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cthulhusstepmom · 8 months

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It was really just Ghost's luck, this entire series of fucking calamities. First and foremost leave, which at this point he felt he had well enough in hand. At least he had until one John MacTavish had clambered into his life. Ghost had been perfectly content with coming and going, haunting his bare bones flat in Manchester when he was unwanted and unneeded on base. Sure he liked Kyle and Price well enough but living on top of each other crammed into shoe boxes did little for wanting to stick around unduly; besides Price taking leave was a rare occurrence and Gaz had a busy life off base that he slipped in and out of like an otter in a stream(good god if Ghost never heard about another rave or awkward morning after of Kyle Garrick plus however many guests it would be too soon). But he wanted to be with Soap, Johnny made the shitty bunks and the paper thin walls worth it. Made the constant running and gunning feel like more than just a macabre 9-5.

Made Ghost feel alive again.

This would be the first major leave since Last Almas, at least a month and a half of hard earned rest and relaxation in the comfort of their own beds. Ghost was dreading it. The nightmares were always worse in his flat, the pseudo domestic setting bringing forth memories of bloody puddles and broken crayons instead of the tried and true reruns of his own torture and burial. His therapist had told him to put more of himself into his flat, to try and make the place a safe haven even if it wasn't really a home. The problem with that was quite simple, there wasn't anything left of Simon Riley to give. At least there wasn't until Soap. Until the long buried human part of his brain was rudely shaken awake by a tirade of Scottish nonsense and good-natured touches. And now he was just supposed to leave and go back to the barren walls and sterile rooms of his little holding cell.

To make things even better in this home that wasn't home, the first thing he smelled upon crossing the threshold was an overwhelming odor of mildew and mold. Finding the source had been easy enough, sometime between now and last whenever the fuck he'd left last a pipe had burst and flooded the whole place; ruining the carpet and corrupting the few furnishings he had with dark black mold. His first call had been to building maintenance and they'd been quick to give him an estimate on just how long he had to stay the fuck out of the flat, at least a month funny that. The next call had been to Price, with no answer. Bastard was probably sipping expensive whiskey on the beach somewhere warm. Intellectually he knows that Gaz would offer him his spare room but he would rather not be subject to the conga line of mostly unclothed people Gaz apparently has traipsing through his condominium at any given hour. Which leaves him a single option.

Soap doesn't answer. Probably due in large part to the fact that Ghost doesn't call him.

Logically he knows that the Sergeant probably wouldn't turn him away, Johnny just isn't wired that way. But the element of surprise has served him well and in this fucked scenario going into the blind, Ghost will take all the cards he can shove up his sleeve.

It's not much to go off of, just the address he memorized from Johnny's file, but with the magic of modern technology he finds the little flat soon enough. The drive to Edinburgh is pleasant if long and the weather is mockingly mild. All setting the stage for another calamity as Ghost finds himself standing on the stoop of his Sergeant's flat (he ought to recognize by now that the universe forbids him from having a good day). He raps sharply on the wood of the door three times before he can convince himself that sleeping under a bridge is a better plan of action. It takes a minute or two before he hears anything, cursing himself for thinking that Johnny is even at home, before a muffled crash and wicked cursing within the flat signals that this is the right place and, for better or worse, Johnny's home. Ghost locks his knees and tries to figure out what to do with his hands as the cacophony grows closer.

"Sorry aboot tha, was wrapped up in tha studio- Ghost?"

Ghost opens his mouth to reply but the words fall right out of his head and onto the well loved welcome mat as his eyes take in his Sergeant. His hands are smeared with what his untrained eye assumes is paint, the flecks of color dance up his forearms and over the old t shirt he's wearing. His hair is loose and longer than it usually is, no sense in gelling it back on leave he supposed. But what really stops his mind from working is the thin band of black leather wrapped around Soap's neck, clasped with a shiny silver buckle.

A fucking collar.

Before Ghost can pull his thoughts together, he's being dragged by the front of his sweatshirt into the flat and pressed against the wall so the door can swing forcefully shut.

"Is everything ok? You in trouble?" Johnny asks, concern burning in his eyes.

"Pipe burst in my flat, thought I'd ask if I could surf your couch." He manages to choke out, eyes lingering on the way the leather hugs his subordinate's neck.

"Of course yeh can yeh numpty! Gave me a right fucking scare ya big bastard, showing up all silent on my doorstep. Coulda called, even sent a text eh Ghost. I was at the shops this morning, if I would've known you were coming I woulda shopped for two." Soap releases his hold on the fabric and allows Ghost room to leave the wall.

"Wear that shopping didya?" Is about the most coherent thing he can manage.

Soap looks at him confused before a hand travels up to his throat and a look of dread crosses his features.

"Oh shite."

A blazing red blush heats the tips of his Sergeant's ears, travelling down to his cheeks and collarbones as he runs a hand over his face.

"S'not what it looks like I promise, I don't even wear it oot most of the time." Most of the time? "It just reminds me of a throat mic; S' grounding, my shrink called it a sensory thing? I dinnae ken, but if it helps it helps y'ken-" the bubbling fountain of embarrassed explanation that flows from Soap's lips doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

Ghost reaches out a hand and pinches his bicep.

"-Ow, fuck was that for?"

"Johnny look at me, think I can judge how you dress on leave?" The skull print gaiter goes a lot further than any words to prove his point. Paired with sunglasses and a black baseball cap it's close enough to a mask to prevent a total mental breakdown.

Johnny looks over his visage with understanding eyes, nods gravely once and then turns towards the innards of the flat.

"Awright, let's get you set up! Loo is over there, it's a wee bit cramped so you can use my shower, here's the living room and ma bedroom is through there, that right there is the studio it was the second bedroom but it had the best lighting-" Ghost follows obediently, halfheartedly taking in bright decor that sings with Soap's frenetic energy.

How the fuck is he gonna survive Soap wearing that around the house?

#Headcanon: Soap wears a collar when he's alone because it grounds him #this little tidbit appeared magically in my drafts this morning cause midnight is the writer's hour #Ghost wont make fun of him for it(he'd bw a hypocrite) but when they get back he will joke about keeping a leash on him #still working on multichapter Fae!Soap extravaganza its gonna be swag #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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nyushkawritesstuff · 3 months

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People be saying "minors dni" and then interact with stuff that was so painfully obviously written by a fourteen year old that came straight from wattpad smh

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pokemonruby · 3 months

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the durge: i'm terrified that i'm going to keep killing innocents. you need to put an end to me already. astarion: baby my body count is way higher than yours, get to the back of the line.

#brother it is NOT a competition!#riley rambles #got to that “scene” in act 2 with romanced astarion. it was a fucking ride (and i kept having to reload because of failed rolls LMAO)#also astarion's 'nuh-huh. we /ask/ before we bite' i love him. hypocritical bastard.#he and minthara are perfect for the durge. we love partners who support your atrocities and feral bloodlust.

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katebacks · 1 year

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Ok so, let me see if I understood it correctly: There is a bunch of guys who are pissed that girls are buying and playing COD MWII just because of Ghost? Like, bitch what???? So they can sexualize female characters, make porn videos with Lara Croft, Cortana and even Ellie from The Last of Us, who is UNDER AGE by the way, and we can't even call Ghost daddy??? Real men are literally the end of the world. Bunch of hypocrites. They're just mad cause Simon is getting a lot of bitches and they got nothin.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mwii #fucking hypocrites

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liveshauntedmoved · 1 year

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“Do you think we should put a leash on Maya? She’s... a bit unhinged. She’s going to get herself hurt.”

sc | @youthstclen

#ft riley grimmes ( youthstclen )#youthstclen #i feel like that is hypocrital of eddie to say about maya they're both unhinged in diffefrent ways

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casiia · 4 months

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simon riley hates when you smoke, so whenever he feels the need to smoke he’ll wait until you’re sleeping or busy because he knows you’ll want to join him. he’ll sneak onto the balcony and light a cigarette; hold it between his index and middle finger, take a long drag and tilt his head back to watch the smoke puff from his mouth.

the sound of the door sliding makes him shut his eyes, he only sighs and drops his head slightly, moving away from the banister and sitting on the mini couch.

leaning forward to take another pull from the cigarette, he leans back into the cushion and looks you up and down. he rolls his eyes at your face, pouty lips and wide eyes glued to his hands — the smoking cig that burns ash onto his clothes.

tapping his thigh, he shifts his hips upwards before spreading his legs. in an instant you’re straddling his hips, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before reaching for the cigarette that he’s holding. simon only shakes his head and pulls his hand away from yours, sitting up slightly and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“no,” he grumbles. pulling you into his chest, he returns the gesture and pecks you on the lips. when you whine and squirm in his hold he has to bite back a grunt, his eyes hardening as you frown with glances towards the cigarette.

“don’t be like that, si.” you say, trailing your hands down his shoulders and squeezing around his biceps. you lean forward and bump your nose with his, smelling the tobacco that lingers on him. “give me a taste.”

simon knows that he’s being a hypocrite. you don’t smoke often, and majority of the times when you join him outside are when he’s smoking first. he influences you, but he has his urges and sometimes can’t wait til’ you’re away.

begrudgingly, he loosens his hold on you, rubbing your arm as a gust of wind breezes through your hair. simon tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before he settles his hand on the back of your neck.

“open your mouth.”

a smile grows on your lips and without much thinking you’re doing exactly what you’re told. you watch as simon leans forward, you can feel his chest rise from underneath your hands as he inhales. ash begins to fall from the end and you swipe away at his shirt, small smudges staining the soft material.

simon’s fingers gingerly squeeze the back of your neck, he tugs you towards him until you’re lips are just barely hovering his. his thumb caresses your jaw before he blows the smoke into your mouth, humming when you inhale it and lean into him for more.

when you tilt your head away to blow out the smoke, he turns you back to him before pressing his lips to yours. the subtle taste of tobacco that strays on your tongue makes him groan. and times like these make him hate smoking with you a little less.

#[ *ೃ༄ — 𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒. ]#i forgot what this is called #when you blow smoke into someone else’s mouth #( 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 ᡣ𐭩 ྀིྀ )#simon riley #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty

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moondirti · 22 days

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(first time doing a ask bare with me)

pretty please a continue of the house distribution thing. the fic where she does military housing to afford rent. just a continuation please 🙏🏽

feel free to skip if your mind is just blank with ideas for it x

simon riley / afab! reader • part one cw: dubcon, intoxication, spanking, wedgies, degradation, dacryphilia, very mild puppy play (mostly just pet names)

"Well, aren' you a sight."

Much like the lamplight, his voice is low. Mocking, almost. You'd think he were amused if it weren't for the dangerous way his eyes assess your sorry state, raking the lines of your bare legs to the way your dress wraps tight around your chest. It almost escapes you that he's maskless at first, so entranced by the glint of his pupils, the shadowed irises that pinch a deep, very primal nerve in you.

His lips curl into an uneven sneer, scar dissecting the bottom and running down to his chin. You wipe your nose with the heel of your hand, giving your best attempt at an apathetic shrug.

"I had fun."

"Did'ya now?" He laughs humourlessly. "Mus' have different ideas of fun, me and you. Can' see the fun in getting pissed out'f my mind, worryin' the people in your life by stayin' out s'late."

Spite flares, fear slinking back your throat to make room for the petulance that froths on your tongue like venom. It completely poisons his admission to the fact that he'd been worried, turns it into something pathetic and hypocritical. You storm closer. Wild. Angry.

"That's fucking rich coming from you. What is your idea of fun, then, Lieutenant? Tormenting women who open up their home to you? Walking in on them in the bathroom, pissing all over the fucking seat? Does it grant you satisfaction to make people so uncomfortable that they'd rather be anywhere but with you?"

His jaw tenses, a "careful, pet." grunted under his breath, but he makes no move to stop you. Just continues sitting on your couch, legs spread, simmering. Waiting for you to tire out.

"Shut the fuck up. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can hardly be at bloody peace in my own house anymore! You're- You're... A fucking nightmare, Riley! So excuse me if I went out and enjoyed myself when I haven't been able to do so in weeks!"

By the end of your little tirade, you're an even worse mess than you had been before. Flyaways stick to your sweaty temple, mascara rims your blown eyes. Your panting does nothing to calm the frantic race of your heart, which beats at your ribcage like doldrums to war. You can feel the effects of it everywhere; your pulse, hot and quick, at your eyebrow, your wrists, the arch of your foot.

Riley stands. Your lip trembles.

You're so close now that your gaze is level with his chest. Tall. You'd forgotten how tall he was. Or how wide. Or dangerous. His biceps – bare given his tight-fitted t-shirt, tree-trunk large and enough to crush watermelons – tense, and all-too-suddenly, you find your jaw clutched in a bruising grip. He jerks your head up so your eyes meet his.

"Simon." He mutters. "But you don't get to call me tha', or anything at all but Sir."

"Letmegomff–" You're rendered mute when his thumb and forefinger press your cheeks together, but that certainly doesn't stop you from whining.

"Y'wanna know my idea of a good time?" Purely rhetorical, of course. Aside from not being able to answer him, it doesn't matter what you want. There's a clear direction this seems to be heading towards – someplace where the hand pawing your ass continues lower, or where the length in his pants fits down your throat. Someplace not unwelcome by you, despite the way you thrash and cry in his arms. "It's putting foul things like you in their place."

He shucks your dress over your ass, the fabric bunching around your waist, and hooks a fist in the waistline of your soaked panties. Your mind is so foggy, influenced by shitty tequila and the subspace Simon bullies you into embracing, that you don't process the cause of your pain immediately. Don't correlate it to the way he pulls upward, your underwear bunching into a tight line that cleaves between your ass-cheeks and rubs abrasively against your poor clit. Don't– can't confront it until the force literally picks you up off the floor, toes barely touching the ground, held up by a wedgie and the grip around your jaw alone.

Tears spring to your lash line, tracing miserable treks down your cheeks. His thumb swipes what it can away, pushing the salty water into your mouth, and stays there while you lap at his calloused fingertips.

"There we go. Look at you, brainless mutt. Jus' need something on your cunt and something in your mouth to keep you quiet, hm? Happy to hang li'e this for hours, I bet."

Your muffled yell is met with another laugh, thumb pushing deeper into your mouth to shut you up.

"Shh, I know. Still need'ta be taught a lesson. I haven' forgotten." The stitches on your panties begin to tear, the rips loud and relieving, especially when you start to sag back down to the floor. Simon doesn't take it with any kind of urgency, though he cocks his head at the way you blink up at him, lashes fanning in rapid succession. An unspoken, desperate plea. "Was gonna hold out, get you sobered up for your punishment. But you're practically itchin' for it, aren' you?"

He puppets your head into an enthusiastic nod, which he meets with a faux huff.

"Course you are." The forbearing quality of his tone is promptly betrayed by the way you're manhandled over his lap. Pivoting one hand opposite to the other, he's able to sit on the couch and get you thrown over his thighs in a mere matter of seconds. "Normally I'd make y'count, but I figure you're too far gone for that. Jus' try to keep your wailing quiet."

Your underwear gives in with a final tug, ripping from the soaked gusset to become nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric around your hips. Simon swipes the tattered remains off your raised bottom, taking longer than necessary to smooth over the area. It's all the indication you need to what's coming – his rough palm teases the nerve endings below your softer skin, bringing them to frenzied life. Preparing them to hurt.

When he breaks away, you hold your breath.

The air behind you whistles as his hand comes down.

A sharp, resounding crack fractures the baited silence of the room. Your mouth flies open. Searing pain roars across your backside like wildfire, worsening every second it's exposed to open elements. Your scream is belated, thunder to the lightening, tearing from your throat only after the initial shock subsides.

A series of lighter blows land on alternating cheeks, two fingers returning to gag you through the onslaught. Unlike his thumb, these reach the very back of your tonsils, prompting wet gags as they fondle with your throat. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, slicking your chin with lipstick-tinted fluid.

"Fuckin' beautiful when you're not givin' an attitude, puppy. All stupid and submissive, cunt droolin' on my lap."

You groan, choke, then cry some more when his spanks grow incrementally harsher again. Gratefully, they're never in the same place twice. He beats the top of your thighs, your lower back, the sides of your hips. Your cheeks especially, which start to emit a steady kind of heat the longer he keeps it up.

Eventually, as a matter of coping, your brain starts to consider the cruel sting as pleasurable instead, sending little bolts of pleasure directly to your clit every time his hand comes down on your ass. It swells, fattening up with blood, pressing tighter against the steady mass of his thigh. Inadvertently, you start rutting against it to find more of the same relief, humping his leg like the dog he's making you out to be.

It doesn't escape his notice, of course.

His foot pushes one of your flailing ankles outward so that your legs are spread, pussy made vulnerable to his scrutiny. The next slap is thus aimed straight at your fluttering hole, slick doing nothing to affect his deadly precision. When it lands, it lands exactly where he meant for it to, and introduces you to a whole other degree of pain that has you seeing stars. You're openly bawling around his fingers now, vision so cloudy you can't tell light from dark.

"Didn' like tha', did you?"

"Nngh– nmmph!"

"There's more where it came from, pup. Best listen to everythin' I say from now on, then, 'less you wan' your little hole beat black 'n' blue."

Simon stresses his point by tracing the seam of your cunt, collecting the lubrication there to smear across the hotspot at the top. Presses into it. Grants you a little gratification, as if to say: and here's what you can have if you behave.

"You gonna be a good pet?"

This time, he withdraws his fingers from your maw. Expects a response, even though it takes you ages to recover from the lack of oxygen. You swallow the saliva pooling behind your teeth, inhaling ragged gasps that make your lungs ache.

He pinches your clit when you take too long. Lightly, but it's enough.

"Yes! Yes, s-sir. I'll be good."

#please no one mention this degenerate piece of writing to me ever again #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #tw dubcon #༄dee answers #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x afab reader #call of duty #cod

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duck-era-lexi · 2 years

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oh i forgot to add the dialogue tag for yellow, it’s gianna! these two live on the top floor together (only girls) and they’re not necessarily friends, but like kinda forced proxy i guess.

we love a problematic queen (gia is problematic too but in a mean-girl way). gia is the only one who knows about ana’s crush bcuz yk, they all live in the same house.

#ana is hypocritical bcuz gia is very similar to riley in personality #or...?#*anastasia #spring showers #*gianna

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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

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Hi, your last post about reader not knowing that it was sa, I saw that and I wanted to request something. What if reader knows that she have been through it but she mentions this as a joke, she says it and just keep going like she said something silly. How would the boys (141 + konig) react?

(I do this sometimes and I don’t like it, but it feels like some kind of copying mechanism)

I’m sorry if this was too much, do not feel that u need to write this.

Anyway, thank u so much and take care

Honestly I make out of pocket jokes about my own trauma all the time, so I feel this

tw: mentions of trauma, brief mentions of sexual assault- nothing graphic or descriptive, humor as a coping mechanism, comfort

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Whiplashed so hard his neck is broken

“You bein’ serious?”

You explain what happened but you’re a little too blasé about it, he understands humor as a coping mechanism but this is a little serious

And by ‘a little’ I mean very

“Love, you can’t just drop a bomb like that.” He tries to soften his tone but his rage at what you’ve just told him is starting to seep through

He doesn’t realize he’s being a little hypocritical, we’ve all heard his “army humor” so he really doesn’t have a lot of room to talk. But the fact that it happened to you has blinded him to that fact. It’s not that you can’t make jokes, it’s that you shouldn’t have to because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

He doesn’t even let you apologize before he’s pulling you into his arms, hands shaking, doing his best not to imagine what kind of sick fuck would do that to you

“Simon, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” His tone is firm and he’s refusing to let you go, so instead of arguing, you opted to melt into his embrace. Hands running up and down his back and as he’s kissing the crown of your head he’s wondering how worthwhile it’d be to give the fucker a visit. Maybe teach him a lesson or two.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

Laughing with your joke at first but then it hits him like a ton of bricks

“Beg your pardon?”

You explain the joke and the context with a dismissive laugh before going back to what you were doing and he’s just frozen in place

Someone… hurt you… in one of the most awful ways imaginable, and you’re laughing it off?

He’s not sure if he should be in awe at your resilience or concerned at your choice of coping mechanism, so he takes a gentle approach

“Bonnie, you know you can talk to me, aye?”

“I know, I just… don’t want to burden you with it. I mean, it’s not like it’s your fault it happened.” He’s holding your hands in his, gently massaging the space between your thumb and your index finger,

“Aye that’s true, but it’s you. And I love you, good and bad included.” He gently held the back of your head and kissed your forehead,

“Anytime you feel like talkin’ I’m here. Copy?”

He doesn’t usually bring work jargon home but he knows it gets a laugh from you, and sure enough your little giggle proved him right

“Copy.”

John Price:

The whiplash also broke his neck

“Sorry, what?”

His heart broke when you explained yourself and whined that the explanation ruined the punchline

“Sweetheart, that’s no laughin’ matter.” His tone was gentle as he approached you, hands hesitantly coming to rest on your hips, suddenly unsure of himself

“Honey, I’m fine. It’s how I cope.”

“I know, and there’s nothin’ wrong with that. Just, maybe, talk to me about it instead, yeah?” One of his hands came up to cup your cheek and you closed your eyes and leaned into the warmth of his palm, trapping it between your cheek and your shoulder

“I don’t wanna be a downer, John.”

“Never. I’m more concerned for your well-being than bloody mood. Am I clear?” As you looked in his eyes, you saw nothing but honesty and genuine concern, so you nodded

You closed your eyes and kissed his palm before he pulled you in to a tight embrace.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He heard you say it and weakly laughs before stopping as he chews on the words a little more

“Wait, what was that?”

And when you’re passively explaining it to him in the same way you’d talk about the weather he is in shock

He’s not sure if you’re trying to put on a brave face if you’re as nonchalant as you seem. He’s inclined to believe it’s the former.

“Babe that’s no joke. That’s kind of serious.”

“Don’t sweat it, Kyle. It’s how I’ve dealt with it. I’ve got it.”

He’s unsure but at the same time if it’s really worked for you so far then there’s no harm in letting it continue right? Wrong. He’s a little uncomfortable but it’s more so because it happened to you, someone he loves so deeply and he can’t fathom the idea

“Well yeah, I get that. But maybe we can talk about it when you feel like joking about it?” He shrugs, his words cautious and carefully chosen as he makes his suggestion

“I just want you to be alright. Ok?” His arms are rubbing yours before he’s pulling you into a hug, “I’ll always be here for you, babe.”

König:

Not a single chuckle from this man as he’s chewing over the words in his head

“Schatz, what’d you just say?”

When you explained what happened with a shrug and an all too casual tone, he’s tasting iron in his mouth from how hard he’s biting his cheek

He doesn’t want you to think he’s angry at you, never in a million years, but jesus christ schatz, surely there’s no way?

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you, he just can’t believe it happened to you, you’re the light of his life, his reason for existing, you’re the morning sun and the midnight moon, he’s truly in shock

“König?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts and in two short steps he was in front of you, sinking to his knees and hugging your middle. He’s buried his face in your shoulder as your arms wrap around his shoulders and you run your fingers through his hair.

“Liebling, please don’t make those jokes anymore, ok?” His voice is so small and fragile, you almost felt like it was a child talking instead of the 6’ something behemoth at your feet, “I can’t stand to hear that you’ve been hurt like that.”

“König it’s ok, really. Humor is how I cope.” You kiss the crown of his head and your chin against it,

“I know, liebling, I know but I’d much rather you talk to me ok? Please? For me?”

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wttcsms · 8 months

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time, mystical time (cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine) ; simon "ghost" riley.

pairing simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count 3.3k synopsis snapshots of the defining moments in ghost's life. content contains slight angst, mild descriptions of alcohol abuse (ghost's father) + domestic abuse (non-explicit desc., but the act itself is mentioned various times), a bit of tiny look into my take on ghost's background, nsfw content, slight size kink, breeding kink, creampie, domestic fluff, pregnant!reader in some scenes, children (dad!ghost) author's notes takes place in this au & honestly is a lot more enjoyable of a read if you read that fic (+ the other connected one shots [go on my masterlist]). fun fact: simon is referred to as simon in the scenes with only you and his family. he's ghost anywhere else.

His mother had always told him that as a baby, he was always rather quiet. Scared her half to death, she would say, ‘cause he’d rarely ever cry. Even the doctor got worried when he first came out.

Looking back at his childhood — perhaps the lack thereof — Simon assumes it’s probably instinctual. With a deadbeat drunk of a father armed with a heavy hand, being quiet probably saved Simon’s life more times than he wants to admit. He’d be knocked upside the head for the littlest of reasons, shouted at for even less.

I’m the man of the house.

His father’s slurred justifications for doling out unfair punishments ring through the dark halls of his childhood home. Simon hears it while he cowers inside his closet. His room is dark because his father doesn’t believe in nightlights, and mum got slapped hard for daring to go against his wishes and trying to sneak Simon one. She thinks he didn’t see it, but Simon sees a lot more than he should. Since then, he’s been sleeping in the dark. It’s not so scary anymore.

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway.

It’s stuffy in the closet, and he knows it’s stupid to hide here because dad will find him any second now. The punishment is bad when he gets to drinking, and it gets worse whenever Simon tries to hide.

A loud thump against his door makes Simon hold his breath. Then, the door bangs open from the weight.

Kicking doors open comes second nature to Lieutenant Riley.

The loud crash of the door popping from the rusty hinges shocks the poor girls previously trapped behind them. All of them stay huddled together, staring fearfully at the loud, big men toting even louder, bigger guns. The hollowed cheeks, hopeless eyes, and array of bruises on their skin makes him sick. It’s a hot summer’s day, and Simon hates that after all this time, his observation from his childhood still stands true:

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway.

A bit hypocritical, he supposes. After all, he walks around in broad daylight, and he’s certainly no saint.

With the help of the rest of his extraction team, Ghost makes quick work of herding all the girls out of this depressing underground prison and out into a free world. He’s careful to be gentle with his touches, nothing more than a gentle guiding hand. Even with his gloves, he can’t be certain he’s not tainting them. Sins don’t wash away as easily as blood does.

He’s the last one to leave, but he doesn’t exit alone.

For a while, he felt a tight grip on his arm. Someone’s been clinging onto him this whole time, and with everything that’s happened, he can’t find it in his heart to shake them off. With no other distractions present, he finally turns to see who’s gotten so attached to him.

This is it.

This is the moment where Simon Riley claims his life begins.

It’s such a juvenile feeling, he thinks. Waiting for his phone to ring, wondering why you haven’t texted or called. It’s so silly. So what he saved your life? It’s not like you owe him anything. It’s his job. He had a duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

Besides, he’s an asshole. Not the type of asshole who thinks he’s entitled to your company since he rescued you, but the type where Soap and the rest of the team aren’t too surprised he doesn’t have anyone to come home to.

He can’t sleep.

It’s been weeks since he gave you that burner phone. Surely you would have called, even sent a simple “hello”, if you really wanted to. He knows there’s not much to do in that facility. He knows that you haven’t been sleeping well. He knows that he should go to sleep; he’s got an early flight to catch in an active warzone, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna get any semblance of rest as a result.

Instead of sleeping, he’s grabbing his own burner phone off the nightstand and staring at the screen. It’s a simple enough task, really. He can just head straight to his contacts list and click the only one that’s there. Isn’t it traditional for the guy to call first, anyway? Or is he just fooling himself into thinking that you’re waiting for him to make the first move? Do you want him to make the first move?

He’s never experienced this before. This newfound, boyish anxiety. The equal mixture of both hopelessness and hope churning in his stomach every time he sees you; do you think of him as much as he thinks of you? The question is then followed by a decisive no. He hasn’t survived this long because of blind optimism, so there’s no point in indulging in it now.

Will you come back then?

You looked up at him while asking this question, and you looked like an angel unfairly punished to walk alongside man. He wanted to spend the rest of his life constructing a stairway to heaven that you could use to make it back to your rightful home. When you look that beautiful and then proceed to ask him a question, what else was he supposed to say besides,

Whenever you want me to.

Perhaps God truly is as merciful as he is all-seeing, because after a minute of contemplation and staring longingly at your contact, his phone screen lights up with the notification he’s prayed for (the only thing he’s ever prayed for, really).

You’re calling him.

And true to his word, he’s on his way.

He’s never said I love you before, and as a result, he’s too scared to make his first attempt to do so, even though you just told him those three words yourself.

(He might tower over you, but looks can be deceiving. Simon thinks you’re much stronger and braver than him, in all the ways that matter.)

I love you.

He resists the urge to beg you to say it again and again and again, on repeat for the rest of your lives.

He doesn’t say it back immediately, but he does let you take off his mask for the first time.

He doesn’t realize that the wide-eyed, awestruck, soft gleam in your eyes as you take him in, fully, for the first time is the same starry-eyed look he gets whenever he looks at you. He has a feeling you’re well aware of it, but now he finds the courage to confirm it.

“I love you.”

And with a smile that could bring him back to life, all you have to say is, “I know.”

His mask is in your hands, after all.

“You never quite outgrow it, do ya?” Tommy’s got his hands in his pockets, but Simon can still picture the wedding band on his younger brother’s finger. He had been happy when Tommy tied the knot with Beth, if not a bit jealous.

Now, though, Simon’s got his own wedding band. It’s tucked underneath his uniform, hanging from the same chain his dog tags are. It rests against his chest, in a spot closest to his heart, right where it — you — belong.

Dad’s dead. Tommy says mum cried, but he couldn’t understand why. After all, she’s the one who faced his wrath for the longest. She’s been on the receiving end of all his harshness. She’s the one who’s taken the most hits, the hardest hits. Simon nods in agreement but doesn’t tell his brother that he thinks he might know why.

Simon knows his mother is a good woman. A long time ago, his father wasn’t the man he knew growing up. He doesn’t know when the change in his personality happened, and Simon somehow feels like it’s his fault. He was the catalyst, the trigger. While she was pregnant with him, that’s when the violence and the drinking and the anger started. He knows mum isn’t crying to mourn the man he became; she’s just finally safe to grieve about the man she loved and lost. Simon hasn’t been able to face her in a while since he’s come to the conclusion that his being born was the cause of everything horrible that has happened to her.

“No, I suppose not,” Simone says. The house feels smaller than he remembers, but when he walks into his childhood bedroom, he’s transported to darker times. The room is as big as the whole world again. This room, this damn house, is his only world. He’s nine and cowering in fear again. He’s little again. He’s scared again. He wants to run away, but his scrawny little legs won’t let him. Dad won’t let him.

Then he blinks and realizes that the room hasn’t changed all that much.

Within the next week, Simon gets the house demolished and the land sold.

“Ta-da!” You present to him a knitted, baby-blue blanket. The beginning stitchwork is sloppy at best with considerable improvement the further he looks. Between every thread, Simon can practically feel the love that’s stitched in it.

“You like it?” You ask him, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s perfect.”

“Liar!” Your laugh rings through the cabin, and Simon feels like he’s being bathed in sunlight from the warmth of the sound alone. It’s distinctly yours, and he doesn’t want to be the barbarian who just takes and takes, but he wants it all to himself. He wants to catch it from the air and stuff it in his pockets and save it for when he’s in a foreign country and can’t sleep at night.

“Why would I lie? It’s perfect.” You’re perfect.

“I messed up, like, five times trying to get this damn thing started! And it was so hard to get into a good groove since Simon Jr. thinks he’s a little football player. He’s been kicking like crazy!” To prove your point, you get closer to Simon and take one of his large hands, placing it on your growing belly. He’s sitting, surrounded by tools and pieces of a crib that he’s trying to build, and all he can do is look up in admiration at you, the most beautiful woman to walk this earth, an angel too good for this world, the mother of his child, his wife, you. Your hand is on top of his, and you squeeze it gently, and he loves the way the diamond on your wedding ring glitters in the sunlight.

“He’s a strong one, alright.” Simon chuckles, feeling the way his son bumps against your belly.

“Must get it from you, then.”

That’s funny. Simon was just about to say that he’s pretty sure he gets it from you.

When he’s with you, Simon likes to take things slow. He can be rough at times, demanding and conquering you with nothing but brute strength and vulgar compliments. Like a true soldier, you take all of his transgressions in stride.

Tonight is one of the nights where Simon will indulge and finally take things slow. He likes to savor every moment he gets with you because no matter how much time has passed, the pessimist in him doesn’t stop reminding him that time is fickle, and the future is never promised.

But Simon wants to build a future with you. Simon has built a future, but he’s greedy. So, so greedy. He wants more, he wants all of you, he wants everything you’re willing to give him. The way you part your legs for him, how you willingly — lovingly — let him in, even though nature resists.

No matter how many times he’s split you open on his cock, even with the slickness of the previous two orgasms he so happily wrung out from you, there’s still resistance as the width and length of his cock struggle to slide into your cunt.

“It’s okay, love, let me in.” His whispers of reassurance are barely heard over your little whimpers. You’re nodding, trying to be a good girl for him, but the fact of the matter is that Simon Riley is incredibly too big. He is a god among men, and you find yourself squeezing his hand tightly as the first few inches of his cock make its way into your warmth.

“I know, darling.” He mumbles, but his gentle words are spoken roughly. Desire coats every syllable, and his voice is gravelly. He’s holding back, restraining himself from giving in and giving it to you roughly. His hand, so much larger than your own, squeezes back. He’s slowly pushing more of his length inside your needy cunt, and you moan at the feeling of being complete.

You don’t realize the tears that are welling up in the corner of your eyes as he completely enters you, the tip of his cock perfectly pressed against your cervix. Simon’s always been good at mixing pain and pleasure, and tonight is a testament to that.

“More, please.” It comes out like a weak, little whine, and Simon is putty in your hands. Completely malleable to your every whim and desire. His love wants more? He’ll give you everything.

Your lashes are wet with your tears, and he watches as tiny streams of tears fall down your heated cheeks. Your face feels warm to the touch, Simon realizes, as he leans down to kiss away your tears. Poor thing. You must have exerted yourself too much when you were thrashing around earlier as he refused to remove his mouth from your precious pussy until you came in his mouth.

You’re no match for the sheer strength and power of Simon, who’s built like a Greek god and probably just as powerful. You surrender to the overwhelming sensation of his cock stroking in and out of your cunt, and you’re damn near shameless in your greed and desire for more.

“Cum in me. I want you to give me another baby, wanna grow our family with you.” You toss your head back in pleasure, feeling the way his grip on your hand tightens at your words. The two of you move perfectly together; you wrap your legs around his waist as his free hand grips your hip to keep you steady.

“Yeah? My wife wants me to fuck another baby into her?” Simon grunts, doubling his efforts to ensure that his cock hits deep enough to press against all the spots that have your walls tightening around him.

The throbbing of his cock and the allure of expanding your family with Simon, with having a part of him always, even after the two of you have left this earth, is enough to send you over the edge. The ecstasy is all-consuming; all you know is Simon. You feel him to the depth of your core, his heat pressed against your own, your shared bedroom heavy with lust and love.

He loves the way your body goes slack from the intensity of your orgasm. It lets him know that he’s fucked you just the way you deserved to be fucked, filled to the brim with his cock and his cum and all his love. He kisses you hard, savoring the natural sweetness of your lips pressed against his own. He muffles your moans as you feel the endless stream of his cum spilling inside of you, the warmth of it all being almost too much to bear.

“Mmmf,” You pull back from his kiss, just so you can look him in the eyes as you give him his favorite reminder in the world.

“I love you.”

He responds with another deep kiss. It says enough. It says I love you, too, and we’re going for a round two.

He has all the time in the world with you.

He doesn’t feel any pain. That’s odd.

He looks back to the last minute. He heard the distinct sound of a gun firing, and he stumbled a bit as fate had its cruel fun and allowed the bullet to miraculously hit him in the one area his bulletproof gear just so happened to miss. What are the odds?

He looks down. A dark stain is forming on his uniform, and the spot only continues to grow bigger. He moves a hand down to where the stain is at — it’s wet. A fresh wound. Fuck.

The sentiment is shared with Soap, who for once in his life doesn’t have anything smart to say. Ghost wants to say something cheeky, then. Just to keep him calm. It worked with Tommy.

What’s the matter? Don’t worry about me. Should’ve seen the other guy. Almost had him in the last round.

The words, Ghost realizes with growing dread, don’t quite come so easily.

It’s like his brain knows what he wants to do, but nothing is going as planned. Soap is saying something, but he just can’t quite make out the words. Johnny, speak proper fucking English, why don’t ya?

No. That’s not the issue. Ghost frowns, but he doesn’t think Soap notices because of his damn mask. He can’t speak for shit, and he can’t hear, either. Actually, now that he’s really trying to take in his surroundings, everything’s a bit hazy, too. Like someone’s put some stupid film over everything, and stuff’s all slightly blurry. Just out of focus, just out of reach.

“—get you home, alright?” The words sound all jumbled up, and Ghost only really catches the last end of whatever Soap’s blabbing on about. He’s a good kid. Great soldier. Stellar human being. He mentioned something about going home, but that’s just silly. The mission isn’t over yet, get it? They can’t go home ‘til the mission’s complete.

“—don’t close your eyes—”

Home sounds nice. Warm vanilla in the colder seasons, jasmine with equal hints of something fruity and floral in the warmer ones. You fill the house with these scents, even matching your daily perfume to it. Doesn’t matter much to him, though. He hugs you close to his body and breathes in deeply, and he can still smell just you. No perfume will ever compare.

Oh, and a busy kitchen. You’re covered in flour, his son sits on the counter, his daughter in her high chair. The entire kitchen comes to life, and every time he sees all three of you giggling in unison, his favorite sound of all, this kitchen becomes his whole world. This is what he goes to war to protect.

Baby blue walls and a crib. Crayon drawings of a stick figure family. Watching his daughter’s first steps and his son clinging to your legs.

Maybe Soap’s right. Forget the mission. He should just head home.

But first, he’s really fucking tired. He’ll shut his eyes just for a minute.

He blinks a few times, eyes struggling to adjust to the light. Light slaps against his face were the cause for his waking up. A damn shame, honestly. He rarely dreams, but when he does, it’s of you, and he was dreaming about something certainly worth remembering for the next time he’s reunited with you.

He rolls over to confront whoever dared to ruin the one good rest he’s had in a long time, only to come face to face with bright, innocent eyes the same shade as his own.

“G’morning,” his son says, the words still clumsy on the two-year-old’s tongue. When Simon doesn’t answer immediately, he resumes slapping his father’s face.

“I’m up, buddy.”

The little toddler claps his chubby little hands together in pure joy.

“Dada home?”

Like a sight for sore eyes, you appear in the doorway, gently opening the door and pushing it open. You’ve got your daughter in your arms, and you look ready to scold the young boy for disturbing Simon until you realize that he’s already awake. There’s that smile of yours that Simon loves so much, the one he swears could bring him back to life.

“I’m home.”

author's note i intended for these little scenes/glimpses of his life to be the things ghost sees as he's bleeding out on the field. get it? the whole "life flashing before your eyes" thing BAHAHAHA. don't worry, he's alive and very much well, enjoying much needed domesticity with you + your little family. the last scene is him fucking u good and well, and that's the lil dream he was having. muahaha

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #one shot #drabble #fluff #angst #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut

519 notes · View notes

skylarsblue · 1 year

Note

this isn’t really a request or anythin’, just a thought. 141 havin to deal with a southern team member who only gets progressively more accented the more they get mad.

100% projecting here

pretty unaccented, American, whatever —> ✨ anger ✨ —> Memphis called they want their “oo-ol” back (translation: oil).

i have no idea if they’d be annoyed, charmed, or just confused.

✦141 + Los Vaqueros With A Southern!Teammate✦

(My first C.o.D request and it's for pEOPLE LIKE MEEEE, southern traassh! This my shit. Fair warning, I've never played one of these games cause I don't have a console, so if they're ooc, please tell me how I can improve writing them!)

✦Random headcanons, Southern slang, GN!Reader, Race neutral as well but American, implied to be Oklahoma/Texas style southern, aggressive cursing because I have the mouth of a sailor, a bit of Google Translated Spanish(forgive me), Rudy doesn't have a color cause I ran out I'm so sorry precious boy✦

✧Simon Riley✧

He's not real fond of Americans, admittedly. He's got a little voice in the back of his head that automatically associates Americans with betrayal, but he'll keep quiet.

He cringes at your accent at first. He's not fond of Americans, even less so of most American accents. It's a very thick drawl and after being in the team for a while, he'll tease you about it, telling you to "Speak English" like he does with Soap.

He shuts up when you bring up his Manchester accent being illegible sometimes. It's all in good fun though!

After proving you're trustworthy, he'll basically call you his "special American", to show you're an exception. He will never stop poking fun at you though, just as you do to him. Particularly when you say something intensely American.

"Look at her ass, out here pitchin' a bitch fit with a tail on it." "...What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

He'll give you one thing, you treat beef well, which he appreciates. Given he used to be a butcher's apprentice. Americans from the southern states know how to make a hamburger and we know how to cook a steak, that's like...the one thing we can brag about.

If you're like me and you dunk on your own country, he thinks those moments are really funny. Especially when you sound so American.

He probably enjoys you being angry the most. He loves it so much, he thinks it's extremely entertaining. Especially if you're a more small, non-intimidating person on the surface.

"Fuck off! Out here makin' a damn mess of the place, runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off, wrecking my shit! I outta whoop yer ass!" "Should we step in?" "No no, let it go on a little longer..."

Probably tries to make your call sign something heavily American stereotypical, in a funny way. (ie. Bald Eagle, Stars(JILL!), Shotgun, etc.)

A bit hypocritical but if you have a farm with cows on it, he doesn't really wanna see them. His first thought his how to butcher them from years of training, and if they're not butcher cows, he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

Congrats! You're the only American Simon likes, aside from maybe Alex but I don't know for sure.

✧Johnny MacTavish✧

Laughs when you first speak. He apologizes but like, he laughs at you, I'm sorry.

Definitely asks if you have a cowboy hat, and he will lose his fucking mind if you do. The more cowboy shit you own the more he's entertained, especially if you wear them around base/on field.

He understands you super well but no one understands how or why. Johnny explains that it's just because he's good with accents. He'll hear weird euphemisms and, though it may take a second, 9 times out of 10 he'll get it.

"Fucker's so cheap I bet he pinches quarters til they scream." "What?! What does that mean!?" "Means he's a penny pincher! He's cheap. C'mon, that one was obvious, keep up, yeah?"

If you're a woman/female leaning, he'll call you cowgirl. If you're male/male leaning, you get the nickname cowboy. Non-binary/Genderfluid/Etc.? He calls you partner, and he'll always say it with a shitty imitation of your accent.

Asks you a buncha questions about American-Southern stereotypes to see if they're true. If they are, he gets really giggly about it.

If they ever have a mission in America, he'll insist you lead them everywhere. He likes seeing how you interact with people, especially if you're in a big city where some nutsos are. This man would have a blast watching you in a Waffle House. It's the only time he likes seeing you yell in public, thinks it's hilarious.

If you have any farm experience he's gotta see it. He needs to. I don't care if the farm is your great grandpa's and you haven't been there in a decade, you better take him to see the cows and tractors right now, immediately. Especially if there are chickens. He loves chickens.

He makes fun of your accent but he thinks it's really hot sometimes and he's very annoyed at himself for it. Particularly when you speak softly, trying to console/comfort him, slipping in a typical southern pet name.

"You alright there, sugar? Took quite a hit there. You need anythin', sweetheart?" "...I uh, uhm, ahem. N-no, no I'm alright." "Are ya sure, sweetpea? Your face is goin' redder than a tomato."" NO, I'M GOOD."

Manages to get the entire team to call you a southern callsign, whether you like it or not. He'll force it to stick. Most are animal-based too. (Cowboy/Cowgirl, Chick/Rooster, Bull/Heffer, Big Tex, etc.)

Your accent grows on him significantly. While he thinks you're very sexy when you're angry, he's really affected when you're soft and sweet. (bonus note; if you're faux sweet when you're mad? The whole "Oh...bless your heart" type thing? He's prolly gonna pop a boner, not gonna lie.)

✧John Price✧

He's not American but there are a lot of American things he likes, admittedly. Specifically, old western stuff, horses, ranches, etc. That whole aesthetic is something he's always enjoyed. He won't say it, but he has a particular fondness for your accent when he first hears it.

Doesn't understand you when your accent gets super thick but he thinks it's entertaining nevertheless. Unlike Ghost or Soap, he doesn't comment on it, because he doesn't think he has room to talk. Maybe he'd do it once and then you'd throw it back at him and he'd realize that...yeah he has no room to talk.

He's a calm individual but he will yell when necessary. But, what he finds admirable is when you jump in and yell for him. Like you can read his mind and he can save his throat, watching the people who were pissing him off jump back at thick southern curses being yelled at them.

"I outta jerk a damn knot in your fuckin' tail, ya fuckin' dumbass! Didn't ya momma ever teach you respect?! You ain't ever gonna talk to my damn captain like that again or I'll skin yer fuckin' hide!" "Ahem, thank you, sergeant, that's enough."

Buys you a cowboy hat if you don't already have one, for sure. Whether you take it as a genuine gift or you take it as a light jab at your roots, he'll get a lil' dopey smile if you decide to wear it. Gaz definitely makes fun of you two. Soap points out that Gaz also wears a hat religiously and he & Ghost start callin' you the hat trio.

Man melts at southern-drawl-spoken pet names. He truly does. Much like Soap, there's something about it that makes the tension leaves his body, though he's not really sure why.

"You alright there, Cap? You're lookin' bout ready to drop..." "I'm alright soldier, just need to finish this." "Captain, it'll be there in the mornin'. How bout a nap instead, huh? You can't go workin' yourself to the bone, hun. It ain't healthy."" ...oh alright, just for a bit though." "Sure, sugarcube, just long enough to have some tea."

He'll probably pick up on a few pet names and call you them. Whether you wanna take it as platonic or not, it's really just a sweet gesture that he wants to return. Pet names are kinda just...a staple of southern slang. It's part of the accent that he really enjoys, therefore he wants to return it.

If he ends up helping you with a call sign, it's going to be a really sweet & nice one. Or perhaps something that's from an old western he's seen. Probably based on something you've said before. (Sugarcube, Lasso, Hun/Hunny.) Bonus points if you get a super sweet name that doesn't match your stature, he thinks it's funny if it throws people off.

Piggybacking off the last one, I think it'd be real funny if your call name was "Sugarcube" and you're like...a 6'0"+ buff dude with a deep voice. That shit would be funny. Anyway!

If you own/live on a ranch or farm in your off time, he'll feel honored if you invite him to see it. Don't worry, he won't laze around and just appreciate the cute animals. (Looking at you Soap) He's got a little bit of experience with cows & horses, so he'll do his best to help you move the hay and such. Don't let him drive a tractor though, it's one of the few things he just can't do.

John doesn't play favorites, he's fair and precise to his entire team. But...off the field? ...you might get a little favoritism, he's got a weakness for bein' sweettalked through southern drawl. Don't let that go to your head though!

✧Kyle Garrick✧

Kyle doesn't care too much, he thinks every country has shitty stuff and cool stuff. He's a pretty big believer in silver linings. While America is far from his favorite country, and he knows the common trope of uh...less than tolerant people from the south, that doesn't affect how he sees you at all.

He does snicker at your accent sometimes, but only when you say something really aggressively southern. Especially making up random southern phrases that he doesn't understand at all. He finds it endearing.

"We just gotta haul ass and go tear shit up, run through like a buncha Tasmanian devils, right?" "...I understood...some of those words. Uh, sure, right." "We need to move our asses and fuck shit up." "Ah, okay. Could've just said that, but alright."

Thinks you're kinda scary when you're mad. He'll be the type to try and calm you down, but he understands if it's someone who deserves it. Not that he doesn't find your drawl fun to listen too, especially if someone was being an ass, but he doesn't like seeing you upset.

If the person you're yelling at was being a real big ass, he'll let you yell for a little, but step in. However, if you're doing condescending rage? Oh, go for it, do it all you want. He thinks it's hilarious.

Finds it particularly sweet if you're angry on the teams/his behalf. He can fight his own battles but he thinks it's a big sign of trust, friendship, etc. that you feel the need to defend him.

"Bless your heart, your brain ain't firing off on all cylinders is it, hun? Tsk, that's a shame..." "Excuse me?!" "You're excused, sweetpea. You're not gonna talk to my team that way, but you can turn your happy ass around and walk away. I ain't gonna have you disrespectin' the people who've been fightin' the good fight. Have a lovely day!" "How can you sound so sweet and yet so angry at the same time?" "Southern livin', sugar. Southern livin'."

Gaz is a bit of a foodie type, he likes trying cooking from any area he can go to. Southern cooking would...it'd be a new weakness for sure. A lot of it is unhealthy, yes, but he doesn't give a shit. It tastes good. Sometimes he thinks American food is an absolute sin and a disgrace, and he'll state it as such. Usually, it's stuff you agree on. Like bacon-covered donuts or fried butter. That shit's egregious. But things like southern-style chicken or rib-eye on a grill? You're gonna make him swoon with them roasted vegetables. Cooking for him is a surefire way to make you an unapologetic favorite in his book.

He won't say anything at the little jokes that people jab at you for your accent, but he will tell someone off if they say something that's clearly not funny and upsets you. Like trying to imply you're stupid because you come from Texas. (Speaking from personal experience) He thinks it's such a dumb thing to give someone shit over and he won't hesitate to say they're an idiot for trying to use it against you.

Hates sweet tea, I'm sorry. It's just tea but he can't stand it. He'll drink the unsweetened tea you make, but he'll make a dramatic face if he mixes them up. Something that you always laugh at.

He's great at driving basically any vehicle. Helicopters to mini coopers. He's never controlled a tractor before, but if you sit him in one and tell him the levers, it'll take him like...three minutes to get it down perfectly. Definitely gets a smug ass grin if you show you're amazed.

If he helps get you your call sign, he won't necessarily make it based on where you're from, it'll probably be based on a nickname, skill, or crucial event in your career. (Crash; you were thrown through a window, Hotshot; skill for sniping, etc.) But if he were to have one based on your southern ways? Sweet Tea, both for the fact you make it and the pet name you sometimes call him. (sweet pea)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Like Ghost, he's not super fond of Americans. His experience with most Americans are annoying tourists and Graves, leaves a pretty bad impression. He comes across unintentionally snappy when he first meets you, but Rudy will point it out, and he'll correct himself.

You aren't the annoying people he's dealt with and he knows it's not fair to say you are. Definitely talks shit on America though, and he'll honestly give you respect if you do the same. Since he's used to the kind of Americans that think being American give them a right to treat others like shit. He hates entitlement.

If you speak Spanish, he's gonna try really hard to not laugh at how your accent affects some words, but it's really hard. He means it in kind and if you're still learning when you meet him, he's proud when he hears you doing well in comprehension and sentences. Still, sounds just a lil silly.

He loves when your accent gets thick from rage, but he his favorite thing is if you speak Spanish in a rage, with your accent on top of it. It's a combination that fills his brain with serotonin.

"Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" "Wha- Haha! What does that mean?!" "Did they say some super weird analogy?" "Si! They did!" "Yeaaah, they do that a lot."

He's notorious for having a naturally flirty personality, it's just how he's always been. Hence why not much phases him, but he does get a quite wide & genuine grin if you flirt back, making your accent extra intense. Especially with the pet names, another man who likes sweet words.

Thinks you having a southern call sign is really cute, especially if it's something your team calls you exclusively. He thinks it shows your endearment to your team. However, if your call sign is something you insist is only for friends, he'll get super giddy about being allowed to call you it.

If he were to pick? (Belle; Like southern belle whether you're fem! or not, Rodeo, and he might call you Americano- but like, in the coffee way. Like it's a sweet nickname, not just him saying your nationality)

Southern hospitality is something he is not used to. Again, bad experience with Americans. So if you explain all the various manners and nice gestures that are considered expected in your home state? He's completely confused, wondering why the Americans he's met don't keep that attitude up when they leave home.

Again, really likes it if you use southern pet names. Especially if you're trying to console him after a really tough day/mission. For some reason it really helps, like a cup of warm coffee on a cold morning.

"Aye, don't stress yourself over it, darlin'. Bad things happen that we can't control, you did everything you could and you were great at it. Don't let it eat at'cha, honey-bun." "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" "Anytime, big guy. Now, you wanna see me try and fail again to open a de la Rosa without breaking it?" "Aha! How about I show you a trick to do it instead?"

Again, like Ghost, you're his special American. Gaz calls you his emotional-support American once and he thinks it's really funny, he'll call you as such every now and then.

✧Rodolfo Parra✧

Sweet darling man. He has nothing against you being American, nothing. But...he cannot understand anything you're saying. He's doing his best but he really doesn't know. He can feel his brain frying every time you bring up something super southern, trying to understand.

He'll have to lean over to your team to ask for a translation, anyone but Soap & Price will tack on an "I think, I'm not sure" at the end of their explanation. If he hears you use a phrase more than once, he'll add it to a little list of notes with the translation underneath it. Treats it like a whole different language. It's adorable.

Like Alejandro, he thinks it's funny if you speak Spanish with your accent. He'll keep a straight face because he knows you can't help it, but man is it fun to hear.

He's not very fond of a lot of yelling if he can avoid it, Rudy prefers disputes to be handled with calm words if possible. But he understands that sometimes it's necessary. Still, he'd want to try and calm you down if you're yelling. But, if you're just acting sickeningly-sweet, kind words that are clearly dripping with venom? He'll just watch. He thinks that shows you handle yourself very well and it's pretty attractive to him, not gonna lie.

"Awww I'm so sorry you're upset, poor thing. God bless you, sir, you have a lovely day. I hope that stick up your ass doesn't hurt too bad." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" "Shh, sugar, it's fine. He wants to be rude, I can be rude back. An eye for an eye. Don't worry your pretty lil' head bout it, sweetheart." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas."

He's really hesitant about American food. It smells great sometimes but all he hears about American food is that it's greasy, or too salty, etc. Still, he won't deny any meal you make. He thinks it's rude to deny food unless it's something you're allergic to.

He ends up liking a few things, but he is biased to his home cooking. But if you start making his favorite foods, or somehow combine the styles in an honoring way? Oh, those are his favorites. He's particularly fond of American sweets though!

Please bake for this man, bake for him, I beg. Apple pie is an American staple for a reason and he'll jokingly claim he'll move to America if it means he can have apple pie every day.

"Rudy, that's your fourth piece! Ahaha, if I knew you liked it so much I woulda made ya more." "Ay, please do! ¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" "Alright then, hun, I'll be sure to make you all the apple pie ya want."

Rudy really likes if you wear stuff like a cowboy hat. He's not really sure why, he just thinks it's really cute. If it's a staple of your whole look(like John's hat), seeing you protective over it, he thinks that's really cute. If you're protective of your cowboy hat but let him hold it/put it on his head to hold it, it's gonna fluster him. Even if your guy's relationship is completely platonic.

If you live near the border of Texas & Mexico, it makes visiting you pretty easy, so he'll have no qualms about going back and forth when off duty. He'll be more comfortable in his home but he won't turn down the offer to see your home, especially if it's a ranch. He's got a soft spot for farm animals. (Particularly goats)

If he has any control of how you choose your call sign, he'll likely pick something the same way Gaz does. But, if you have a thing about what certain people call you - like how only Ghost can call Soap "Johnny" - He feels really warm and fuzzy if he gets a special privilege.

(Translations; "Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" - "You're a fucking idiot - as useful as a bull's tits/about as useful as tits on a bull!" "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" - "Thank you, bella/beauty. I needed it." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" - "Soldier! You can't say that..." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas." - "God, sometimes you amaze and terrify me." "¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" - "It was sent from heaven!")

#call of duty mwii #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #rodolfo x reader

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miioouu · 6 months

Text

COD Masterlist (09-Jan-2024)

Mean Dad's Best friend! Ghost Series: (tw: Age gap, dumbification, smut, female reader)

part 1

part 2

part 3 (ft Captain Price)

part 4

finale 1: John Price Ending

finale 2

finale 3

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

Captain John Price:

Hypocrite (smut)

Studying (smut)

Coquette bow (smut)

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish:

Coquette bow (smut)

His favorite camgirl (smut) part 2

Knight in shining armor (smut, mean dbf! Ghost universe)

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s-coquette · 4 months

Text

principles (2/?)

word count: 2.8k

summary: your new college roommate simon riley is a hardcore stoner who thinks he can get his way with you easily, to his suprise you don’t bend to his will.

Classes had started a week ago, things were going smoothly and you were adapting to your new environment pretty quickly.

Simon was… Unusal to say the least. He had his bouts of perverse comments and snarky remarks but he mainly stayed out of your hair. You found him attractive, who wouldn’t. I mean damn, he was a six foot something, blonde hunk that lived with you! You considered yourself lucky sometimes if it weren’t for how lazy he was. Simon was weirdly possessive, not in a worried boyfriend way, but he’d constantly ask why you were smiling at your phone, who is that guys name on your instagram notification, on and on. It was strange but you guessed he was just teasing. One day you had Jordan over to see your room and reconnect with him a little, Simon wouldn’t talk to you for a day and called you a whore for bringing a man into his house. What a hypocrite! Literally the first day you moved in he said it was your apartment too. When you told him that he only shrugged you off with a pissed off glare and something mumbled about how he was the man in the house. Jerk.

All of those signs pointed to him being interested in you, in some way at least. I mean what friend would slap your ass when you’re loading up the washing machine? Or call you at 4am, coming home from some random house party drunk off his ass, telling you how much he appreciates having a woman in the house and how he loves it when you cook for him, and that your sleepy voice is cute.

You thought about that a bit too much, the way he was slurring his words, his dumb hot voice making your toes curl even in your sleep filled state. You smiled widely when he hung up, feeling like the only woman in the world. You thought it was kind of pathetic but getting even a small compliment from him was an achievement. God, you hated yourself for it. You never experienced a true relationship, maybe something that lasted around 3 months in high school but that barely counted, you only kissed a couple times, both extremely inexperienced. You broke it off after realising it lead nowhere.

You had crushes, of course, like any other girl your age. But being this close to a man and living with one was extremely different. He was an asshole, but he was bearable. He sometimes came into your room just to piss you off so you’d throw a pillow at him, it made him laugh. And God was his laugh infectious, it was so deep and genuine. It made you flustered, made you forget why he made you mad in the first place.

He agreed to help you set your desk up today.

You hauled the thin cardboard box that contained the parts to make your desk, you’d chosen a simple white one with a big sliding drawer. It wasn’t too heavy but your legs still buckled when you made it to your apartment, too embarrassed to call for Simon’s help.

Unlocking the front door and closing it behind you, reminding yourself to lock it later, you push the big cardboard box into your bedroom.

It was about 3 pm and Simon should be coming home from the gym right about now. The only downside of that is that he hated to shower right after coming home, saying “he was too tired right now”. But you thought he was just being a lazy prick and agitating you on purpose.

The worst part was seeing his disheveled state, his short blonde hair messed up and wet, arms bulging with veins, that goddamn sleeveless loose gray shirt he wore.

You shake your head at the thought and tidy up your room, he is your roommate but you still didn’t want him coming into this mess, throwing out some cans of energy drinks you chugged to keep yourself awake. Spreading your blanket over your bed neatly and fixing your rumpled pillow. Making sure to adjust the new fluffy carpet you bought yesterday.

He was running a little late so you decided to fix up something to eat, he’d probably appreciate it coming home all worn out. You decided that dino nuggets were the way to go, it was your guilty pleasure and he loved them too, but wouldn’t admit it. Putting some fries in the oven next to them.

By the time they were done you assumed that he’d be home by now. You gnawed at your lower lip, looking at your phone and contemplating texting him. You didn’t want to seem clingy so you just sent a pic of the food laid out on the plate with “if u don’t come home in an hour they r going extinct”.

You smile and wait for a response, not even looking at your food.

seen✓

Oh. He was probably just busy.

You waited, and waited, and waited some more. Glancing at your phone while munching on a cold nugget, the clock read 5pm. You gingerly set it down and put the food in the fridge so you could reheat it later.

You’ve been wanting to deep clean the place for a while but now you were just not in the mood for it. You don’t know why you were pissed off, maybe it was just because you expected something only for it to be turned down. You liked Simon, you thought that you were just starting to develop some sort of bond. The seen only made your frown deepen.

It was already 9pm and you decided to go to bed early, you had classes tomorrow. Throwing on an old hoodie and some longer pyjamas since the weather has gotten a bit worse, you climbed into bed, foregoing your usual skincare routine.

The squeaky frames and old mattress annoyed you to no end, the first thing you’re buying once you get a job and save up enough money is a new bed.

Throwing the blanket over yourself and letting out a sigh, you barely fall asleep.

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Nah, she’s just my roommate,”

“Good, wouldn’t want anyone taking my place,”

You furrowed your brows at the womanly voice that invaded your apartment, raising yourself up on your elbows to better hear what was happening. Simon usually only had his guy friends over, barely even that. You only met this one named Kyle, and he was surprisingly much nicer than him.

“She’s probably asleep,”

You hear his deep voice ring out and some annoying giggles following behind, before the sound of his bedroom door opening was heard.

You groaned, you couldn’t believe it. Why did you think so highly of him? Of course he’d just waited until you got cozy so he could start bringing random girls in. The dejected sigh that left you was almost heartbreaking. Even worse was that you’ve never actually been in his bedroom, only ever gotten a glance at it. So he’d rather let some random woman he picked up, probably from a party, into his room rather than his roommate?

You just turned to face the wall and covered your ears with a pillow, trying to block out the noises.

“Ah! Fuck- Simon~“

“Yeah? You like it when I pound this tight little cunt?”

That made you shiver a little. It also made an ugly jealousy curl in your gut. You couldn’t block out the noise even if you tried.

Loud girly moans, she was either faking them like a pornstar or he was actually that good. You listened to his bed creak and her loud whorish moans for what felt like an eternity, when the sounds ceased, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Then followed her loud giggling at everything he said, you could hear her whining when he pushed her off for being too clingy, the pout in her voice.

You let a out a breath of relief once they actually fell asleep, the loud thumping of your heart and your furrowed brows making it hard to fall asleep yourself, but you managed.

You woke up to your alarm, letting out a groan and trying to fish your lost phone out of the bed to turn off the blaring noise.

Sitting up blearily, you rub your eyes from sleep, sitting up and putting on your fuzzy pink slippers to go to the bathroom. As you were about to reach for the handle, Simon opened it for the inside, wanting to come out.

You raised a brow at him, annoyed to see him look so smug so early in the morning. Looks like he had just taken a shower, a towel around his lower half with hickeys staining his whole neck and some of his chest in dark purple splotches, almost like watercolors.

“Had fun last night?”

The grin that graced his face was so pretty that you wanted to slap it off.

“No, bet you’d be tighter than her,”

Your drowsy eyes widen, all sleep seeping out of you at the words he just uttered. He just nudges you out of the doorway and continues on with his day.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He keeps giving you mixed signals, now you just think he’s fucking with you. Finishing with your business, you make it to the kitchen to find him slurping down some cereal, now dressed in a simple T-shirt and blue jeans.

“Where’d your girlfriend go?”

You poke at him, opening the cupboards to fish out a bowl and scanning the drawer for a clean spoon.

“What? She’s not my girlfriend.”

He snorts, that dumb smile on his face making you want to rip his throat out.

“Sure sounded like it- Oh my God, Simon you ass, did you eat all of the cereal?”

He only grins at you and shrugs his shoulders.

You groan out and slam the cupboard shut, grabbing last nights food and plopping it into the microwave to reheat it.

“Why’d you make so much of those?”

His deep voice startles you yet again, the stoic tone of his every sentence making you stan on edge sometimes.

“Thought you’d come home to have some.”

You mumble, taking it out of the microwave and sitting across from him, avoiding eye contact while playing with something on your phone.

You see his giant hand reach out and grab a nugget from the plate before you could slap it away.

“Simon!”

You whine, mouth full with food, making him snicker.

“You had your chance to eat these last night but I guess eating some random chicks pussy is better.”

You snap at him, a glare directed his way.

“Yeah? It would’ve been yours if you weren’t such a stuck up little brat.”

You stare at him with wide eyes yet again, mouth open to reprimand him.

“What? You a virgin or somethin’?”

You shut your mouth and swallow your food, not so confident in looking at him now.

“Well… Yeah?”

He grins and crosses his arms over his chest, chewing his food slowly.

“That explains it.”

He abruptly gets up and leaves the kitchen, not before knocking his hands on the top of the doorway like a little kid, leaving you stunned yet again.

You grumble and finish your food, getting ready for your first class. Wearing a simple gray hoodie and some pretty baggy jeans, doing your everyday makeup and hooking some earrings in.

You met a girl the first period, she had long brown pin straight hair, thin figure, nice face shape with bright green eyes, her name was Alexis. She introduced herself to you first, she was extremely extroverted by the looks of it since she knew almost everyone in your class.

You exchanged numbers by the end of it, her smiling attitude and energy making you have a positive outlook. She did kind of seem overbearing with her giggles and smiles, especially when waving to her guy friends, but you guessed she was just like that. It was nice having a friend here, she even seemed pretty popular which meant you could probably meet more people! Awesome.

You dreaded coming home to your shared apartment. You were so done with Simon’s attitude, when Alexis offered you to go to the mall after your classes, you agreed without a second thought.

“So- As I was saying, the Lash Sensational is way better than Skyhigh, I don’t get the hype to be honest.”

You smiled at her so passionately defending her favourite mascara.

“Yeah, I use the Falsies one? I’m not sure what the full name is.. But the next one I’m gonna try is definitely Sensational.”

I acknowledge her happy grin, her gold hoops swinging with every motion of her head, taking a sip of her overly sugary coffee.

“You know- There’s this party on Sunday, I was told to bring anyone and everyone I knew. It’s basically just everyone from campus so you don’t have to worry about some forty year old creeps-“

She giggles, scrunching her nose.

“You live off campus, right?”

You give a tentative nod,

“Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass to be honest,”

She chuckles at your dramatic groan,

“I’m sure you could come,”

“Wait you’re inviting me?”

She furrows her perfectly done eyebrows and purses her glossed lips,

“Duh? You’re like, really chill. I think the girls would appreciate a new face.”

She smiles as the inside of your head rears with panic.

“Oh- I’ve never actually been to a party..”

She just smiles thoughtfully and grabs your hand, her nicely manicured fingers feeling so soft to the touch.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you the whole time, you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.”

The sincere look in her eyes made you sigh and agree fearfully, she just gave you a pat on the shoulder and explained some basic details, saying she’d come pick you up with her friends and that she’ll text you more details later.

Over the days you’ve been texting Alexis all the time, talking to her on campus and meeting some of her friends. They had a nice little friend group that consisted of extremely beautiful girls, it kind of made you insecure to even be standing next to them. But they welcomed you with open arms.

You barged into the apartment with full shopping bags on Friday, Simon was in his room probably playing video games or whatever it is he does in his free time. The excitement in your stomach was bubbling as you unpacked a bunch of new clothes, your favourite being the black mini dress covered in small sparkles that almost looked like glitter, the straps were thin and black. You put it on and grinned at your reflection in the small mirror you kept on your desk.

You wanted to send Alexis a pic but it was too uncomfortable to do in your room without a bigger mirror. You had a bright idea and stormed to Simon’s door, knocking loudly and asking if you could come in.

As expected, he showed up at the door, and you pushed past him before he could protest to use the giant mirror he had on his closet door. You pushed the light switch as you were coming in and he let out a dramatic hiss at the light.

“What’re you getting so dressed up for?”

He grunts out, falling back into his gaming chair and spinning from left to right while checking you out.

“My friend invited me to a party on Sunday,”

You grin and take out your phone while twirling around and checking yourself out in the mirror, trying to find an alright angle to snap the pic and hide the mess that his Simon’s room.

“A party? Huh.”

He snorts, rubbing his face before ruffling his blonde hair.

“Yeah? It’s my first one too!”

You giggle and snap a pic, cropping out the socks and old cans that filled his messy room. You were too busy fiddling with the pic to notice that he was standing behind you, his brooding presence too hard not to notice, his breath on your ear paired with the extreme height difference made you shiver.

“You know, you should really learn to dress yourself before deciding you’re a big girl that should go to a party.”

You yelp when he girps your half exposed ass cheek and push at his chest, his cocky laugh filling the room. You push down the back of the dress to cover yourself with a furious blush on your face.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything, you jerk!”

His grin only widens.

“Why would I? I was enjoying the view. Cute pink panties too.”

You flush and storm out of his room to hear his loud cackle following behind.

Guys i have no idea what im talking about don’t kill me btw if you want to be added into the taglist just reply to this post :) or any part of the fic

taglist:

@jupiternighties

#s writes 🎀#cod mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost

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daisygirlwrites · 1 year

Text

Olive Branch

Part 2 to Rough Start

Part 3 - Little Things

Summary: Ghost starts mending the patches of your guys relationship

Warnings: None really

Pairing(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem! Reader (Platonic)

Note: No use of (Y/N), called Rook/Rookie since this is before Crash getting her callsign

a/n: holy shit sorry this is so freaking late ;-; but here y'all go, part 2 of rough start! again, so sorry that this is late, life got too busy again >:0 there will be one more part after this but it'll be a proper headcanon style with memes as well. thank you guys so much for being patient with me <3

taglist: @bobfloydsgf @itsscromp @stilllivindue2spite @greenkiki @isimpforfictionalppl @appl3-0rchard @luna-moons

After that mission, Price gives the team a couple days off to recuperate. It also serves as a break between you and Ghost. Neither of you talk the next day, then again, you rarely talk outside of missions and training.

You try to start conversations with him, asking him questions only to respond with a short answer or nothing at all. Hell, he would straight up tell you “Piss off.”

Doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in your eyes when he tells you that though

This time, both of you actively avoid each other

Soap thought it’d be a good idea to be the middleman between you guys but Price reminded him that “Both of them are adults, they should try and deal with it themselves.”

However, Price was kind of being a hypocrite because he wants to sit both of you down and stay there until you talk about your feelings. Ultimately though, he leaves both of you alone

Ghost knows that he’s at fault here and if you were anyone else, he would own up to it. But whenever he sees you, all he could think about is that you’re his replacement. That he’s passed being useful. That he’ll be abandoned because of someone better

What pisses him off more is that you’re nice to him. With the limited interactions you both have together, you’re always thinking of everyone else. At first, he thought you were a kiss ass, trying to get an advantage with everyone liking you. But then again, you didn’t have to take care of Soap and Gaz when you dropped them off to their room after a night out. You didn’t have to get them water and painkillers so they wouldn’t have to in the morning. You didn’t have to always help out Price before and after meetings. You didn’t have to always look at him with hope in your eyes

Yet he looks at you with resentment because to him, you are the young and naïve soldier who didn’t “struggle” on her way up to rank. You weren’t worthy of the name ‘Little Ghost’. That last thought made him snap out of it for a moment.

Price finds him on the rooftop. Balaclava pulled up to his nose, smoking a second cigarette and eyes distant, deep in thought. The door opening was enough to alert him but he didn't turn to face his captain until he too was resting on the railing.

“What’s the Rookie got on you?” Price starts. Ghost sighs, not wanting to have this conversation but he can’t walk away from it either. So he stays quiet for a while, contemplating on what to say. He could lie but with Price, it’ll go nowhere. Instead, he just says what came to mind: “Always did better in school than my brother,” he starts off, “Made mum proud.” He takes another inhale of his smoke. “Tom hated it. Would call me names and shove me.” Simon was quiet again, eyes looking down, biting down on his cheek as if he were trying to stop himself from speaking the next words. Price studies him, Simon's eyes are intense as if he’s in a battle. Eventually, his broad shoulders lowered in defeat and he confessed quietly. “I guess this is what he was feeling.” It was silent again. Price didn’t know what to say after that, so instead, he pats his Lieutenant’s shoulder. He walks back towards the door but before he leaves, he informs Ghost, “Rook’s at the range.”

He finds you in the indoor range, leaning back against the wall as you lazily throw a knife into a wooden board hanging in front of you. Ghost watches you do this a few more times, intrigued with how effortless it looks but also how your stance was incorrect. However, that’s not what he wants to tell you.

You cease your movements, looking around until you see his large frame by the door. There was a beat of silence before you called out to him, “Gonna tell me that my form’s bad?”

Ghost shakes his head and walks over to you, also leaning against the wall. He looks at the wooden board, little knives sticking out and clustering in the middle. He pushes away any feelings of jealousy before he speaks. “I’m not here for that.”

You let out a snort, “Well, that’s a first.” You can feel him roll his eyes at you but he continues.

“You’re right.” “About what?” “I do envy you.” He watches you shake your head, “I don’t understand. It’s obvious that you’re more skilled and more respected. It’s just…” You look him in the eye, “It’s just dumb."

The soft hum of the fluorescent light is the only sound you hear in the range. You move over to the booth that had the hanging target and push a button on the side, the board slowly lowering down. Once it was on the table, you take your knives out and push the button again, the wood board hanging but empty. Going back to your spot on the wall, you place the knives onto a side table, one of them already in your hand. Putting the blade between your fingers, you hand it over to the man beside you. “An olive branch.”

Ghost was taken aback but he didn't say anything. He grabs the handle, feeling the weight of the knife before straightening up and throwing it towards the target. It sinks in, making a satisfying thunk. Both of you take turns before all of the knives are in the target again.

He faces you, head and eyes down. This man looms over you and yet, he stands unsure, nervous even. Taking a deep breath, his eyes move to yours.

With his mask on, you almost missed it. “I’m sorry.” He whispers to you. And even with your mask on, your face was easy to read. He watches your eyebrows shoot up and mouth drop down but just for a second. You compose yourself before nodding, “I accept your apology.” Wanting to leave it at that, Ghost turns around and starts heading for the door. “Wait!” He stops and turns his head. "I look up to you sir,” You start off, “I am not a replacement for you, never will be. You are in a whole different league and it would be a miracle for me to be even close to it.” Making eye contact with him, you begged, “Please don’t forget that."

He gives you a nod and before he leaves, he steps towards you, bringing his arm up. You feel his hand resting on top of your head and before you can move to look up at him, he ruffles your hair. Bangs falling in front of your eyes, you push it back in time to see his figure leave and his shadow following behind him.

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

The tension between you and Ghost has somewhat lightened. Training was finally something you looked forward to. There was no more shouting and though his mean comments and name calling remain, you felt comfortable to take jabs at him too.

After missions, he still gives you pointers but doesn’t insult you while he does so. During this time, Ghost realizes that he doesn’t mind teaching, especially when it comes to something he’s good at and to someone that can keep up. And as always, you take his feedback seriously

Price feels relieved, seeing how the two of you are finally getting along. He was seriously thinking of handcuffing you guys, yes it’s juvenile but so were you and Ghost.

Even bar nights were enjoyable, it was nice to have someone to talk to or play darts with instead of sitting awkwardly, playing on your phone while you waited for everyone to finish drinking.

The team hated it when you and Ghost teamed up for darts, having no chance of victory when you worked together. But, in the times you played against each other, it was fun for the team to make and place bets. Always a close game for you two.

Knife throwing was another activity that helped you guys bond. Just chatting about anything that came to mind while both of you mindlessly throw blades against the wooden targets. You do this during missions too, though not as often. While the team waits for the heli, you’d look for a tree or a log nearby to make it your temporary target. You’d get the knife stuck half of the time and would shyly ask Ghost to get it back. He does without fail and flicks your helmet every time.

He finds out that you two have a lot more in common than he thought. For one, your dad’s a shit person as well. After Gaz mistakenly calls Price “Dad”, Price jokingly asks you if you see him as a father figure too.

“You have done more for me in the last five months than my real father has in the last twenty three years. So yeah, I don’t oppose calling you ‘dad’.” “Holy shit, Rook. That bad?” Gaz was surprised. “Treated me, my sister and my mom like shit and when they died, he married his secretary and started another family with her. “ Ghost doesn’t add anything to the conversation but he can’t help and feel empathy for her. Even though you hide your feelings well behind smiles and jokes, there’s always a flash of hurt in your eyes.

Like everyone in the military, you have a fucked up sleep schedule. Nightmares waking you up before your alarm does. Opting to start your day very early, you’d get up, put some pants and a hoodie on before heading down to the common area and kitchen. It’s not a surprise to find Ghost there too, usually making a cup of tea and a book in hand.

Rubbing your eyes, you turn the corner into the kitchen and to your lack of shock, Ghost is there. Already sitting at one of the tables, cup in hand, not looking up from his book.

In your tired state, you fail to see that there was another cup on the table. One with cartoon birds on it, tea already made to your liking. He glances up from his book to watch you stare at the cupboard, confused on where your mug went. He lets out a silent chuckle before he calls you over

Taking the seat in front of him, he lightly nudges your mug towards you. Without your mask on, you give him a tired smile. Bringing the cup up to your lips, you give a light blow before taking a sip. It was less sweeter than you’d like but that’s not something to complain about. Instead, you give him a nod of approval.

Setting your cup down, you keep a hold on it to warm your hands. “Thank you,” You tell him.

Looking up from his book again, he makes eye contact with you “That’s my olive branch to you.”

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