed with upon being bitten in order to reach the office, where Miguel spent his every waking moment, seemingly intent on working himself into an early grave.

You followed the sound of low muttering, the indistinct noise becoming more intelligible when you stepped into the large space that everyone had dubbed ‘the office’. There you were able to confirm that the hushed voice you had picked up on was, in fact, Miguel, who was currently complaining under his breath in his native tongue as he aggressively swiped at the holographic screens in front of him.

You stopped at the base of the platform that Miguel used as a workstation and patiently waited to see if he would notice your presence, but when it seemed that the man was too absorbed in his work to realize that you were there, you let loose a single sharp whistle that echoed off the high ceiling to gain his attention.

You had to resist the urge to grin when you saw Miguel’s broad shoulders subtly draw up at the abrupt burst of sound, which was as good as a full-blown flinch when it came to Miguel, before the man turned away from the hovering screens in order to level you with an unimpressed look.

"What do you want?" Miguel barked and you raised a brow at his rather hostile greeting, your gaze scanning over his tense figure in search of the reason behind why he was so uptight. After just a few seconds into your examination, it became pretty clear that something was bothering the man, as evidenced by Miguel’s hands, which were balled up into tight fists, and how his narrow eyes looked more red than their usual brown under the low light of the room.

"Just wanted to check in. Things have been pretty hectic these past few days." You replied with a casual shrug and you watched Miguel’s shoulders heave with a deep sigh before he carelessly raked his fingers through his greasy hair, causing it to stand up at all sorts of awkward angles.

"I don’t need you to ‘check in’ with me." He snarled defensively, crossing his arms across his chest as he glared down at you, and your lips twisted into a concerned frown at his disheveled state.

“So… you're telling me that you've voluntarily stepped away from those screens in the last 24 hours to take a break and eat something?" You asked dubiously, already knowing the answer was a resounding 'no' before he’d even responded just going by his general appearance.

"I don't need breaks! I work just fine on little to no sleep, thank you very much!" Miguel predictably snapped, the man scowling at you as if he thought that you were an absolute idiot, but you didn’t even bother taking offense to his attitude since you knew that he had a tendency of lashing out when he was frustrated due to his lack of a healthy outlet.

“Well that's a damn shame. I guess these homemade chorizo tacos are just gonna go to waste if you're not gonna eat them." You sighed dramatically, staring forlornly down at the styrofoam container that you had so heroically protected during the journey to Miguel, the food inside still warm if the heat wafting off the take out box was any indication.

You resisted the urge to grin triumphantly when some of the aggression in Miguel’s expression and stance eased at the mention of a warm meal, the man’s eyebrows rising as his gaze shifted down to stare unblinkingly at the container that you had purposefully drawn his attention to.

"You made me food?" He asked slowly as he stepped closer to the edge of the platform, and you found the way that he was trying and failing to hide his obvious interest kind of adorable. Almost like Miguel was a toddler who was trying and failing to stay upset even after having been offered their favorite candy.

"Fine. I'll eat. But I'm going back to work as soon as I’m done and you are going to go do something productive that doesn’t involve pestering me.” Miguel begrudgingly acquiesced, the smile that you’d been trying to repress blooming across your face when the man motioned for you to join him on the platform, and you wasted no time freeing up a hand in order to shoot a web at one of the beams running across the entirety of ceiling before launching yourself up into the air, landing gracefully next to him.

"Of course." You agreed quickly, practically shoving the food into his hands before grabbing a hold of his narrow hips and manhandling the man toward his barely used swivel chair and forcing Miguel down onto the plush leather seat.

Miguel went along with your antics easily enough -and if that wasn’t indisputable proof of how utterly exhausted he felt, then you didn’t know what was- the man deciding to forgo giving you a firm scolding that would go in one ear and out the other in favor of opening the lid in order to let the delicious scent of avocado crema and spicy paprika wash over the two of you.

You closed your eyes and inhaled, the corner of your mouth ticking up as you nodded approvingly at the mouth-watering tacos, the crisp corn tortillas stuffed with a combination of meat, guacamole, onions and cilantro. You were actually quite proud of the end result after having spent several hours in the headquarters kitchen slaving away over the stove.

You looked out of the corner of your eye in order to gauge Miguel’s reaction, taking note of the way his eyes widened at the enticing aroma before he turned his incredulous stare onto you.

"You made these yourself?" He asked, his tone a little more dubious than you would've liked. You didn’t cook all that often -usually opting to go for something easier like take out or grabbing something from the cafeteria at HQ if Miguel wasn’t cooking- but when you did decide to take over making the two of you meals, then you put all your effort into making it good.

"Sure did. Only the best for you, babe." You said with a bright smile, watching in real time as Miguel’s cautious expression gradually transitioned into one of pure delight, before moving around to the back of his chair in order to take up residence behind him.

You brought your hands up to rest them on the tight line of his shoulders, carefully pressing your thumbs into the thick muscle in order to soothe the tension built up there, and Miguel relaxed under your touch as he delicately picked up one of the tacos before taking a bite.

"I was just going to work through lunch, but this is so much better…" Miguel praised after he’d swallowed, the man letting loose a pleased little hum with his next bite as he slumped further down into his chair, the styrofoam container held firmly in his lap as he ate.

"I'm glad you like it." You replied genuinely, lifting one of your hands away from Miguel's shoulders -the man protesting with a low grunt of displeasure- in order to trace the line of Miguel's jaw as you shifted your focus to the man's back, urging him to scoot forward to the edge of his chair before pressing your thumbs into the space between his shoulder blades with firm, unrelenting pressure.

You felt a shiver ripple down Miguel’s spine, the man subtly squirming in his seat as he resisted the urge to pull away from the deep ache, before calming when the taunt muscles in his back loosened, the pain turning into an indulgent pleasure.

“Feel nice?” You asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that you had taken care to develop in the office, and Miguel made a noise that you chose to interpret as lazy agreement.

You moved your hands away from his back as Miguel popped the last bit of his final taco into his mouth and leaned forward, the man turning his head in order to give you a questioning look, his brown eyes widening in surprise when you leaned over his shoulder and pressed a light kiss onto his bulging cheek.

His throat made an audible click as he quickly swallowed, the man closing the now empty container and tossing it aside to deal with later before spinning his swivel chair around to face you, catching your wrist as you turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Miguel asked accusingly as he used his gentle grip to coax you closer, pulling you in until you were standing between his spread thighs, a small smile gracing your lips at his sudden clingy behavior, which was endearing and amusing in equal measure.

“You’re done eating.” You explained vaguely, and when Miguel simply gave you a blank look, you continued with a soft sigh. “You said that you wanted me to make myself scarce once you’d finished your food?” You elaborated with a raised brow, Miguel frowning at the reminder of his earlier demands, the regret and frustration that he was feeling practically advertised across his face like a flashing neon sign.

“You can stay. If you want.” Miguel quickly tacked the last bit on to the end of the sentence, releasing his hold on your wrist, and you were barely able to hold back from rolling your eyes at his unnecessary backtracking.

"Oh, so the bossman is feeling gracious today. Aren't I special?" You mused sarcastically as you threw your arms over the man’s wide shoulders and playfully tangled your fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, the affectionate petting doing wonders toward chasing away Miguel’s uncertainty.

“Brat.” Miguel groused under his breath without any real heat, both of you knowing damn well that you would pick up on his muttered complaint because of your enhanced hearing, and you swatted the back of his head hard enough to make the man wince in retaliation.

You allowed him to pout for a moment before grabbing a firm hold of the hair that you had been previously brushing through and pulling him into a passionate kiss, Miguel immediately matching the pace you set and pressing up into the contact with an eager groan that you echoed when your bottom lip caught on one of his protruding fangs, a sharp sting radiating outward from the small cut as the delicate skin split.

“Ouch.” You said mildly as the familiar coppery tang of blood hit your tongue, and you drew away from Miguel just enough to lightly press a finger to the injury, the pad of your prodding finger coming away wet.

“Sorry.” Miguel apologized with a concerned frown as he guided you backwards so he that could push himself to his feet and approach his workstation in order to open one of the numerous drawers and root around inside, pulling out a package of gauze that he ripped open and placed gently against your split lip, soaking up the bead of crimson that had welled up from the tiny knick.

“It’s fine. I barely even feel it.” You assured as you reached up to tap the back of his hand in a wordless bid for him to move his hand out of the way, Miguel obediently letting go of the pad of gauze in order to allow you to take over before moving back over to the monitors, which were flashing with an influx of messages and alerts.

You ungracefully flopped down onto the chair that Miguel had vacated and watched the man’s turned back as he turned his attention back to his job, wasting no time tapping away at the holograms to respond to some crisis or another, but you stayed right where you were, lounging in the comfortable leather seat and using your foot to spin yourself in unhurried circles.

And, while most people would have felt that Miguel was being callous and insensitive because of the speed at which he’d gone from being involved in such an intimate moment to working again, you knew from personal experience that, despite how invested in his work Miguel might’ve seemed upon first glance, the moment that you moved to leave the man would immediately inquire as to what you were doing and most likely prompt you to stay in his own awkward, gruff way.

Miguel had never been very good with words, the man often saying one thing while his body language said something completely different, but you didn’t need him to give voice to how much he enjoyed your company since you could tell regardless since you knew what to look for.

You saw how his previously tense shoulders and back were now relaxed -his movements confident yet leisurely as he slowly combed through the pile of work he’d accumulated over the duration of his quick break- which was a drastic improvement from the spastic state that you’d found him in, and how you’d occasionally meet his eyes in the reflection of the glowing screens, catching him in the act of sneakily checking in on you.

The memory of Miguel’s sly way of making sure you were still where he’d left you had a smile spreading across your face, causing the cut on your bottom lip to reopen, but you ignored the barely there pain in favor of just basking in the tranquil atmosphere between the two of you.

#spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spider-person reader #established relationship #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #Miguel is overworked and underpaid #he deserves a break #domestic fluff #banter

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constantcrisis19 · 6 months

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Thanks so much for the tag @jamesrifftapes! I love stuff like this! ❤️

Last song: Forever- ALEKSEEV

Favorite color: Purple

Currently watching: Supernatural (season 1)

Last movie: Black Butler: Book of Atlantic

Sweet/spicy/savory: Savory

Current obsession: Call of Duty (SoapGhost in specific), Miguel O'Hara, and aesthetic journaling (to name a few off the top of my head)

Relationship status: Single

Last thing you googled: Garlic sauce recipe for chicken wings

Tags: @mistertiberius, @valiants, @ghcstao3, @tethered-heartstrings-main, @dragonflylady77, and anyone else interested!

nine people i would like to know better <3

thank you so much for the tag @thanksbutno98!!! 💜

last song: clandestina - besomorph

favorite color: lavender

currently watching: one piece live action (netflix) for the tenth time

last movie: ella enchanted

sweet/spicy/savory: spicy!!!!!!

current obsession: baldur's gate, specifically dammon the tiefling blacksmith larian studios won't let me romance

relationship status: in a relationship

last thing you googled: "tomb raider remastered release date switch"

np tags: @guyfieriii, @generalbluebirdphantomc, @waltzthegenderfluidpan, @lovelymaneskindays, @sam-id, @homicidal-slvt, @octopiys, @ramadiiiisme, @queenquazar, @halcyone-of-the-sea

#tag game

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constantcrisis19 · 7 months

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Announcement

Hey guys, I'm having a hard time deciding whether or not to add Miguel O'hara from Spider-man: Across the Spider-verse to my writing list or not cause I'm not sure if that is something y'all would like to see. I have a few rough outlines and ideas in docs that I was thinking about expanding on, but I don't know if I should…

I put a poll down below so let me know if you're interested!

#reader insert #fanfiction #spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #tumblr polls

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constantcrisis19 · 7 months

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Home

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I don't normally write smut, but things do get a little heated in this particular fic, so... enjoy the treat I guess, lol. Though, that being said, I can't say that adding smut is going to be something that I’ll do often, but on the off-chance that it does, I'll be sure to tag properly just to make sure that I don't catch anyone off guard. Thanks!

Word Count: 1,544

Main Page

You had just started on wiping the dust off of the kitchen countertops when you heard the shrill squeak of the front door opening, intentionally left unoiled to act as an alert for uninvited visitors. You and Ghost had installed a proper security system of course, but it didn’t hurt to do things the old fashioned way either.

The flat that the two of you stayed at while on leave was modest, rented mostly because there was a fire escape outside the living room window and another window had a good view of the entrance to the building.

So Ghost would often occupy himself by watching the door when he couldn’t manage to sleep, tormented by memories of things he wouldn’t speak of. But he didn’t keep pieces of his past from you out of distrust.

He refrained because, by the time he’d finished telling you about how he’d been betrayed by his CO and was tortured for months as a result, you were in tears at the pain and suffering that the love of your life had endured, despite your best attempts to be strong and keep the tears at bay as you listened.

Though, it seemed that Ghost didn’t really mind that you were crying instead of being the solid support that he deserved and could lean on while recounting something so horrible, the man simply pulling you into his arms and sitting down right there on the floor while holding you close.

He never brought it up again and you were hesitant to ask if he wanted to talk about it since you had reacted so poorly to just one of the many horrors that he had survived, especially for a soldier that was chosen to be on the most elite task forces that the British military had to offer.

In your defense, you had been on leave -in this very flat, actually- when that disaster of a conversation happened, miles away from work and allowed to be human for a few weeks. So you had made no attempt at suppressing the onslaught of emotions that had torn through you like a bullet, leaving a gaping mess of grief in its wake.

You were dragged out of your somber reminiscing when your ears picked up on the crinkle of weighted grocery bags as they were set onto the small kitchen table for two, followed by the nearly inaudible tap of Ghost’s worn black combat boots drawing closer to your turned back.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d stopped cleaning -just blankly staring down at the damp rag being strangled in your grip- until one of Ghost’s hands tentatively settled on your back, his warm touch grounding.

“Solid, love?” He asked, his pleasantly raspy voice having dropped to a low timbre that was gentle and reassuring all at once.

“Yeah, sorry. Got lost in my head for a minute.” You sighed, leaning into the contact with a slow inhale, your attempt at controlled breathing rendered useless when your exhale turned into a soft huff of laughter as soon as you felt Ghost press his scarred lips to the back of your neck in a fleeting kiss that made your chest ache with affection.

You found yourself awfully tempted to turn around and kiss that reverent mouth until neither of you could think of anything beyond finding the bed but, before you got the chance to act on that particular desire, the hand that was on your back suddenly slid down to your hip and pulled you backward as he simultaneously stepped forward in order to crowd up behind you, his body a solid wall of muscle.

"You're a menace, Simon. I never get anything done when we're on leave because you try to get into my pants every five minutes." You laughed good-naturedly, your hands reaching behind you to grip the back of his thighs, just under his deliciously round ass.

“Don’t know what you’re on about. I’m just comforting you, you’re the one copping a feel.” Ghost retorted dryly, though there was a noticeable heat to his tone now, his short stubble scratching against your skin as he nuzzled the back of your neck.

“You don’t seriously expect me to believe that, do you? I can feel your dick begging for attention, Simon.” You deadpanned, your brow raising as you leveled an unimpressed look at the cabinets directly in front of you, knowing full well that Simon would know exactly what expression was on your face despite not being able to see it.

Lord knew that he had gotten that exact same look from you enough times to have it memorized.

“Well don’t start neglecting it now.” Ghost grunted with a particularly dirty grind of his hips and you tightened the grip that you had around the back of his thigh, heat pooling in your gut as your lips parted on a silent gasp.

You could feel Ghost smile against the sensitive skin behind your ear -the smug bastard- and just for his cheeky attitude, you decided to be petty and play hard to get. You allowed Simon to do as he wished for another minute or two before turning in Simon’s grip in order to face the man, who had immediately loosened his hold the moment that you began to move.

“Get off me, you slag. I have to finish cleaning the kitchen before we can cook.” You stated as you met his questioning gaze, the man staring at you blankly for a moment as he processed your words, his eyes darkening when he finally caught onto your scheme.

“Slag? Must be rubbing off on you.” Ghost said with a low chuckle that never failed to send a bolt of pleasure down your spine and, going by the amused twinkle in Simon’s eye, he knew exactly what his voice did to you and was shamelessly using it to his advantage.

You resisted the urge to squirm under his calculating gaze, since that would mean losing this little game that the two of you were playing, as the man’s fingers teasingly brushed over the slip of skin visible where the hem of your shirt came untucked from your jeans.

“Not yet, you’re not.” You mused with a wicked grin as your hand darted down to catch his wrist before his fingers could slip up under your shirt. You traced the delicate blue lines crisscrossing under the thin, pale skin of his inner wrist with your thumb, your smile reaching shit-eating levels when Simon’s breathing visibly became more labored, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you like you were the sole object of his desire.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost murmured breathlessly, the fingers of his free hand twitching like he wanted to grab you and pin you up against the nearest flat surface, and you didn’t bother repressing the smug grin that spread across your lips as you watched every individual thought that went through his head, every sinful things that he wanted to do to you clearly advertised on his maskless face.

Simon really wasn’t as hard to read as he wanted people to believe, he was actually quite easy once the mask was off. So while Simon greatly enjoyed when you were rough with him, easily following your lead as you manhandled the man where you wanted him with a firm grip, more tender and reverent contact always had more of an effect on him.

“You love it, you insatiable bastard.” You said with a laugh, Simon leaning forward in order to rest his forehead against yours and you didn’t hesitate to curl an encouraging hand around the back of his neck, letting him have a moment to collect himself since you felt pretty bad for teasing him when you weren’t able to follow through right away.

“Yeah.” Simon admitted quietly, his tone openly affectionate as he tilted his head in order to draw you into a kiss. Words were no longer necessary since the press of his lips told you everything you already knew, the heat that had been bubbling up between the two of you easing as the intense bout of lust that came from your mutual flirting transitioned into something softer, slower.

You were the first to break the kiss when the lack of oxygen made your lungs burn, though you didn’t go far, choosing to instead linger in his personal space. Your nose brushed against his as you basked in the euphoria that came with being with Simon, each of your breaths mingling with his in the small space between the two of you, creating a sort of peaceful bubble where only the two of you existed.

“Didn’t you have some pressing matter to attend to?” Simon’s voice pierced through the quiet and you startled, flinching a bit as you sobered from the trance you had been in, before the words registered and you leaned away in order to scowl at your grinning husband.

“Very funny, Simon.” You said with a fond roll of your eyes, giving his solid chest a friendly pat before finally prying yourself out of his grasp, turning on your heel and making your way back to the kitchen in order to finish what you’d been doing before you got distracted.

Home

A place where I can go

To take this off my shoulders

Someone take me home

Home - Bebe Rexha, Machine Gun Kelly, and X Ambassadors

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mw 2022 #reader insert #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #married y/n #reader is in the 141 #childhood friends #friends to lovers #military leave #domestic fluff #banter #light smut

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constantcrisis19 · 7 months

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Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley…💀

Works by @ghostsareeverywhereblah2

Guard Dogs Pt.1: “He’s even cuter in person”

Guard Dogs Pt.2: “She’s always listened, just not to you”

The Progeny Series: “Shit, Lt. Looks like you actually have a real admirer”

Grumpy x Sunshine: Who in the world can be in a relationship with Simon?

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

Works by @dyslexicbatxz

Oneshots: Complete collection

Broken Printer : Ghost is head over heels for Laswell’s new assistant

Fighter Jets: Reader gets shot down and is presumed KIA

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Works by @lethalchiralium

Delicate + König: You were glad you had them both, satisfying your needs

Raindrops: He’s trying to remember every moment

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Dead Disco by @peachesofteal: The one that’s always left behind

Three Is A Crowd by @xyziiix: Well your Captain always like proving you wrong

Cherry by @barefoothighlander: Ghost finds out about your side gig

The Captain by @as-is-above-so-below: Ghost’s wife joins the team on an op agaisnt his wishes

Bleeding Out Pt.1, Bleeding Out Pt.2 and Bleeding Out Pt.3 by @constantcrisis19: A bomb almost levels the entire town. Ghost extracts you.

Oneshots & Multichapter by @rileyslibrary: An entire collection of Simon Riley oneshots

The Things I Never Said Pt.1 and The Things I Never Said Pt.2 by @lvlyghost: When the inevitable happens, you run

Ghost in the Austrian Asylum by @prazinos: The two of you want him as well

Fever Pitch by @ghost-pantss: The animostity between you two comes to a head

Paperwork Pt.1 and Of Big Cats & Tiny Dancers Pt.2 by @imakeangelscry: Your superior sends you out to face the consequences

Painless Bruises by @trashykawahq: Avoiding Simon’s gaze is harder than it’s ever been

The Experiments by @diaryofanidiot: Forced to fight and claw her way to live

Resentment by @starl1cht: You distance yourself. But does he notice?

The Accused by @amoristt: You fucking ran. What choice did you have?

Badges of Honor by @clairdelunelove: Ghost always recieves the biggest stickers

King!Ghost x Princess!Reader by @hyperactively-me: Stubborn Princess who warms up to the King

Ghost x Civillian Masterlist by @sim0nril3y: How he met his civillian and fell in love

#hey there!#tysm for the shoutout #im particularly proud of my bleeding out series #and plan on continuing it #i just love exploring a darker version of Ghost #who also happens to have a soft spot for a special someone #writing it was my pleasure #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #❤️#cod #call of duty #cod mw22 #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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constantcrisis19 · 9 months

Text

Bleeding Out - Part 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

Main Page

Warnings: Blood and injury, Needles, Violent thoughts, References to Ghost's backstory.

Ghost grit his teeth when you went limp against his back, his desperate grip on your thighs tightening in a way that would have been painful for you if you weren't currently conscious. He pushed into the medical tent like a man on a mission, ignoring the various moans and cries of suffering soldiers and shoving past anyone who didn’t get out of his way fast enough.

He gently lowered you down onto one of the open beds, your sweaty hair falling into your face as your head lolled to the side, Ghost reaching out in a brief moment of weakness to brush the limp lock of hair out of your face before turning his attention to the wound on your thigh.

The neck gaiter that he had tied in place over the injury was stained a deep red, the cloying scent of iron so thick that Ghost could practically taste it even through the thick fabric of his balaclava as he peeled the sticky soaked cloth away from the wound in order to get a look at the damage.

He felt grateful for his mask since he couldn’t help how his face twisted up into a snarl at the frankly obscene amount of blood that had oozed into your clothing, soaking your right side all the way down your pant leg to your boots, staining the material a deep crimson.

One of Ghost’s hands released his hold that he had on the cloth that he’d wrapped around your thigh in favor of grabbing the wrist of the person that had made the mistake of touching his arm, his grip so tight that he could feel the bones grind together under his fingers.

“Uh… sir? I’m here to help, what’s the situation?” A soft voice abruptly broke through the rush of blood ringing in Ghost’s ears and he was unceremoniously dragged from whatever haze he’d fallen into, causing him to violently snap back into focus.

He managed to pry his dark gaze away from your sallow figure, bringing his attention to the person who had been brave enough to approach him, the wide green eyes of a medic warily watching him as if he were a feral animal.

Ghost let go of the medic’s wrist as if the touch had burned him and he curled his fingers into a fist in order to hide the way that they wanted to tremble and, in an attempt to distract himself from the panic he could feel lingering on the edge of his awareness, he turned his attention back to the saturated fabric that was plastered to your leg.

“Deep laceration on upper left thigh from a bullet. They were conscious and verbal about two minutes ago before they began showing signs of hypovolemic shock and became unresponsive.” Ghost replied in rapid fire as he pressed down on the wound, continuing to apply steady pressure and trying to ignore how your unnatural lack of reaction to the painful contact made him want to hit something.

“Okay. Elevate their legs and keep applying direct pressure to the wound. We have a category one! I need a suture kit and an IV, stat!” The second half of the medic’s commands were directed to the rest of the staff that were bustling about the packed tent, more medics hurrying over with the necessary supplies, and it took every ounce of self control Ghost had to keep from taking a swing every time someone accidentally brushed up against him in their rush.

“Blood pressure is dropping, start them on two liters of LR.” The green eyed medic warned as someone set up an intravenous drip, pushing the needle into the tender skin of your right arm before taping the tube down to keep it in place.

More people joined the fray and Ghost viciously repressed the urge to bury one of his knives deep into the eye socket of the medic that bullied him out of the way since he knew that it wouldn’t do him any good in the long run, so he stepped away and allowed the other man to take over, the medic cutting your pant leg away from your thigh and pulling the unsalvageable neck gaiter away, letting it hit the floor with a wet sound before replacing it with a sterile pad of gauze.

Ghost just stood there and watched in complete silence as the medical team surrounding the cot all frantically tried to keep you alive, all their voices blurring together into a cacophony of indecipherable noise as the feeling of something wet dripping down his side distantly registered.

He looked down at himself and swallowed back bile at the sight that greeted him. The majority of Ghost's right side and thigh had been stained by your blood due to the fact that he’d carried you for so long, the thick red liquid marring his already filthy fatigues.

He numbly tracked a drop of crimson with his eyes as it slowly oozed down from his hip to his thigh before being soaked up by the fabric near his knee, the sensation of blood creeping down his leg making his skin crawl.

Ghost’s gaze snapped up from his soiled fatigues when someone came up next to him, his eyes darting over to the medic that had been brave enough to approach him, their hand hovering over his shoulder for a moment before thinking better of touching him and dropping their limb back to their side.

“We have the situation under control now, but we’re already running low on space so we need you to wait outside the tent, sir.” The medic spoke softly, the woman hovering in a way that spelled out her desire to usher him out of the medical tent, but he didn't move. Ghost’s feet were rooted to the spot, medics and patients alike all moving around his still figure as if he were a shark in the water.

“No.” Ghost declared bluntly as he turned his attention back to the crowd swarming the cot that you were laying on, noticing how the medic shot him a startled look out his peripheral vision, but he didn’t care. Let her judge him, let her question his intentions. Let her think what she wanted, but he wasn’t going to move until he got confirmation of either your recovery or your death.

And the poor soul who drew the short straw and was tasked to give Ghost the news better pray to whatever God that they believed in that it was the former.

“I’m sorry?” The medic asked, their incredulousness battling with their self-preservation in the face of Ghost’s blatant refusal to be separated from you. Ghost turned his head just enough to make eye contact with the medic standing next to him, the rest of his body eerily still in a way he knew other people found off-putting as he leveled the medic with his signature cold stare.

“I’m not leaving until they're either stable or dead.” Ghost declared, his tone leaving no room for argument, but the medic he was talking to was either an idiot or was unaware of Ghost’s reputation because she stubbornly persisted.

“But-” She began to say before Ghost unceremoniously cut her off.

“How’s their condition?" He asked, his voice low and rough. He could feel the cooling, sticky blood oozing between his gloved fingers as his hands clenched and released reflexively, his fingertips tingling as he wished for the familiar weight of his rifle.

“Uh, it's still too early to tell…” The medic began hesitantly before sighing, seeming to reluctantly accept the fact that Ghost wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon. "But we're doing everything in our power to help." She told Ghost with a worried frown, her concerned gaze like a physical weight, her unwelcome sympathy causing Ghost to glance away before he did something that would make Price give him that disappointed look in order to wipe that fucking annoying look off the young woman’s face. "Do you know them? Are the two of you close?"

The question caught him off guard and helped clear some of the red from his vision, Ghost’s dark eyes shifting back over to the cot he had deposited you on as if magnetized, his gaze visibly softening from his usual blank stare when he caught a glimpse of your familiar figure in a gap between the medics swarming you.

Ghost watched as personnel read off stats from the various machines that you were hooked up to, each announcement so bogged down with medical jargon that Ghost could only pick up on a few terms here and there as they worked to keep the area around the wound clean as it was meticulously stitched shut.

"...yes." He admitted quietly and, while Ghost wasn't exactly thrilled with telling some random medic about his attachment to you -in fact, he would rather go through several hours of torture over voluntarily being emotionally vulnerable- it was a necessary risk he had to take if he wanted to appeal to the women's sentimental side and gain more leniency when it came to being kept in the loop about you during your stay in medical. “Are they…? Will they pull through?”

The medic opened her mouth to reply but was unceremoniously cut off when the people that were crowding around your cot burst into a flurry of movement, the medics shouting to each other as they all scrambled for medical supplies. And while it may have looked chaotic, it was clear that there was in fact a method to the madness.

"We have a shortage of A+ and O- reserves. We’re going to need to perform a direct donor-to-patient transfusion if we have a chance of bringing them out of critical condition." A random voice that Ghost didn’t recognize called out just loud enough to carry over to where he was standing, and Ghost's blood ran cold.

"What blood type are you?" The medic next to him suddenly asked, sounding equal parts frantic and determined, her tone pulling his dull eyes away from the medics crowding around the cot that you were laying on to her. Her eyes were wide as she stared expectantly up at him, Ghost eyes widening as he caught onto what she was implying.

"I’m A+." Ghost replied immediately, already rolling up his sleeves to reveal his pale skin, his body moving before his mind even caught up with what he was doing, his feet taking him toward you and subsequently all the medical personnel that were currently treating you.

"We have a compatible donor!" The medic trailing behind Ghost yelled to be heard over the commotion as she followed him, easily keeping up with the rapid pace he’d set. It didn’t take long for him to be surrounded, Ghost ignoring how each unsolicited touch reminded him of the smell of petrichor and rot, the telltale squirming of maggots against his skin, and instead stubbornly kept his gaze locked onto your sallow face now that he was close enough to see you.

"We're doing an emergency transfusion." A male said as he rushed over to the pair, giving the female medic at Ghost’s side a needle and a tube while another medic simultaneously rolled up his left sleeve and wrapped a tourniquet around his bicep before tapping his inner elbow with two fingers in order to find a vein.

“Sir, have you had any unprotected sex in the last six months? Or have any blood-transmitted diseases we need to know about?" The male asked as he wiped down a patch of skin before pushing the hollow needle into Ghost's vein, almost as if he already knew that Ghost was clean and was just asking because it was protocol… so it seemed that his reputation proceeded him.

"No. None." He replied, holding eerily still and watching with keen eyes as medics prepped the major arteries in your arm, connecting you up to Ghost on the other side of the tubing.

Ghost felt an odd tugging sensation in his arms as the transfusion began, glancing away from you for the first time since he’d walked over and down at the tubing just in time to see blood so dark that it almost looked black being pulled out of his veins and down the tube, lazily making its way towards your own arm.

"Here, take a seat." The female medic from earlier said as she reached for his arm, Ghost jerking away from the threat of her touch and causing her to pull her hand away, the woman intelligently choosing to instead gesture to the unoccupied chair at your bedside that someone had dragged over. "Let us know if you start to get dizzy or feel nauseous, alright?" She asked as he obediently sat down, her kind eyes a stark contrast to the usual distant and clinical gazes he'd get from most medical personnel who worked for the military.

Ghost gave her a single, succinct nod in lieu of a verbal reply and turned his attention back to the blood that was traveling through the tubing, his free hand loosely wrapping around the arm of the plastic chair that he’d claimed.

“The blood is dark.” He said suddenly as she began to step away, halting her in her tracks before she once again turned to face him, what was originally meant to be a question coming out more like a statement because of the cold numbness that was spreading from his chest and Ghost fingers subconsciously tightened on the unforgiving arm of the chair, his grip now more of an attempt at grounding himself than anything else.

When Ghost managed to pry his gaze away from you, he noted that the medic looked surprised, the shock only lasting a few seconds before she seemed to some conclusion or another and her features softened into sympathy and understanding. She clasped her hands in front of her and gave him a soft, reassuring smile as she patiently explained the phenomenon to him.

"Oh. It's perfectly safe. What you're most likely used to seeing is the bright red blood, yes?" She asked and Ghost was begrudgingly impressed with her ability to maintain steady eye contact with him when there were even some higher ups that he’d had the displeasure of meeting who couldn’t say the same.

He didn’t look away as he nodded, confirming what she’d already suspected and she shot him another gentle smile before continuing. "It's just a chemical reaction with the oxygen in the air that makes it that color but, while it's in your veins, it's actually much darker."

Ghost is the one to break eye contact first, unable to keep looking at her kindhearted expression without wanting to scream at the woman that he doesn’t want her compassion, that she shouldn't waste such a useless emotion on someone like him, who didn't want or need it.

He nodded to make sure that she knew that he’d been paying attention and turned his attention back to you, his hands clenching as he resisted the urge to reach out and take your limp wrist into his own, to measure each sluggish beat of your heart from the source despite the slow beep of the machine next to him.

“Give it to me straight. I want to know if they’ll live.” Ghost said suddenly into the silence that had descended over the two of them and the medic took a deep breath, her lips thinning into a thin line.

"Well, due to your help, they’re odds have just gone up exponentially. They'll probably need a few transfusions though, and you'll need breaks between every one in order to eat, drink and replenish your strength. It's not going to be pleasant for you, but it's doable." She stated softly, her hands unclasping as she paused for a moment in order to seemingly think something over before voicing her thoughts. "Though, you're free to stop giving blood anytime you'd like, I'm just saying there's a better chance that they'll pull through if you do multiple sessions."

“I’ll give whatever it takes.” He admitted quietly, his tone determined and reverent in equal measure as he gave in to the impulse to reach out and lightly brush his calloused fingers over the thin, sensitive skin of your wrist, sliding up your arm to the joint of your elbow where the tubing was taped down before just resting there.

He could never tell the medic the truth about how far he was willing to go for you no matter how nice she seemed because the level of devotion he held for you was something that would scare off any normal person.

He would most likely be stripped of his rank, discharged, and locked up in a padded room with white walls before being drugged up to his eyeballs if he ever confessed to how deep his obsession with you runs.

He would do anything to make sure that you would stay with him. He would destroy cities, tear down governments, kill anyone who got in his way without a second's hesitation.

He would go to the ends of the world to bring you back, so giving you his blood, that he’d already spilled several pints of over the years -enough for him to be dead ten times over- for a violent cause that wasn’t even his, was nothing compared to the atrocities that he’d be willing to commit for you.

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constantcrisis19 · 10 months

Text

My Favourite COD Fics & Art...Part 1

Part 2 of My Favourite Fics…

Captain John Price…🏷️

Works by @miniwheat77

Sweet

Sensitive

Maneater + Gaz

Give ’em hell Pt.1

Give ’em hell Pt.2

Red Lipstick

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Works by @captainfern

Lake Of Fire by @captainfern

Heart-Shaped Box Pt.1

Serve the Servants P.2 + Ghost

Breed by @captainfern

Marigold Pt.1

Marigold Pt.2

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Works by @halcyone-of-the-sea

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam

Our Remains

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Feisty Little Thing by @daisies-daydreams

No Wandering Around by @thanksbutno98

Price Eating You Out by @catsnkooks

ARDOUR by @xyziiix

Flash Drive by @thanksbutno98

Three Is A Crowd by @xyziiix

Civillian Reader Is Hurt by @lvlyghost

Jealous by @stormiwaves

Art:

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

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley…💀

Works by @ghostsareeverywhereblah2

Guard Dogs Pt.1

Guard Dogs Pt.2

The Progeny Series

Grumpy x Sunshine

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Cherry by @barefoothighlander

The Captain by @as-is-above-so-below

Serve the Servants + Price Pt.2 by @captainfern

Bleeding Out Pt.1 and Bleeding Out Pt.2 by @constantcrisis19

Oneshots & Multichapter by @rileyslibrary

Dead Disco and Sassy by @peachesofteal

The Things I Never Said Pt.1 and The Things I Never Said Pt.2 by @lvlyghost

Oneshots, Broken Printer and Fighter Jets by @dyslexicbatxz

Delicate + König, Raindrops by @lethalchiralium

Ghost in the Austrian Asylum by @prazinos

Fever Pitch by @ghost-pantss

Paperwork Pt.1 and Of Big Cats & Tiny Dancers Pt.2 by @imakeangelscry

Painless Bruises by @trashykawahq

Three Is A Crowd by @xyziiix

Art:

Distracting and Tongue Action by @gold0kapi

Out Cold, Reunited and What Are You Looking At? + Soap by @starrynights-and-rainyfanarts

Flirting on a Mission + Soap by @amikoroyaiart

Favorite Place + Soap by @aidenlydia

At It Again + Soap by @yakowo

He Brought Explosives + Soap by @critical-misadventures

Not Alone by @stinglesswaspi

Two Goldfish + Soap by @morthern

Kisses + Soap by @crr0o

What’s Your Type? + Soap by @plutoswarrior

Drunk Soap by @s3rrrpentine

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

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish…🧼

Art:

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Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick...🧢

Maneater + Price by @miniwheat77

Shaky Fingers by @halcyone-of-the-sea

Art:

#ahhhhh!!!#tysm for the shoutout!#I'm glad you liked my fics #😁👍

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constantcrisis19 · 11 months

Text

Bleeding Out Masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

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

Ongoing Series!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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constantcrisis19 · 11 months

Text

Bleeding Out - Part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I’m so stoked that the first part got so much positive attention and I can’t thank you guys enough for all the support! Hope you enjoy the fic!

Main Page

Warnings: Blood and injury

Ghost kept his breathing even and his footsteps light as he kept a lookout for the gas station since the last thing he wanted was to attract any attention to himself and alert nearby enemies to his presence, though his focus shifted gears from his stealth mission when his radio clicked, familiar static coming through the line.

"Ghost? Stay frosty, I hear voices nearby." You cautioned, whispering quietly into the radio in order to avoid gaining any unwanted attention.

“Copy.” Ghost replied curtly before thinking better of his tone since the last thing that you needed in an already shitty situation was additional stress, so when he continued, he tried to soften his voice as much as he was able to. “I’m closing in on your position now.”

His grip on his rifle flexed restlessly, hoping that the statement portrayed everything that he couldn’t make himself say out loud. I’m on my way, just hold on a little bit longer.

There was a moment of absolute silence where Ghost could pick up on the sound of muted voices that you had warned him about over the crackle of fire before gunfire began to ring out from close by, the sound akin to the relentless tick of a doomsday clock, every shot reminding Ghost that you both were running out of time.

He stayed on the lookout for any noises or movement, his finger resting against the trigger as he came up on a building that had been messily blown in half, the substantial amount of damage exposing the interior to the elements.

Ghost’s tac gear scraped against the rough brick when he pressed his back up against one of the remaining exterior walls of the house and he paused at the corner, leaning forward in order to peer out around the edge.

His eyes immediately locked onto a bright red, oval sign that was upside down and half-buried in the rubble, the bold white lettering that was visible cuing Ghost into the fact that it was for a gas station. He forced himself to remain neutral as he scanned over his surroundings until he spotted a structure that had a huge gap running right down the middle of it and red accents that were in the same shade as the sign.

He checked the coordinates that you’d given him one last time, confirming what he had already suspected, before turning his attention back to the building that you were hiding out in. He cautiously looked around to make sure that there were no hostiles lying in wait, he wanted to be ready just in case you were being used as bait for a trap.

“I have eyes on the gas station.” Ghost’s voice was quiet and low, his grip tightening on his rifle while his finger moved to hover over the trigger in preparation of a firefight. The whole time his gaze darted from the station to his surroundings and back again almost obsessively, making sure he didn’t miss anything,

"Shit. I don't see you. I think that you're a little too good at blending into the environment. Can you confirm your exact position somehow? I’m injured and can’t afford to waste time trying to find you.” You were quick to reply at the prospect of being close to getting out of the mess that you’d found yourself in.

"Copy." Ghost replied and then thought for a short moment before an idea came to mind, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his throwing knives. “Look for a bright reflection.” He instructed before angling the polished blade so that the golden evening sun reflected off of the shiny metal, creating a bright flash that you could easily locate.

There was the sound of shifting fabric and a low hiss from over the line before you went quiet, the silence drawing on for long enough that Ghost to begin to feel a growing sense of dread, his mind conjuring up the image of Death’s icy fingers drawing closer to you, reaching for the back of your neck-

Ghost used his free hand to activate his radio, his voice deceptively steady as he spoke. “Do you see the signal, Karma? Or should I try another method?”

He felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. He wanted to be stupid, he wanted to forget all of his years of intense training and careful planning. He wanted to be selfish, he wanted to throw caution into the wind and rush in. He wanted to kill every person who had ever had even an inkling of ill intent towards you.

You made him want things he had no desire for previous to meeting you.

And, over the entire duration of his military career, the only person who ever managed to garner this loss of control from him was you. His grip absentmindedly flexed around the blade he was holding, but he wouldn’t allow his hands to shake, waiting with as much patience as he could muster for your response.

Though, even if you didn’t -or couldn’t- respond, Ghost would just have to come to you.

"Yeah, no, you're good. I see you now." You finally replied, your pained yet determined voice like balm to Ghost’s frayed nerves. He sheathed his throwing knife, listening intently as you stubbornly pushed to your feet with a muted groan.

It didn’t take him long to find you stumbling among the rubble, Ghost doing one last scan of the area before leaving cover in order to meet you halfway. His steady jog sped up into a full sprint when he saw you lose your footing and collapse against what remained of a charred gas pump, reaching you just in time to keep you from falling when your leg gave out.

Your hands were stained crimson where they were pressed up against the severe gash in your left thigh, blood leaking through your fingers and leaving a trail of red behind you.

Ghost let his rifle hang from the strap thrown over his shoulder once you were upright, wasting no time dropping to his knees before you. He yanked his beige neck gaiter off, ripping a sizable patch off and pulling your hands away from the nasty wound before pressing the folded cloth against the raw, bloody mess.

Your reaction was instant, your shoulder hunching up around your ears as you lurched forward, curling up above Ghost’s head as you dug your teeth into the meat of one of your gloved hands in order to muffle the scream that was forced out by the firm pressure.

Your other hand darted down to Ghost’s shoulder, your leg jerking in an instinctual attempt to get away from what was causing the pain, digging your nails in and holding on so hard that there was no doubt in Ghost’s mind that your nails left vivid bruises on his pale skin.

Ghost waited -keeping a careful eye on his surroundings all the while- until your breathing had evened back out and your jaw unclenched before tying the remainder of his neck gaiter around your thigh in order to keep the scrap of clothing that he was using as makeshift gauze in place.

He then turned around so that you were facing his back before reaching out behind him in order to grab onto your forearm and your uninjured thigh, maneuvering you onto his back. He made absolutely certain that you were settled and wouldn’t be slipping off of him if you lost consciousness along the way before taking his rifle in hand.

If he accidentally jostled your injury in the process, you gave no sign of any discomfort, the quick bandage on top of the blood loss most likely draining what little energy you had left.

“How’s the pain?” Ghost asked as he began the arduous journey back to base camp, where you would receive more advanced treatment for your numerous wounds, readjusting his grip on your left thigh when his hand began to slip.

"Nothing I can't handle, Lieutenant." You reassured weakly as you leaned heavily against his back, your entire body trembling from a combination of the adrenaline crash and the intense pain as your forehead dropped down to rest against the juncture of Ghost’s shoulder and neck, your breaths a little too even to be natural as they fanned out across his shoulder blade.

“That’s good.” He replied as gently as he could even though he highly doubted that your pain level was as manageable as you were making it out to be, but he also knew that you were a stubborn son of a bitch and always went into every mission like you had something to prove, so it wasn’t really surprising that you were reluctant about being truthful when it came to your injuries.

As if you were worried that Ghost would be disappointed.

As if Ghost could ever feel disappointed in you.

You were his closest friend and it wasn’t a title he gave to just anyone. He trusted you, he trusted you enough to hand you a knife and turn away, knowing that you wouldn’t stick it into his vulnerable back. He trusted you with his story, his scars, his pain. He trusted you even when half-dead on his feet from several days of being on the run with little to no sleep.

He trusted you to know what to do when he felt less human and more like a incorporeal phantom, invisible and unmoored, surrounded by the thick scent of petrichor and rot in a wooden prison.

So no. Ghost could never feel anything other than pride and warmth when he looked at you.

“Is your vision foggy at all?” He asked, shaking himself out of his thoughts when his hold on your thigh slipped again. “Any nausea, dizziness, confusion?” He added before you could answer, giving you the opportunity to be open about how you were feeling.

"My vision is still good enough for me to shoot if needs must, but I'll let you know if that changes." You replied softly after a moment of loaded silence, one of your hands coming up to squeeze his unoccupied shoulder for a few seconds before letting go.

Though, the only thing Ghost could focus on through the entire interaction was the fact that you’d stopped shaking, and there was no way that he could convince himself that the development was a good thing.

Ghost just gave a noncommittal hum for lack of anything to say, his gaze darting around as he moved toward the edge of the city where it was quieter. Ghost mentally calculated the distance and figured that the camp wasn’t too far away now, though it would still be another seven or so minutes until he reached it.

The next couple of minutes were spent in a tense silence, only being broken by your soft voice, just loud enough for Ghost to hear you. "Thank you."

And in that moment, he had never hated hearing those words more. It sounded like giving up.

It sounded like goodbye.

“Hang on. We’re close.” Ghost forced out through gritted teeth, pushing his burning legs to go faster despite the fatigue he could feel weighing down his limbs.

He revisited his initial image of Death standing before you and saw himself stepping between you and its cold, spindly hand. He imagined staring into the black void of its eyes and denying it the satisfaction of taking you.

You were not dying today.

"Good… tha's good." You said sleepily, your words slurring together as you began to lose focus. Ghost wondered if you feel the wound on your thigh anymore because, as nice as you not having to be in constant pain was, he knew from experience that the numbness was much worse.

“Stay awake.” Ghost demanded, his voice coming out angrier than he’d meant it too. “That’s an order, Karma. Keep your eyes open.”

"But I'm tired." You complained, your voice dropping into a soft whisper, and Ghost felt something in his chest tighten at how exhausted you sounded. He was horribly tempted to tell you to close your eyes and let go, if only to give you a moment of respite, but he knew that he would lose you if he did.

"You can rest once we get to the med tent." He promised, his own voice just as quiet as yours. "Just a little bit further, just hold on. Please." Ghost repeated quietly, breaking out into a sprint as the edge of the camp’s perimeter came into view, the motion sensors going off as he passed them, racing toward the med tent.

There was no response from you as you went completely limp in his hold, arms dangling over his shoulders like dead weight.

---

@sselinaa, @frazie99, @mildlyhopeless, @dotcie, @lost-xim

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mw 2022 #sociopath simon riley #morally grey simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #reader is in the 141 #reader is Ghost's bff #friends to lovers #slow burn #pining #getting together #ongoing series

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constantcrisis19 · 11 months

Text

Married Masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

Ongoing Series!

Part 1 | Home

Part 2 | Vow Renewal

Part 3 | Domestic Bliss

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constantcrisis19 · 11 months

Text

Vow Renewal

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I changed the titles around because it seemed to fit better this way, so this is a new story in the married series. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,026

Main Page

You woke up to the sound of Ghost’s alarm, a groan of protest bubbling up and out of your mouth as you reluctantly rolled off of Ghost in order to blindly throw an arm out, smacking your hand against the buttons on the top of the alarm clock at random until the annoying beeping abruptly cut off.

With the horrid noise silenced, you took the opportunity to unceremoniously face-plant into the nearest pillow with a low grumble of complaint since you had never been much of a morning person.

Ghost usually had far less trouble getting up at the ass crack of dawn, the bastard.

While you were more or less wallowing in your misery, Ghost’s bottomless brown eyes had half-opened when you’d moved away from him, the man looking just as exhausted and worn out as he had the day before.

Although that was only to be expected considering that the two of you had finally arrived back at base late in the evening after a particularly stressful and dangerous mission that had taken a week and a half to successfully complete.

“I know, love.” Ghost mumbled groggily as he rolled over to look at you with creased brows, reaching out to gently but firmly lay a warm, calloused hand on your lower back as he shifted across the bed in order to lazily rub his cheek against your shoulder in a affectionate nuzzle that reminded you of something a cat would do.

“Ugh… I need no less than an entire pot of coffee before I even think about being functional today.” You grumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow that your face was buried in. It was a half-hearted attempt to smother yourself at best, but the notion of eternal slumber was starting to seem pretty damn tempting to your sleep-deprived self the longer that you laid there and stewed in your woe.

“Can’t understand you.” Ghost grunted, sounding a bit more awake but no less tired, and the gravel in his voice gave you the surge of motivation you needed to turn your head and squint at him from over your shoulder. Ghost was hovering above you like an omen of death, staring down at you with half-lidded eyes that were somehow still razor sharp despite how utterly fatigued he looked.

“Coffee.” You said simply because you figured that pretty much summed up your earlier statement, especially since your blunt bid for caffeine in the form of delicious coffee was punctuated by the fact that you could hardly keep your eyes open.

“Fine.” Ghost said with a heavy, long-suffering sigh that was normally only reserved for you and a certain energetic Scotsman before his hand slid off of your back and he sat up, stretching attractively with a low grunt of satisfaction when his spine cracked and popped in several places.

He looked horribly stiff and achy, but he still threw the covers back in preparation to leave the bed since you had made the mistake of offhandedly mentioning that you could use a cup of coffee to help you find the energy to drag yourself into a modicum of order.

The fact of the matter was, in Ghost’s fractured mind, your needs and wants would always come before his own because his first priority in any and all given situations the two of you might find yourselves in was to make sure you were safe and that you wanted for nothing. Which was not exactly a stellar example of a healthy mindset, but you were working on teaching Ghost that he was allowed to let you take care of him too, which was an ongoing battle.

“Simon.” You called, your hand sliding over the bed to catch his wrist before he could get up, the man obediently pausing even though his thighs were tensed in an aborted attempt to stand and holding that position had to be hell on his sore muscles. He stiffly turned to look at you, his brows furrowed in a wordless question as his gaze searched your face.

“Don’t go.” You said quietly as you gently tugged on him, silently beckoning him closer, and Ghost seemed to soften at your plea for him to stay. He went along with your guiding touch easily, twisting around and dropping onto all fours in order to prowl over to you like some great beast.

Ghost even laid down on his back without resistance when you directed him to do so, the man wrapping one of his arms around you and running his thumb across your shoulder absentmindedly after you bonelessly sprawled out on top of him.

“Better?” Ghost asked dryly, although there was an undeniable undercurrent of warmth in his otherwise bland tone.

“Yeah.” You mumbled as your eyes fluttered shut, tucking your face into the crook of his neck to breathe him in. His familiar and soothing scent of gunpowder, cardamom, strong English breakfast tea, and tobacco made you melt into him, as if you and Ghost could somehow fuse into a singular entity instead of remaining two halves of a whole, forever cursed to walk in separate bodies.

“You know, you make a great mattress.” You mused with the beginnings of a smile curling onto your lips, adjusting your head so you could prop your chin up on Ghost’s chest. “But you’re an even better pillow with these glorious man-titties of yours providing all this cushioning.” You snorted, planting a kiss that was equal parts playful and teasing in the valley between his pecs with a wolfish grin.

“You’re a fuckin’ slag.” Ghost muttered without any heat, the lackluster attempt to insult you completely ruined when the corner of his scarred lips quirked into a hint of a smile for a split second before his expression smoothed back into his typical stoic detachment.

“Don't try anything, I'm not in the mood.” Ghost added in a decidedly disinterested tone, though his hand moved from your shoulder to your back in order to start running his palm up and down the length of your spine in a repetitive motion that was so tender that you swore that your heart actually skipped a beat.

"You better make it up to me later then, seeing as I'm exercising self-control and all.” You said slyly as you braced your hands against the bed on either side of his torso, leaning forward to kiss Ghost with tongue.

The wet and messy kiss drew a low sound of pleasure out of him as he responded by matching your enthusiasm and passion, his own tongue twisting and pushing against yours in a half-hearted battle for dominance.

And, when Ghost’s lips finally broke away from yours, his breathing was heavier. Although, he didn’t go all that far from you considering that your noses were still touching. His hooded gaze darted from your spit-slick mouth to your eyes a few times before he surged up to kiss you again like he just couldn’t help himself, though this particular snog came across as far less lewd and more worshipful.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." Ghost murmured with a barely there smirk when he eventually separated his mouth from yours for a second time, and it took you an embarrassingly long moment for your scrambled brain to make the connection between what he had just said to your earlier comment about getting intimate.

“You’re stone cold, Simon.” You lamented dramatically, flopping back down onto his chest with a huff. Ghost grunted when you landed, probably knocking the wind out of him with the sudden and unexpected addition of your full weight dropping onto him without warning. “Worst husband ever. I want a refund.” You muttered as you tucked your face back into the crook of his neck, mostly to hide your smile because you were trying to be miffed about his smug reply to your blatant flirting.

“Good luck returning me when there’s no receipt, love.” Ghost deadpanned, though there was a thread of amusement in his tone.

“My ring is my receipt.” You retorted without missing a beat, tilting your head to the side in order to brave a peek at him, fighting a smile when you witnessed the moment that his jaw clenched in a telling manner. You didn’t even have to see his face to know that he wasn’t happy about your casual remark.

“I won’t be responsible for what happens if you ever try to give that ring back to me.” Ghost’s voice was a low, guttural rumble that reverberated through his chest and directly into your body seeing as you were all but plastered to his front.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end in an instinctive response to the threatening sound, though you weren’t actually all that intimidated despite what your hindbrain had to say about hearing such a menacing sound so close to your person.

“Oh, how ominous.” You hummed, amused despite yourself because Ghost was such a possessive guard dog, circling you with raised hackles as he gnashed his teeth at anyone who showed so much as a modicum of sexual or romantic interest in you. “Reminds me of when you hacked a terrorist's limbs off because she took your ring and threatened to melt it down before pouring the molten metal down your throat.”

“No one touches my things.” Ghost said darkly, and the protective way that his hand traveled up your back in order to cup the nape of your neck while his other arm curled tightly around your waist indicated that he wasn’t just referring to his ring.

“Like a dog with a bone.” You chuckled with a hopelessly fond smile, trailing your knuckles over his thigh to soothe him.

“More than a dog, love.” Ghost spoke in a severe voice that would make you uneasy had it been anyone else using such an unsettling tone in your vicinity. “I’m a beast hiding in the shadows, waiting to tear apart anything that might threaten you. I’m the darkness to your light, the sentinel that watches your back, the strength that holds you up when you buckle. I’m a shapeshifter, I become whatever you need me to be.”

It was probably the most you had heard him say in one go for as long as you had known him, he was a man of few words after all. He only spoke when there was something constructive or important that needed to be said, when he felt that a devil’s advocate was needed.

But what he had just said to you was nothing but a blatant declaration of his love, of his unwavering devotion.

"Fucking hell, Simon. If I hadn't already married you, I'd get down on one knee right now." You said breathlessly, rearing up onto your arms in order to stare down at Ghost with wide eyes, one of your hands raising up off the bed to gently cup his cheek. You took pleasure in the way that Ghost’s unfairly blond lashes fluttered as he leaned into your touch like a man starved, openly basking in your warmth.

"Be my beast, be my darkness, be my sentinel, be my strength. But let me be the only one who can bring you to heel, let me be the light you need when the darkness you lurk in threatens to swallow you, let me be the voice that tells your demons to back the fuck off before I declare war. Let me be your safe place." You whispered, soft and reverent.

“Till death do us part.” Ghost stated with a steadfast conviction, spoken with such unwavering certainty that a lump of emotion formed in your throat. There were no words in your vocabulary that could possibly convey how not even death would keep you from him, how you would come back to him again and again in any and all lifetimes that you shared.

Fortunately, it seemed that you didn’t have to say anything at all because Ghost had heard it, he had heard all that you couldn’t manage to say and returned the sentiment in the form of leaning up to rest his forehead against yours.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mw 2022 #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #married y/n #childhood friends #friends to lovers #domestic fluff #banter #ghost is hardcore whipped #there's nothing quite like a lazy morning in bed

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constantcrisis19 · 11 months

Text

Hell Is Empty - Part 1

Billy Hargrove x GN S/O

AN: I wanna start off by saying that this is going to be an AU. Also wanna warn people that this is gonna be a pretty dark series, the story takes place in modern day with Billy already dead, having died at 17 in 1984. So if the premise interests you, I encourage you to check it out. More in depth warnings below.

Word Count: 2,796

Warnings: Major character death, child abuse, murder, graphic depictions of violence, alcoholism, bittersweet ending.

You reluctantly switched your foot to the brake pedal to slow the car as you cruised by the old, fenced in property, nervously eyeing the silhouette of the building against the indigo sky, grimacing at the ominous sight.

You had somehow been coerced into visiting the rotting house on Cherry Lane during a party that Tara had thrown at her place, the deafening chants of encouragement and copious amounts of alcohol making you fold like a paper man.

You figured that you and the brave volunteers that offered to accompany you would check out the house and maybe poke around a little until everyone inevitably got bored when they realized that all the rumors about the house were just ghost stories and superstition, but now that you were here, you were starting to regret ever bending to peer pressure and saying yes.

Even Tara’s earlier assurance that she’d already been there once before without incident was beginning to feel less comforting, the entire property looked like a case of tetanus waiting to happen.

Thankfully, because it had been getting late, you had the frame of mind to take yourself and the four other teens who had decided to accept the dare make a quick pit stop at the hardware store in order to buy some cheap plastic flashlights.

You made sure to park a couple of blocks down so that the car wouldn’t be found by any police that might patrol the area because of the stories that circulated around town. It was no secret that the house was a kind of hotspot for thrill seekers and trespassing delinquents alike and not even the amount of people who went missing upon entering the property seemed to be a deterrent.

You carefully made your way up to the fence that surrounded the property, making sure to keep an eye out for approaching headlights as you scaled the chain link and dropping down onto the tall, unkempt grass, brushing your hands off on your jeans before directing the beam of your flashlight toward the house while you waited for the others to join you.

Though, even with his flashlight, you couldn't see a whole lot of detail, but as you moved closer, you noted that the place was just as people had described. A two story house with dusty windows and peeling white paint on the dirty, time-worn walls.

It had clearly been abandoned decades ago, the building left to rot away.

Once you were all through, Mason boldly took the lead, passing you in order to approach the front of the house. Your stomach dropped to your feet as you tracked his progress, the hair on the base of your neck rising as you suddenly became aware of the distinct feeling of being watched.

You glanced around, hoping to find the culprit among your small group, but was uneasy once seeing all of them bickering by the front door and facing away from you. You turned your attention to the opaque windows, doing a double take when you thought that you saw a silhouette standing there.

You were startled by a loud crack, whipping around to look for the source of the sound only to sigh a breath of relief when you realized that it was just one of your idiot friends noisily breaking the rusted padlock that was meant to keep people out of the house.

You looked back up at the same window, your brows furrowing in equal parts confusion and worry when the humanoid shadow you saw was nowhere to be seen, and you wrote the entire thing off as a result of the creepy atmosphere making you paranoid.

You stood in front of the looming building, your feet feeling like they were weighed down by lead as you stared at the house, hesitant to enter. You startled when Mason abruptly whistled to get your attention, waiting until you were looking at him before beckoning you to follow the rest of them inside.

Your throat clicked when you swallowed, trying to shake off the feeling of dread, and marched through the doorway of the ramshackle house with a confidence that you certainly didn’t feel.

The first thing you noticed upon stepping inside was how cold the interior of the house was compared to the humid air outside. It was currently mid July, so despite how late it was, it still felt pretty warm. And yet, despite what logic would dictate, the house felt like someone had left the air conditioning on all day, which should’ve been impossible.

“Hey, isn’t it cold in here?” You pointed out nervously, trying to share your concerns with the others as you crept further into the dilapidated house, but either no one else noticed or no one cared because Tara rolled her eyes while Mason made a dismissive noise.

“Quit reading too much into it. The house is old and drafty.” Was Mason’s flippant response before the subject was promptly dropped. Though, regardless of the fact that the others had brushed off the unnatural chill, you stayed apprehensive about the whole thing.

The five of you came to a stop only a few yards from the front door -which you had deliberately left wide open- which was kinda at a crossroads, right in the center of the entrances to the living room, second floor and basement.

You took in your surroundings, panning your flashlight across the room and taking special note of the cracked door to your left, the space beyond dropping into a black abyss that your flashlight couldn’t seem to penetrate.

The room gave you a bad feeling that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

“Everyone but Y/n, turn off your lights.” Tara commanded and there was a moment of hesitation among the group before Mason sighed and flicked his source of light off, the rest following his example until only yours was left, the soft glow helping to create an eerie atmosphere.

Tara motioned for you to aim the beam at her and you complied, the shadows cast across her face making her look incredibly sinister.

“Believe it or not, this house actually used to be occupied just a little over thirty-five years ago.” Tara began, drawing the attention of everyone in the room with her statement. “This dump looks much older than that though, doesn't it? It’s because of what happened here that the older folks refuse to go near here.”

You felt a bolt of ice crawl down your spine, and somehow you knew that this wasn’t just some campfire ghost story, she was telling the truth. There was just something inherently off about this place, causing you to once again question what the hell you were doing there.

Inebriated or not, you still had a sense of self-preservation.

“There was a teenage boy -not much older than us- who used to live here with his drunken father. He had a reputation for being a violent delinquent and was kind of a loner at school because of it.” She began, seeming to take pleasure in the group’s growing disquiet. “He would always show up with bruises and broken bones, but he brushed off any questions with stories of getting into fights or being clumsy on the rare occasion that an adult asked about them.”

“Of course, all of them knew that he was lying through his teeth, but they just didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He was already disliked among most of the school, so his situation was just ignored by the community.” She shrugged and her words struck a chord with you. You knew a little something about fading into the background.

You flinched when you heard a loud creak that originated from deep within the house, the sound catching you all off-guard. You all collectively startled at the noise, heads whipping around to try and identify the source as Tara gave a nervous laugh, stuttering through her next sentence.

“One day he just...didn't come to school and over a week passed before anyone bothered to look into his disappearance. When the police finally stopped by his house, what they discovered was the most horrifying thing they'd ever seen.”

You heard Nicole -who was standing next to you- audibly swallow, Jade shuffling closer to her boyfriend Mason, the oppressive tension winding tighter and tighter until it felt like a noose around your throat, constricting your airway.

“You see, the father owned a wood chipper that he would rent out. When it wasn’t in use he kept it stored away in the basement since there was a garage door there that made it easy for him to take it out when he needed it.” Tara continued as her gaze anxiously flicked over to the room on her left, and you felt your stomach churn, the acidic burn of bile rising to the back of your throat.

You had the feeling that you knew where the story was going and it was nowhere good.

“The teen’s dad had gone too far one day, beating the teen to death before disposing of the body in the wood chipper out back.” Tara’s smile was bitter-sweet at the various horrified reactions you all gave her before letting the other shoe drop. “At least, the father believed that he'd beaten the boy to death. In his drunken haze the man didn't realize -or just didn't care- that his son was actually still breathing. Poor kid was just unconscious.”

Your eyes widened, your breaths coming faster as your hands began to shake, making the beam of your flashlight subtly wobble. Your vision blurred with the threat of tears and you lifted a hand in order to rub at your face, hoping to clear your vision and giving you a moment to collect yourself.

You could only hope that the teen had stayed knocked out throughout the whole process, though that horrible little voice in the back of your head argued that -if his father had been half as sadistic as Tina’s story implied- then the man more than likely put the teen in feet-first and no one would be able to remain unconscious through the utter agony of being torn to shreds.

A distant bang startled the group, your head whipping around to look at the cracked door fast enough to leave you dizzy, simultaneously turning your meager beam of light to the basement door. You stubbornly kept your eyes locked onto the door even as Tara kept talking.

“With no evidence of any wrongdoing -and a lot of rumored hush money- the father got away with murder and the wood chipper was left to rust, never to be used again. And that's where it is. Just beyond that door are the steps leading into the basement where the murder weapon is.” Her voice was low and chilling, nearly a whisper as she directed a perfectly manicured finger at the door that you were currently staring at.

“But the legend doesn't end there. It’s said that the father went mad. Whether the insanity stemmed from grief or guilt or something else entirely, no one knew but it’s said that he would rant and rave to anyone who would listen about hearing footsteps every night, the voice of his son whispering to him and trying to lure him down into the basement.”

Your free hand darted up to rub at the back of your neck in an attempt to ease the way that the sensitive skin there prickled when Tara paused for maximum dramatic effect, the other girl taking a deep breath -as if she were bracing herself- before speaking again.

“And that’s where the father was discovered. Well...what was left of him.”

You could tell that the others were getting as nervous and paranoid as you the longer that you all stayed in the house and listened to Tara’s appalling story. Which, by itself, would’ve been more than enough to put everyone on edge, so the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded you was decidedly not helping.

It felt dark, angry and cold, almost as if the house itself were alive and furious on the dead teen’s behalf.

Seemingly oblivious to the threatening aura around them, Tara valiantly soldiered on through the rest of the tale. “Then one night, the father -worn down from his son’s endless torment- finally caved and joined his son in the basement, where he was then forced to go through the same thing that had been done to the teen, only the vengeful spirit made sure that drunk bastard stayed awake.”

“And all that was left of the man when the police finally went to investigate his sudden disappearance, was the gore-splattered wall of the basement. Though the town kept it quiet, turning the entire thing into a scary story people tell their children when they’re misbehaving.” She said, her voice soft and careful as if she were worried about someone listening in.

You opened your mouth to suggest cutting this little meeting short in order to leave when you noticed movement in the beam of his flashlight, your jaw snapping shut with an audible click. And, to everyone’s utter horror, the door to the fucking basement began to slowly creak open.

All of you froze like a deer in headlights, the room’s temperature dropping to arctic levels when a tan hand wrapped around the edge of the frame, wild blond curls coming into view as the figure began to lean out of the doorway.

Tara’s face blanched of color, eyes widening as she recognized who or what was standing in the door frame. The teen had a curly blond mullet and piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow unnaturally in the shadows as his gaze raked over each of you, sizing you up.

Or memorizing your faces. A voice in the back of your head unhelpfully whispered.

You could feel your hands begin to tremble and you curled your free one into a fist as the other one clutched the flashlight like a lifeline. Using your desperate grip to ground you against the odd aura he exuded, you felt like you were drowning under the disorienting mix of instincts simultaneously telling you to run away and move closer.

And despite the fact that you were the closest to the basement entrance, the blond’s didn't even acknowledge your existence, instead his sole focus was on Tara. A wide grin stretched across his face, twisting his handsome features into something nightmarish as he practically preened under everyone’s blatant fear of him.

The teen never once spoke, just silently lifted a hand to crook a finger at Tara, beckoning her to follow him and -to your utter shock- she did. Seemingly satisfied, the blond disappeared back into the darkness, leaving Tara to follow after him.

Her movements were jerky and awkward, as if she were a marionette being controlled by invisible strings, her eyes panicked as she moved toward the basement door.

You didn’t move to help because you simply couldn’t. It was as if your feet had grown roots, tethering you to the floor so you could do nothing but watch as Tara voluntarily walked to her death.

The girl sobbed as she passed through the open doorway and out of view, forcing you to rely on your hearing to track her footsteps as he descended the stairs. A few short seconds -that felt like an eternity- Tara let loose a blood-curdling scream, followed swiftly by the sound of blows landing and slurs being yelled out over her agonized cries.

Yet...no one moved.

It wasn’t until the wood chipper roared to life that you were suddenly free from whatever had held you in place, the four of you that could get away sprinting out of the house in a panic.

Though, because you were the furthest away from the exit, you couldn’t leave fast enough to be spared the worst of it. The screams of your friend rang out above the deafening rumble of the machine -shrill and terrified- before abruptly cutting off, ugly wet sounds taking its place.

You burst out the front door just in time to see Mason help Jade over the fencing, the former reaching the top of the chain link barrier as you hit the fence, causing the metal to rattle, before you begin to climb.

You dropped down to the other side and hit the ground running, following the retreating backs of the others as you made the long sprint several blocks back to the car, your shaking hands fumbling to get the keys out and unlock the doors to let everyone to themselves in before hitting the gas and putting the old house on Cherry Lane in your rear view mirror.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #alternate universe #modern au #au #ghost billy #clairvoyant reader #seriously #heed the warnings #tw: major character death #tw: murder #tw: violent death #tw: violence #tw: abuse #this is gonna be a sad one guys #I'm depressed and now you can be depressed with me #lol

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constantcrisis19 · 11 months

Text

Domestic Bliss

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I was thinking about starting a new series of one shots about a married reader and Ghost so this will be the first story I post, though it won't necessarily be the first in the timeline. I promise that it'll all make more sense when I post enough to make a masterlist.

Word Count: 2,449

Main Page

You watched with a wide grin as Gaz nearly snorted coffee out of his nose at Soap’s recount of his earlier demonstration at the demolitions range, a truly impressive display that you just so happened to be present for, the resulting blast so big and so loud that you had stopped in your tracks in order to stare wide eyed at the bright flashes of light and dark plumes of smoke along with the rest of the recruits.

You still vividly remembered the truly manic expression on Soap's face as he’d watched the chain reaction go off, the crazy Scot standing as close to the resulting explosions as he could without injuring himself while everyone else with a modicum of self-preservation stayed further back.

You noticed a familiar figure prowl into the canteen and eagerly waved to Ghost, inviting the masked man to join you. Ghost didn’t even pause his stride, instead he simply redirected his course to begin walking towards the table that you, Gaz and Soap were currently occupying.

"Hey, babe." You greeted Ghost as you absentmindedly fiddled with the wedding ring that you kept on a silver chain around your neck. You’d been married to Ghost for six years now though had known the man since you were both stupid kids.

Unfortunately, you had moved away when you hit high school and the two of you had ended up losing touch with each other over the years, so it had been a pleasant surprise when you met again in the SAS when he was still a Sergeant, the two of you often being partnered with each other on ops since you worked well together.

The two of you hit it off one you got past the awkward pining stage of your relationship and then it wasn't long before you were getting hitched, the wedding taking place a few months before Simon went to Mexico in order to take down the Zaragoza cartel with that slimy fuck Vernon and came back... different.

Quieter. More paranoid. Broken.

As usual, Ghost’s only response was a brief dull stare and a sharp nod in your direction, though you never took his antisocial tendencies to heart. He sat down on the empty seat next to you, taking the mug of coffee that you slid over to him, and though Ghost was more fond of tea than coffee, he never turned down your cup when you offered it.

“Soap was just telling Gaz about his demonstration earlier.” You clued him into the conversation as he lifted his mask up just enough to uncover the lower portion of his face, lifting the mug to his lips in order to take a swig of the steaming contents, his resulting slight grimace at the taste forcing you to turn your head away in order to hide a smile.

“Aye, Lt. Yew shuid ‘ave been there, it was glorious.” Soap sighed whimsically, you and Gaz sharing an amused look at Soap’s usual antics since he never failed to either wax poetically or confess his undying love for bombs and explosives and such at least twice a day.

"Not interested." He dismissed bluntly, his expression flat, but despite his curt tone it was fairly obvious to you and anyone who knew Ghost that he wasn’t intentionally being rude. His standoffish behavior was mostly because he was emotionally stunted, which meant that he typically defaulted to being curt when he was actually just too tired or wound up to deal with any high-energy conversations.

“That’s just because you don’t have a thrill-seeking bone in your body, old man.” Gaz quipped, finishing off his cup of coffee before grabbing one of the muffins out of the container you’d brought with you. You and Ghost had managed to get some time to yourselves yesterday so you went off base and spent the afternoon out in the nearby city and you had decided to get a treat for the other three members of the 141.

“Ha! Better be careful, Gaz, we wuidn’t want him tae break a hip tryin’ tae teach yer sorry arse a lesson.” Soap added with a shit-eating grin, Ghost pausing with his mug halfway between the table and his mouth, his dark eyes darting over to a cocky Soap, who confidently met his gaze.

“You’re both such fucking shitheads.” You said with a laugh, placing your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your palm as you watched the ensuing showdown with blatant interest. And, since popcorn wasn’t exactly available at the moment, a muffin would have to do.

With your free hand you reached out across the table and took a muffin for yourself, taking a bite of the fluffy bakery item and humming softly at the pleasant taste.

Ghost blankly stared at the two smug men sitting across from him and he was quiet for so long that you began to wonder if he was even going to respond. Though, after a few seconds had passed, he finally spoke. “We’ll settle the matter on the mat. 1300”

The smile was quickly wiped off Soap and Gaz’s faces at the prospect of fighting Ghost, even if it was strictly for training, because Ghost was known among the recruits for being ruthless even while sparring, people who dared to go up against him coming out with bruises and even the occasional dislocated bone.

“You both are so gonna eat your words.” You cackled, pulling your hand out from under your chin in order to grab one of Ghost’s hands from where they were wrapped around his mug of coffee, lacing your fingers together and resting your intertwined hands between the two of you on the tabletop.

Ghost turned his gaze away from Soap and Gaz and stared at you for a few moments before looking down at your joined hands and sighing, lightly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. You bumped shoulders with him, basking in the heat that always seemed to come off the man in waves

“You’re clingy today.” Came Ghost's flat reply, his voice containing the slightest hint of amusement, and you playfully shoved at his shoulder with a half-hearted scowl, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms over your chest instead.

“You’re such an ungrateful ass sometimes. I’ll have you know that I’m a total catch, cuddly or not.” You declared petulantly, barely able to hold back your smile when you saw Soap snicker out of the corner of your eye.

Your shove as well as your bold statement was rewarded with a faint smile spreading across Ghost’s exposed lips, the man’s emotions being much more apparent without the mask there to hide his various reactions. Though that’s not to say that it was impossible for you to tell what he was thinking when he did wear the mask since Ghost had really expressive eyes and you had several years of experience reading every subtle shift of his gaze.

"You love it." Ghost said, his flat tone was broken by a small hint of sarcasm and humor, his voice growing slightly amused as he shifted slightly to face you with a dead-pan look.

"Unfortunately." You sighed dramatically before leaning over to plant a fond, chaste kiss against his fabric covered cheek.

"Love you too, sweetheart." He said with all the enthusiasm of a brick wall.

"Love you more, stud-muffin." You said with a quirk of your brow. It wasn't a secret that one of you and Ghost's favorite games was to see who could come up with the most ridiculous pet names for the other, and you both indulged in the game so often that even other members of the 141 would play along, the game never failing to escalate and get everybody involved all sorts of riled up.

"Love you most, dandelion." His words sounded teasingly sarcastic and dry as he called you 'sweetheart', and you could have sworn that you heard a tinge of humor in that flat tone of his as he spoke.

“Aren’t you two adorable.” Gaz sighed dramatically and you flicked him off, petulantly sticking your tongue out at the other man, Gaz giving you a wide grin in response.

"Everyone shut up and let me finish my breakfast in peace." Ghost grouched, grabbing a muffin from the container and pulling a piece of the top part off, one of his quirks being that he always eats the muffin top first before moving on to the rest.

"Anything for you, pookie." You ribbed at Ghost, hearing Soap give a bark of laughter from his seat across from the two of you at the dumb nickname. You raised a brow at Ghost when he gave you a judgemental side eye, daring him to try and one up you.

“How considerate of you, buttercup.” Ghost commented neutrally, his tone dry, and you tilted your head at him, raising a questioning brow at him.

"What’s with all the flowery pet names? I expected more creativity from you, doll face." You sighed with a mock-disappointed sigh and shake of your head.

"You aren't worth the effort, honey." He deadpanned. And, while Ghost may have seemed to be insulting you from an outside perspective, it was fairly obvious going by the mirthful glint in his eyes that he was just teasing.

"If I can force myself to laugh at your shitty dad jokes, then you could at least try to think up an imaginative name for me." You said with a smile, just so that Ghost would be able to tell that you were mostly joking.

“Believe it or not, I'm not trying to impress you. You're stuck with me either way." Ghost shrugged, Soap giving a low disbelieving whistle at the bold words as you rolled your eyes.

"I think that it's safe to say that we've officially left the honeymoon phase of our relationship then." You chuckled good-naturedly, placing a hand on Ghost's thigh and squeezing before just letting your hand rest there as a soothing weight since Ghost never seemed to mind your touch.

"We're way past that. We've been married for six years now and we know each other's quirks and ticks." Ghost paused for a few seconds, pulling off another bite of muffin before continuing on. "We know how to get under each other’s skin, but I still wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me neither, love bug." You smirk in thinly veiled amusement and triumph, and Ghost dropped his holier-than-thou attitude and rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname.

"You always know what to say to lighten the mood, honey-bun." Ghost drawled as he stripped the wrapper off his muffin in order to begin digging into the bottom half of the baked treat, his voice sounding equal parts sarcastic and genuine.

“Yew two are fuckin’ cracked, a true match made in hell.” Soap piped up as he started in on his third muffin, crumbs covering the majority of the table in front of him. And though some people found Soap’s messy eating habits disgusting, you actually thought his toddler-esque way of eating was somewhat endearing.

“You’re just mad cause you weren’t able to be Ghost’s best man at the wedding.” You replied with a cheeky grin, leaning across the table to flick Soap’s scarred eyebrow.

“I dinnae even know Lt yet! An’ it's not my fault tha’ yew impatient bastards cannae ‘ave waited a couple more years before gettin’ hitched.” Soap was quick to defend himself, abandoning his food in favor of gesticulating wildly as he complained.

“Fuck off, angel face.” You said good-naturedly, placing your palms flat on the table and leaning into Soap’s personal space, the man mirroring your movements.

“Never, ya wee feral bairn.” He shot back without missing a beat as he shifted even closer, slowly but steadily closing the distance between your faces.

“Teddy bear.” You happily continued your banter with a mischievous grin, pushing forward until your noses were practically brushing as you stared each other down.

“Both of you shut it.” Ghost interrupted your battle of wills, grabbing your forearm and gently pulling you back down into your seat, his hand sliding down your arm until he reached your hand before lacing your fingers together, squeezing in a wordless reprimand.

“So, how was the wedding? Seeing as we weren't there.” Gaz broke the companionable silence that had descended over the four of you, popping the last of his muffin into his mouth before washing it down with the last of his coffee.

“An’ who was Ghost's best man?” Soap tacked on almost as an afterthought as he leaned back in his seat as far as he could get away with without losing his balance and toppling over ass over teakettle.

“First of all, Price was the best man, which is only fair since he's the one who introduced us to each other.” Well, more like reintroduced, but you weren't about to get hung up on the schematics.

You brought your shoulder up into a nonchalant little shrug, absentmindedly tapping the fingers of your unoccupied hand on the tabletop aa you ignored Gaz and Soap's twin looks of surprise in favor of continuing. “And our wedding wasn’t anything over the top. It was just a small ceremony in a secluded church with a short guest list. We both agreed that we didn’t want to make a huge fuss.”

“And you were cool with a modest wedding? No extravagant flowers or decorations or cake?” Gaz asked, his brows furrowed and you could see where the confusion was coming from since the media made most people feel like the average wedding was supposed to be huge and expensive.

Though that being said, you wouldn’t necessarily have minded something lavish like that, you just didn’t really feel that all the fanfare was necessary for you and Simon. You were both well aware of how much you loved each other, so you mutually agreed that you didn’t need some big ceremony to prove your devotion to each other.

“As far as I’m concerned, all I needed was Simon.” You said, turning your gaze to Ghost and bringing your joined hands up to your mouth in order to plant an affectionate kiss onto the back of his hand.

Ghost stared at you for a short moment, looking a bit caught off guard, before he managed to pull himself together. He moved closer, leaning down and tilting his head in order to place his lips against yours in a soft kiss, letting the connection linger before pulling away just far enough to speak, his breaths fanning intimately across your lips.

“And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that you’ll never want for anything else.”

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