#The only time she ever speaks she is comforting Simon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tacticaldiary · 10 months

Text

A Cracked And Fissured Door

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking."

It stings, if she's being honest. Being kept at an arms length when in public. Most people know about them, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.

Masterlist

"If he sends us out before next week I'm quitting." Soap groans, back cracking as he flops down forward on the bar. "Three ops in a week? What do I look like, a machine?"

Gaz snickers, raising his glass to that. "Bloody might well be at this point."

She hides a smile behind her own drink, leaning back into the bar. They had done three ops in a week, mission after mission after mission. It had been pretty rough, just as Soap said and she was more than ready to crash and burn and sleep for three days straight but abandoning their tradition of getting drinks at this specific bar everything Saturday was not something anyone on the 141 was willing to break.

"Just be glad we got the weekend off." Ghost says from beside her. She smiles warmly at him, is rewarded with a slightly blank look.

The flicker of her smile is hid behind another sip.

"Betcha your gonna take advantage of that, eh?" Soap nudges her, looking pointedly between her and Ghost. The latter rolls his eyes and says nothing.

"Only thing I'm looking forward to is an actual mattress." She knocks back the last of her drink and stands, shrugging Gaz's arm slung over her shoulder. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time we call it a night." Casting a glance at her boyfriend, who merely nods in confirmation and pushes the stool back himself, she nods at the others. "Don't cause too much trouble, boys. Text us when you're home safe, yeah?"

"We just got shot at for a week, don't think a car ride home is gonna be the end of us." Soap snorts.

"You never know." Is all she says before stepping out of the bar with Ghost, who offers her her coat to shrug on.

"Hell of a week." She comments, glancing at him gratefully as she shrugs on the warm fabric.

"Just glad it's over," Simon says simply.

Walking back to their car, she can't help but cast quiet glances at him as they walk. She knows Ghost notices them, chooses to keep looking ahead and keep the silence.

Truth be told, she aches to touch him.

Aches to feel his skin on hers, to feel the callouses of his hands brush against hers. His heat, ever all-encompassing makes her feel safe in a way no bulletproof vest ever could.

"Think I might ask Price to assign me desk duty for a while." She jokes, knocking their shoulders together gently.

To the untrained eye, to someone who might not have been tuned to what makes Simon Simon, it wouldn't have been noticeable, but he leans subtly away so they don't touch again.

She doesn't mention it, but it makes her heart heavy.

It's nothing new. She's not sure why she's even surprised anymore.

Trying again, her arm hangs beside her, purposefully brushing against his gloves. The frown on her face deepens when he shoves his hands into his pockets.

Maybe it's the exhausting week she's had, but it gets to her, infects her heart, mind, and soul with the insecurity she keeps locked behind a cracked and fissured door in her mind.

It stings, if she's being honest.

He's not the most...social person. Closed off and private, but baring her soul to someone she loves and getting so little in return...

Being kept at an arm's length when in public, even though their relationship is not a secret. Most people know, actually, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.

The car ride home is silent, but not in a comfortable way their quiet is usually shared. Simon seems to pick up on it, because he grips the steering wheel a little too hard, the tension in his shoulders a little too foreign.

Gaz had no problem touching her. A friendly punch to the arm, an arm around her shoulder. Soap was a touchy person by nature, nudging her and ruffling her hair.

So why was it that Simon always pulled away?

The one person who should love her the most, who should be proud of loving her...why does he pull away and pretend this thing between them doesn't exist.

She doesn't get it, hasn't understood for the past two years they've been together. Pushing was not something she'd considered given his stubbornness and private nature, but there's no denying she's always felt a twinge of hurt whenever he disregards her in public.

Was he...ashamed? Of her? Did he not want to be seen with her?

The thought latches itself onto her, sucking away the usual confidence she carries and leaving her a nervous mess. It makes her sick. Before she knows it they're back home but she can't find herself to walk any farther than the front door that's shut behind her.

He doesn't comment on it, just casts her an inquisitive look before moving to the kitchen in view.

Simon always did like a cup of tea before bed.

"Simon?" The word comes out a little garbled, caught in her indecision, and morphed into something muffled. He hears it, because of course he does, and hums. Doesn't look up from where he's rifling through the cupboards for his kettle.

The air is cold in her lungs, freezes up with nerves, and this is all so ridiculous. It's stupid and she shouldn't be feeling this way but she does because she just does.

Trust was a precious jewel, a diamond only given to those who trusted enough to keep it unmarred. Necklaces and earrings and bracelets, she feels like she could make millions of intricate pieces with the bits of trust she had bared for Simon to take and keep as his own.

Simon knows what she loves, what she hates, how she feels about anything and everything. The rhyme and reasons, the way she ticks, and what throws her off kilter. He knows it all, it's been given willingly and eagerly to the man who took her heart with that rough demeanour on the tarmac two years ago.

She had given him all her gems, the shiniest and the dullest ones, but he's never even been bothered to spare her a piece of coal.

When she doesn't speak immediately, he pauses his movements and sets down the kettle on the counter with a 'clink'. "What's the matter, love?" He straightens up.

"Do you want to be with me?" She blurts out, unable to fathom leaving this conversation for another day. Not when she's so worked up and hurt and feeling.

His face stays blank, and when he responds it's almost as if he's doing it carefully. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I asked." The sides of her coat are clutched with a knuckle-white grip, nausea making her an inch away from ruining the lovely carpet they'd picked out together when they'd first moved in.

Simon furrows his brows. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"That's not what I asked." Unease starts to curl up in her gut. "Do you like me, Simon?"

"Of course I fucking like you, what are you talking about?"

"You sure don't act like it."

There.

It's in the open now. Simon stares at her for a moment, shocked or stunned or whatever emotion that causes him to clam up for a moment.

He never really was good at this part of their relationship, but this...it was vital. It was important because she refuses to let this problem define what they have together.

"You don't touch me when we're not alone." She starts, "You act like I'm just no one when we're out together. You barely acknowledge me any more than anybody else, pull away when I try to touch you." It feels good to let this all off her chest. Months and months of trying to figure out what was going on. "Tell me why. I just want to know why."

"I'm a private person-"

"No Simon, that's not what this is." She shakes her head, emotion rising inside her. "You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking. Like I'm...like you want to keep me a secret."

Her eyes are glassy because saying it hurts so fucking much, but it needs to be said. It needs to be voiced, he needs to listen and acknowledge-

"You know that's not true, so it shouldn't be a bloody problem-"

"Do I?" A laugh burst out of her, unexpected and short. It's enough to cut him off, cause him to narrow his eyes. "You've never told or indicated that to me. Not once. Not in two years."

"It's common sense. I wouldn't be with you if I didn't want you." She can tell he's trying to stay level, to meet her in the middle but all caution gets thrown to the wind because is he really trying to argue with her on this?

"No, it's not." She insists, trying not to raise her voice as anger bubbles up inside her. Was he not getting it? Not understanding that this was hurting her? That he was hurting her? "Sometimes I-..." She swallows, "Sometimes I'll be having a great time, like today. I'll be laughing and enjoying myself and then I'll glance at you, or try and do something as simple as brush shoulders, and I'll watch you push me away. Or pull away." Her voice waver but she fights to keep it steady. "And it makes me feel miserable because what is it about me that makes my own boyfriend not want to accidentally touch me?"

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He says, hackles raised at being put on the spot like this. Ghost doesn't mean to, but this is all so new to him and the only thing he knows how to do in these rapidly changing situations is to be sharp and jagged and tense. "If you're so miserable, why are you still here?"

"Because I love you!" She cries out. "And I can't help but think that I might never get the same back from you." Her grip on her coat tightens.

There's a beat of silence.

"I never asked you to. You knew what you were getting yourself into."

His words cut through the quiet, as sharp as the blades he keeps strapped to his thigh.

"Oh, fuck you." She whispers. "Don't give me that bullshit. That's not an excuse for not trying-"

"Not trying?" His voice gets slightly louder. "I try every day. I try to be someone you deserve but you're bloody well making it difficult when-"

"Just stop!" She yells over him. "Stop. I'm not asking for something you can't give. I'm just asking for an explanation."

"I can't-"

"You can!" To her dismay, her eyes burn with tears that are bound to fall in a few seconds, but she's too far into it to turn around now. "It's been two fucking years, Simon. Two years. I've never pushed or pressured you, I've listened and sat here and tried to be the one you can come to, but you never do." She sniffles, wiping her tears away roughly.

He stays silent, visibly frustrated but letting her talk.

"Do you know what they say back at base?" She spits out. "About me? They say I've forced you into being with me." A hollow laugh. "That I've got some dirt on you that keeps you quiet, or that I'm just someone you pass the time at night with because everyone thinks that you want nothing to do with me during the day. They talk about why we're still together, why you're still with me when you clearly have no interest." Her tears are long forgotten, left to trail down her cheeks in rivers of hurt. "They say...they say I'm only on the 141 because of our relationship."

And that was what hurt the most. Her own skills undermined like that.

That startles him enough to pull his brows in confusion "I didn't know..."

"Of course you don't, why would they say it in front of the man who looks like he could snap their spines in half?"

She waits for him to speak. To say something, anything, but all he does is stare at her with those half-blank eyes that she can never decipher and it infuriates her because did he not just listen to what she's told him.

"You know what, forget it." She chokes out. "I'm done. I'm fucking done with this." She gestures to them both, vaguely watching his eyes widen with muted panic. Getting shoved into a woodchipper would be less painful than the hurt that tears through her chest, hiccupping on swallowed sobs.

"Hold on-"

"I can't be the only one keeping us both afloat." She reaches behind her for the doorknob. "I don't want that. I love you, Simon. I really do, but it hurts so fucking much when you act like I'm disposable, like you're ashamed of being seen with me."

The door is pulled open by her, and then roughly shoved shut by Simon. He moves quicker than she could register, behind the counter one moment and right in front of her the next. His hand stays firmly on the door, keeping it shut as he leans down to catch her gaze.

"Ashamed is the last thing I am about you." He says quickly, clumsily. "I-...fucking hell that's not right at all, love."

Simon is...he's panicking.

The thought strikes her immediately with the way his chest rises and falls quickly, the lack of that cold clipped grace in his voice.

"I don't care." She chokes on a cry, hands planting themselves firmly on his chest to shove him away. It's like nudging a brick wall. The man is immovable, standing in place with their bodies so close it feels like they're sharing heat. "I'm tired, and you're making it worse so let me go." He grabs her wrists, presses them against himself to keep her in place. His hands are warm, rid of the gloves he usually dons.

She's met with every inch of that scarred face of his. She hadn't noticed but he'd discarded his mask as he'd been rushing around the counter to get to her.

"Listen to me." He breathes, trying to get his thoughts straight and keep her there with him. He can't lose her, can't let her walk out the door because he's afraid that she might never come back. "Please."

It's the last word that pauses her struggle. Simon...he was someone who operated on orders and demands so the frantic and silent plea pushed into the word is enough to make her still for a moment.

And a moment is all he needs.

"I've never..." He thinks for a moment. Never has she seen him look so frazzled. He tries again. "Everyone I've ever loved has been killed." Her eyes widen at the declaration. "My family. My friends...everyone." His breath fans over her face with how he's leaned down, hot so very him. "I think I'm afraid if I show the world I love you it might try and take you from me too." Simon's voice breaks at the end, as if he's voiced something from his nightmares and despite the pain she's feeling the sound slices through her. "And I can't...I can't live with losing you too."

With bated breath, he waits for her to respond. Part of him can't bear to look her in the eyes after the admission but he finds himself staring at her face anyway, drinking in any sign of hope.

Hope. How long has it been since he's felt the warm rays of such a feeling?

Slowly, so slowly it makes his breath hitch, she tugs her hand free on his. For a moment Simon thinks she might push him away again and his heart sinks like a stone, but then her fingertips graze his face, her hands cup his cheeks and suddenly they interlock behind his head, pulling him in.

Simon crushes her into him, tucking her head under his chin with a shuddering breath of relief. He's not lost her, not completely.

Hope.

There was still such a thing for a man like him after all.

"I'm not going anywhere." She mumbles into the crook of his neck, the feeling of his lips moving on his skin sending a shiver up his spine. "I'm so sorry, Simon. If you'd told me that before I would have tried to help-..."

Simon shakes his head immediately, arms tightening around her. "I chose not to tell you. The thought of coming home and seeing you on the ground...bloody...like them." He swallows past the lump in his throat. "Fuck, I'm sorry I hurt you, sweetheart."

Simon didn't apologise often, so when he did that means he knows he's fucked up.

She does not tell him it's alright, that she forgives him or that he's fine. Because he's not. His apology, his honesty doesn't make the months of hurt go away. It still aches at her like before, but this time the ache has a meaning behind it. It has a reason.

They hold each other for a moment, against the door, two people knee-deep in a problem that's been brewing for weeks and weeks, bubbled over the edge in the ugliest way possible.

"I need you to try." She whispers after a moment, the barest of smiles gracing her face when he nods slowly.

"I know." He says simply against her hair. Gently swaying in each other's hold, both are content to stay there for a while, to calm their racing hearts with the knowledge that the other is still there, is real and solid under their hands.

And it's enough.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Change is a slow trek to an ever extending finish line.

Simon keeps his word. If there's anything it's good at, it's resilience. Though it makes him antsy and paranoid and dare he say slightly nervous to open such a part of him to somebody again, he tries.

He tried because he'd rather saw his own arm off than be the one who gives her a reason to leave. Not her. Not the best thing that's happened to him in years, the person who's managed to wake up Simon after years of being Ghost.

A subtle brush of hands as they walk.

An arm around her shoulder while they drink.

Thighs and sides pressed together as they take their seats on a heli.

The squeeze of her knee from under the table.

It builds and builds into something warm and new and fresh, a feeling that overshadows all the worry he had about the universe having a vendetta against him because if there was one good thing that Simon Riley wanted to keep, it was her.

Their weekend is filled with conversations, real conversations about things they've kept to themselves, worries and concerns, and moments of hesitance. He tries his best, though some words die on his tongue before he can get them out. She pushes him, but never more than he can take. Heart, body, and soul, she knows him like the back of her hand but he's the only one who can truly let her into his mind.

All that aside Simon also has another more personal task to work through once their weekend is over.

After paying some not-so-nice visits to more than a dozen people (to his absolute fury), she never once hears a peep of another disgusting rumour ever again.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(26/07/2023)

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

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

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

—Sole Survivor

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

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

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

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

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

Alive.

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

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

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

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

You know your family loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a compliment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon tenses under you, fingers freezing.

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

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

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

You wave enthusiastically back.

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”

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hyperactively-me · 9 months

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It's cliché, but what if reader caught flu in Kastron? Idk why but to me it looks like country in the north, yk, cold and stoic king and queen from the land of sun. But my point is, reader gets sick, so sick that she collapses and everybody freaks out because they think it might be poisoning of their queen

omg i love this idea so much

Your home kingdom had never experienced winters like the kind in Kastron, where the seasons were known for their harshness and the relentless snowfall that blanketed the land. Back home, there was no snow in the winter season, just gray skies and cold air. But, here in Kastron, the winters were relentless. Feet of snow would pile up and snowstorms would overtake the kingdom. On a particularly calm day, you decided to go for a walk out on the palace grounds, just to explore the snow.

You ventured into the icy wilderness that surrounded your palace. Your homeland had never experienced such a breathtaking winter wonderland, and you were determined to explore every inch of it. That morning, you had pulled on some boots, wrapped yourselves in furs and coats and pulled on some thick gloves. You slipped out of the palace without letting anyone know, wanting to be left to your own devices. You wanted quiet alone time, anyway. You had been slaving away in the study most days now that it was too cold to go outside.

As the day wore on, the cold began to gnaw at your bones, and you reluctantly decided to return to the warmth and comfort of the palace. That evening, as you lay in bed, an unsettling chill settled over you.

When morning came, you awoke to a stifling bug in your throat. Your throat was scratchy, your nose congested, and your body ached from your trek through the snow. Weak and feverish, you summoned your strength to fulfill your duties for the morning. It was a battle getting dressed and ready for the day, your eyes drooping with an exhaustion that only comes from illness.

As the day progressed, you found yourself wrapped in your readings when Simon had let himself into the study.

“It’s lunchtime,” he says, pulling your book from your hands.

“Ah, I suppose it is,” you say, sniffling ever so slightly.

Simon accompanied you as you made your way to the dining hall for lunch. The aroma of hearty seasonal foods filled the air, but your appetite had abandoned you. The weight of your illness pressed upon you, and you shivered with chills. You let Simon pull your chair out for you, and you practically drop into the seat as you sit down.

As you attempted to eat, the sickness tightened its grip. Shivers wracked your body, and sharp muscle and body aches made every movement painful. Dizziness washed over you, the sickness engulfing you entirely.

“Simon—” you slur.

With a feeling of overwhelming sickness, you collapsed at the table, and the world around you faded into darkness as you lost consciousness.

. . .

You don’t know how long you’ve been out for. Your consciousness swirled in the darkness, fading in and out. As awareness slowly crept back, you found yourself lying on something soft. It was very nice, very plush, more comfortable than your own bed. Your eyes flutter open, your eyelids feeling heavy. You were in a dimly lit room, the soft glow of candlelight flickered, casting shadows along the dark walls.

“Thank God you’re awake,” a voice whispers, relief evident in his voice.

“She’s awake,” a different voice yells out, and you groan from the volume.

“Go fetch the doctor.”

Weak and disoriented, you managed to speak, your voice hoarse and feeble. “What… happened?”

You fully open your eyes now, blinking away the fuzziness from your vision. Simon is sitting in a chair next to the bed. Two guards stand watch at the door. You look back at him, his balaclava is gone. His worry etched deep lines across his features, a frown present on his face. His hand gently rested on yours, his touch reassuring.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“My chambers,” he says gently, his hand squeezing yours lightly.

You try to push yourself to sit up, but his hand reaches to gently push you back down.

“No, no, lay down.”

You take a look around the dimly lit room, noting the sparse decoration of the large room. “What happened?” you ask again, letting him nudge you back down to resting.

Simon's expression remained somber as he recounted the incident. “You collapsed at the dining table during lunch.”

“Oh.”

“We thought you were poisoned,” he added solemnly, shifting in his seat. “Specifically, we thought your food was poisoned.”

A shiver ran down your spine as Simon's words settled in. Poisoned? It was a disconcerting thought, even in your fevered state. “Poisoned?” you repeated, your voice filled with confusion and worry.

Simon nodded, his eyes locked onto yours. “Yes, there was a moment of panic. But after an examination, it was clear that it wasn't poison. The doctors said you’ve contracted the flu.”

Relief washed over you at the revelation. The idea of poison had been unsettling, but the flu, while serious, was something that could be managed and treated. You couldn't help but wonder how a simple walk in the snow had led to such a dire situation.

“The flu,” you mumbled, still feeling disoriented.

Simon's grip on your hand tightened, and he offered a reassuring smile. “Yes, the palace doctors have been attending to you. They said that you’ll make a full recovery in a week or so.”

You’re both quiet for a moment.

“I feel like it's fair to mention that there may still be talk that you’ve been poisoned, but we’re currently trying to quell the rumors.”

You let out a weak sigh and nodded.

“Thank you, Simon,” you whispered, feeling grateful for his presence and care. It was sweet, seeing him like this. Genuinely concerned. Caring. Thoughtful. It warmed your heart.

Just then, the palace doctor entered the room, carrying an assortment of remedies and a concerned expression. They began to examine you, asking questions about your symptoms and carefully checking your vitals.

As the days went by, you remained in Simon’s chambers, isolated to give you privacy and much needed rest and quiet. Every night, he would leave, off to sleep in a different room. During this time, you spent countless hours talking to Simon.

“Are you sure I can stay here?”

“I’m quite sure.”

“I– I’ve taken over your whole room, though,” you try to argue. You feel bad for monopolizing Simon’s quarters, especially whilst being sick. You shift under the blankets and cushions.

“If I didn’t want you in my room, I wouldn’t have carried you here myself.” His voice held a tone of finality.

During this time, you spent countless hours talking to Simon, strengthening the growing bond between you two. His loyalty and devotion had been unwavering throughout this ordeal, and you couldn't help but start to feel like your connection to him was strengthening.

“I brought you some books,” he says one day, carrying a stack of books in his arms.

You immediately perk up, pushing yourself up your pillows.

“So sweet of you,” you praise, clapping your hands with a smile.

He blushes slightly. “I think you’ll like these,” he says, setting the books down on the bedside table. You eagerly scan the titles and covers. It was clear that he had put a lot of thought into selecting them for you.

“You really knew which ones I would like,” you said, genuinely touched by his considerate gesture.

Simon smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting genuinity. “I've been paying attention,” he replied softly.

You smile at his words, appreciation running through you.

More days passed, and the doctors administered treatments and provided you with nourishing soups and herbal remedies. Slowly, but surely, your strength began to return, and the flu loosened its grip on your body.

“I’m finally starting to feel better, Simon,” you said one morning, pushing the covers off your body.

“That’s good,” he nods. “Very good.”

You push yourself off the bed, standing in front of him for a moment.

“Hey– are you sure you’re okay to stand–?”

You flashed Simon a reassuring smile as you stood on your own two feet, feeling a sense of triumph over the illness that had kept you confined to his bed for what felt like an eternity.

“I'm sure,” you replied confidently, though your legs wobbled slightly under the weight of your hardly used legs. “I've been itching to get up and move around for so long now.”

Simon, still concerned, extended his arm toward you. “Just in case,” he said, offering you support. Gratefully, you accepted his arm.

With a sudden burst of confidence, you gently pull Simon to stand in front of you. His brows furrowed in confusion. However, before he could voice his curiosity, you wrapped your arms tightly around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Simon's initial confusion melted away as you pulled him into your embrace. His arms soon encircled you in return, and you both held each other close. It was a hug filled with unspoken words, a silent confirmation of the connection that had developed between you when you were sick.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper, pressing your cheek against his chest.

Simon's arms tightened around you, and he rested his chin on top of your head.

“It’s not something I would ever think twice about,” he replies, voice warm.

You look up at him.

“I appreciate that, I really do. I would do the same for you,” you say quietly, running your hand up and down his back.

Simon smiles down at you, his eyes filled with affection. “I know you would,” he says softly, his thumb gently stroking your back.

You nod, your heart feeling lighter.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#awww #so sweet so cute #he's so bbg #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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ofsappho · 10 months

Text

Summertime Sadness (part 1)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Later’s better than never… right?

Ten years ago, Simon and you met at the same therapeutic boarding school. You fought, he said some shit, he left. He thought he’d never see you again.

Until one day, a hospital calls and informs him that you’ve listed him as your emergency contact.

(title from the song by Lana Del Rey)

Tags: mental illness, abuse, addiction, self harm, suicidality/suicidal ideation/suicide attempts, angsty shit in general, Ghost being very mean as a fucked up 17 year old boy

There’s an old battered flip phone he hides in the back of his locker wherever he’s deployed. Ghost doesn’t turn it on all that often. Everyone who knows the number is dead.

But sometimes he does, just to stare at the contacts and click through the photos and remember what it was like to talk to them.

Today is one of those days.

He can only take so much talk from his team about families, friends, dogs waiting back home, and pretty girls before feeling the urge to break things.

So he excuses himself to hide in the bathroom like a fucking pussy and takes the phone with him. Simon can pretend he’s waiting for his own phone call from people who love him for a few minutes. Then he promises himself that he’ll put it away and not touch it for another six months.

It takes forever to power on. It’s still janky from the last time Ghost threw it at a wall, it seems.

One (1) missed call.

…What?

They left a voicemail.

His fingers shake as he listens to it.

There’s a long, tinny beep. “Hi, Mr. Riley, I’m…” A woman says in a rushed, businesslike manner. “I’m one of the nurses at-“ Ghost hears a bustle of background noise; faint murmurs, emergency sirens, doors sliding open and shut. “…Hospital. I’m calling because a friend of yours,” The nurse says your name. A name he hasn’t thought about in years. “…Put you down as her emergency contact when we admitted her to our psychiatric inpatient ward. Unfortunately, she did not provide us with anyone else. Please give me a call back at this number if you’d like to speak with her.” Click.

Ghost starts packing an overnight bag before he even realizes it.

Then he’s on a plane.

TEN YEARS AGO

“I hate you.”

You’re crying as you run after him in the forest. He speeds up, trying to lose you in the trees. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Simon. I’ll never bring it up again.” Snot covers your upper lip and your eyes are bright with tears.

He hates this fucking place. He hates this fucking school, the kilometers of wilderness separating him from his life because the fucking shrinks think he’s crazy. He hates you for trying to keep him here.

And just when Simon was about to fly the coop, you spilled the beans. “Leave me the fuck alone. Never, ever, ever talk to me again,” He barks, stopping abruptly and turning to loom over you.

When you reach for his hand, he slaps you away. “But you promised you wouldn’t leave-“ You end up on the ground, the pine needles biting into your bare knees as if Simon shoved you.

That makes him angrier. You’re too soft for a world like this. You’re practically begging for someone to hurt you again, someone like him, with your vulnerability and open, bleeding heart. Well, he’ll fucking oblige. You’re not strong like you think you are. You’re the weakest person he knows, and weakness is something Simon could never respect.

“I lied. I fucking lied, you dumb bitch. Didn’t you realize it?” Simon snarls, wishing desperately he’d never let you befriend him on his first day at this therapeutic program.

You're sunshine and innocence and friendship bracelets, the kind of girl who will always be a victim because this world devours little girls like you. Simon is nothing like you. Simon is a survivor. A warrior. Simon is steel where you are china.

Your American accent is almost as unbearable as your pathetic weeping. “…What?” Your bottom lip wobbles.

Hopefully this will teach you a lesson about tattling. Nobody likes a snitch. “Forever doesn’t fucking exist. You were the only tolerable person in this shithole, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be friends forever. What are you, a fucking infant? God, you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass.” If anything, Simon is letting you off easy. You told the counselor things Simon told you in confidence about his dad because you were ‘afraid for his safety.’

But you just don’t get it. Simon can’t spend another day here. And the longer he stays, the angrier his dad will get. You just earned him another week of shit and black eyes.

“Newsflash. People lie. Everyone’s been lying to you. Nobody likes you, not even your mum. And I can’t stand you. You were useful, but I don’t need you anymore. I’m better,” Simon hisses as cruelly as he can, using every blade in his arsenal to cut at the sensitive parts of you where he knows you’ll bleed. Just like you did when you told.

You’re only stuck in this place because your mum left you here. You don’t have anyone, not like he does. He has Tommy and his mum. He has a future. You’ve got absolutely fucking nothing.

“I was just trying to help.”

“I’m getting out of here. I don’t need your help. I’d tell you to keep it, but it wouldn’t even help you.” Simon pauses. You’ve stopped crying. Good. A crying fox is easy prey for the hunting dogs. “They won't believe you. And you wanna know why?” It feels good to be the hunter instead of the fox for once. You make excellent prey.

“‘Cause I told them the truth. That you’re an obsessed freak who’s hyper fixated on me and you’d do anything to keep me here. That you’re a sick, compulsive liar and that you’re the one who’s a danger to herself, not me.”

You fall silent. Finally, blessed silence. You look up at Simon with glazed eyes and a still tongue. He feels better. Good, even.

“Goodbye. I hope I never see you again,” Simon says flatly.

TODAY

You picked a good place to get yourself locked up in. This is one of the nicest hospitals Ghost has been in recently. Shiny floors, no dirt caking the walls. New York City puts Kabul and Moscow to shame.

He’s wearing a plain black balaclava. Nothing identifying or particularly memorable. This is going to be a short visit. Ghost will see what you want and then leave. That’s it.

You look tired, exhausted to the very bone.

None of the shiny pinkness that drew Ghost to you in the beginning when you were fifteen and he was seventeen. None of the glow, the round cheeks, the wide doe eyes.

There’s dark circles chiseled into your face, so dark he almost thinks they’re bruises. A couple of IV bags run through a drip hidden under bandages covering your arms from wrist to elbow. Your eyes are as quiet as you are. A couple of marbles would be more lively. You look almost like a doll forgotten in a corner.

The nurse gave Ghost the run-down as she guided him to your bed. Police picked you up on a bridge trying to off yourself. Your fifth time this year. Unless you show some real improvement, the doctors will recommend an indefinite hospitalization.

You’ve been busy in the decade of his absence. Multiple addictions, more attempts than he can count, and some small stints in jail. A list of disorders he wouldn’t know how to pronounce. And nobody left to call.

Is this his fault?

When Ghost rounds the corner, you smile like he should be proud of you. “You came,” You say.

I have absolutely no business starting a new fic. Absolutely none. Idk. I have brainrot. No clue when this will be updated. But here, have it.

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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

Note

hey! i love all ur fics sm (esp the bodyguard gaz ones omg i ate those up like candy 😩)

u don’t have to write this if u don’t want, but tf141 (and lv, if u write for them) and body worship?(separately, not poly) like fem reader’s had a tough day or wtv, n she’s feeling insecure so they js like show her how beautiful she rlly is

could be sfw or nsfw it’s ur choice

if that’s too many characters then feel free to leave some out!

have a good day/night ‼️

babygirl gaz my beloved <3 i need to write more on that. that unofficial series is a train wreck honestly but i love them so much. and oo i do love some good body worship. i don't really write for our sweet cowboys because i'm not all too comfortable with characterizing them yet, but i'll give you some hc's of our 141 boys!

Simon

he is honestly really surprised when he first learns that you're insecure about yourself. you're the most beautiful thing in the world to him, and really he's dumbfounded you don't see yourself that way.

i feel like he's one to stand behind you in the mirror with his hands on your hips and whisper sweet affirmations to you. how he loves the curve of your nose, how your teeth peek through your lips when you smile, how your eyes always shine when you look at something you love.

he whispers this all while you're looking in the mirror because he has to make you see what he sees. he's spent his fair share of time looking at his reflection, the scars on his face, his crooked nose, and hating every moment of it. he refuses to let you do the same, and so he plans to rewrite all of those emotions.

or he can just fuck you like he does in this drabble i wrote a while ago lmao.

Kyle

he always calls you pet names that are along the lines of "pretty girl" "my girl" things like that, so when you mention something about disliking your appearance, his brain literally restarts. his pretty girl? feeling insecure about herself? that simply won't do.

i feel like his immediate reaction would be to just kiss the pain away. sort of like how parents will kiss their child's injury if they scrape their knee or bruise themself, he does that but like all over.

he's kissing your nose, your forehead, your lips (of course) but more than that. he's trailing kisses down your arms, along your stomach, your legs, all the parts of you that only the sun had ever kissed before.

and of course he's whispering praises to you the entire time. doesn't even have to be in a sexual way either. you're the love of his life, and it saddens him that you feel down about yourself. so he'll just kiss away the bad thoughts until there's nothing left but his love.

Johnny

when he hears you say something degrading about yourself, Johnny is a little too enthusiastic and excited about correcting you. you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on, and he's going to make sure you see yourself that way too.

he's definitely the most handsy out of all of the boys. he's rubbing his hands up your arms, over your stomach, tracing your spine with his fingers. but then it escalates. he's groping your tits, pawing at your thighs and ass.

really, you can't blame the man when he eventually ends up between your thighs. you're just too pretty to resist, after all. look at what you do to him! bewitching him with your beauty, turning him into a pussy drunk man that can't get enough of you.

also, this might be his way of pavloving you. conditioning you into loving yourself as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you. no, you'll stop shying away and disagreeing when people call you pretty or compliment you, you'll just get insanely horny lmao

Price

i actually just wrote a little thing about him and body image issues last night! and really, i think he would totally do this.

the whole getting on his knees in front of you as if you were royalty, holding your hands in his, just looking up at you with so much love and adoration. he'll caress you softly while he speaks because honestly he can't get enough of you.

he'd meet your insecurities with mostly rational ideas. how your body is normal, your appearance is perfect, you're beautiful inside and out type thing. i feel like out of all the boys he might have the hardest time appealing to you emotionally with that stuff.

doesn't mean he won't try, though! he'll constantly affirm you, treat you like royalty and all that good stuff. he'll cook you a nice meal, and maybe the two of you will cuddle on the couch. really, he'll just try and fill you with so much love until you forget about what had upset you in the first place.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #f!reader #fem!reader

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sunsetsimon · 5 months

Note

i’ve been lurking through your page for the past few days and i’m screaming, crying, kicking my feet at simon. ANYWAYS— i’ve had a scary interaction yesterday evening when i parked my car and a guy opened my door when i was gathering my things from the passenger seat.

i screamed, which made him flinch and i was able to close the door and lock myself in. he banged my window and kept on trying to talk to me until he finally left.

i had a full blown panic attack and it took my 20 minutes to gather enough courage to get out and run home.

what’s scarier is that i am four months along w/ my bsf’s baby (USE PROTECTION KIDS, ONE SILLY MISTAKE AND YOU LOSE YOUR BSF AND FEEL LIKE A WHALE) and i don’t have anyone to call/reach so…… now… i can only think of reader experiencing this, but being able to call simon and him just comforting her afterwards and coming to save her <3 ugh i need a simon in my life hahahah

anyways—— sorry if this was weird and a strange word vomit too, feel free to ignore!! stay safe 🫶🏼

— momanon 🧞‍♀️

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. i'm so glad you're okay ugh that's terrifying!!! and i hope you have the happiest and healthiest pregnancy ever <333 mwah!

simon is fucking fuming, he can't think of the last time he was this riled up, ready to split this guy down the middle. your hands are shaking as you call him, struggling to hold your phone up to your ear, voice trembling as you speak. the line goes silent, all you hear is quick shuffling of what you can only assume is simon grabbing his keys to come to you.

“what does he look like? which direction is he walking to? what is he wearing?” firing off question after question, picturing all the ways he can send this man to his maker. of course you’re shaken, thoughts twisted from pure shock and adrenaline.

“don’t fucking move,” he orders you, and you can hear the loud acceleration of his car, driving way over the speed limit, running stop signs, tunnel visioned on getting to you.

he’s there faster than you can really process, his energy completely different. simon’s demeanor is dark, intimidating, enough to pull you out of your shock. his eyes are scanning the parking lot, searching for anyone who fits the description of the man.

“are you okay?” he asks, opening your door to pull you into his arms.

he holds you against his chest, taking deep breaths to coax you into calming down, his chest rising and falling in tempo with yours. his warm hand rests on your tummy, rubbing lightly as if he was soothing the baby.

“yeah that was just… scary,” you say, observing the cars around you once more. it's you and simon, and a woman about your age walking down the rows of cars. keys and purse in hand, she quickly passes you and gets in a blue car parked a few spaces down. though she didn't give you a second glance, simon watched her like a hawk, brown eyes scanning for the man lurking around.

"m'never letting you go anywhere alone again. especially while carryin' my kid with you," he huffs as the woman shuts her car door, quickly backing out and leaving. you're gathering your things, filling your bag with everything that had spilled in your fright, flinging things around while locking the door.

simon guides you out of your car by your hand, holding his other arm out to help stabilize you if you need it. grabbing the bag from you, he kisses your forehead and walks on your heels the entire way. from then on, he keeps his promise of not allowing you to go anywhere alone, always by your side to protect you.

#ghost x reader #.wbm #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #momanon🧞‍♀️

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sprout-fics · 7 months

Text

Falling Down to Earth (Part Three)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind (Formerly 'Of Shadows and Bones')

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 5.5k Tags: Slow Burn, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity, Reunions, Therapeutic healing, Sparring, Fluff, Happy Ending Warnings: References of childhood verbal abuse A/N: (See Ao3 for full author's notes)

Just like that, the autumn wind washes gently across your being.

It’s been weeks since you cried into Laswell’s arms in the dim, midnight light of her kitchen. Time has shifted since then, and the pull of the earth rotating endlessly under you now casts you into a hazy, resplendent golden glow of fall. The northeastern breeze cradles you as you lift your face to the late October sunshine, eyes closed and basking in the glory of the waning sunlight before winter’s eve. The aging trees that line the lane of Kate’s neighborhood begin to transform into amber and cognac, shifting against the crisp air where summer falls away with a gentle sigh.

It transforms you too, you think. The world is ever changing, evolving, turning itself over with death and renewal in a ceaseless evolution that seems to mirror the interior of your soul. You allow it to carry you, cradle you, and in your reverie you think about how despite everything, some things seem to stay the same.

“Grief is a funny thing.” You write in the journal Laswell has given you, a shawl draped across your shoulders, the crickets outside speaking of a time well past sunset. “I didn’t know that’s what it was until now. I’m still not sure what I’m grieving for, exactly. Maybe it’s for the things I missed because I didn’t let myself have them. Maybe it’s for the way I was treated. Maybe...it’s for the way I treated myself.”

You wake there come dawn, head bent against your arms, fingers tucked against the pages as if you still have so much more to say.

It’s not been so long since that night that you can’t remember the chest cracking sensation of your sobs, the way your fingers had stretched her shirt as you clung to Laswell in the solitude of her embrace. You think if you let your memories shift ephemeral across your thoughts you can still taste the salt of your tears, not unlike the ocean you were once so afraid of. It still roils under your gaze, held high on a precipice far above the waters. There lies your darkest nightmares, the haunting words of your father with his devastating prophecies. Yet it feels distant now, something caught in your shadow, but only when you turn to look. You know it will follow you, and that alone is enough to frighten you. Yet it is chased away by the brightness of the changed world around you.

The things Laswell said to you, her hushed words as you emptied yourself of sorrow into her arms remain with you. How she was sorry, how she was proud, how you belonged exactly where you wanted to be. You hold the words fast to your heart like a small, glowing lantern that burns a gentle flame. The fear, the anticipation and the dark chlorosis stays there too, but it’s different now. Changed, just like you.

Like the inexorable change of seasons, there’s something inside you that’s shifted now. Your paralytic fear and self-loathing keeps its place inside you, but the heaviness is no longer unbearable. You feel it lifted by a new, whispering updraft that buoys your healing wings and holds you delicately aloft against the sun. Sunlight dapples through dissipating storm clouds, and it streams through your fingers onto your wide-eyed, captivated gaze.

There’s things about the world around you you’ve never noticed until now, and in this new, profound wonder of yours you take it in with fluttering fascination that feels like the wingbeats of hope.

You notice the laughter of children in the afternoons when the school bus whines to a halt at the top of the lane, of the games they play and the call of their parents when it comes time for dinner. You notice the way black-eyed susans grow against the aged fence of Kate’s back yard, see a chipmunk sit and eat the dried seed heads. In the hours past sunset there’s a call of a barred owl from the aged oak that shadows the front yard. In the morning the rising sun reveals hovering particles of dust that float against the gauzy white curtains in the front room. Small things you’ve taken for granted now seem to mesmerize you, offering a glimpse of a world so much more delicate and beautiful than the one you thought you knew.

You notice the sound of your own voice now, how you’ve gone from quiet and subdued to something gentle but firm. You surprise yourself by how much you seem to say now, allow your own thoughts to echo into words. More than once you provide a quick comment to Kate or Paula and they pause, laugh at your humor, delighted and astonished at the things you’ve kept quiet until now. They notice the shift in your demeanor, look upon you with tender gazes that say little and yet convey so much. They’re watching you find your path, watching you balance delicately atop this new summit, arms spread like extended wings to hold yourself aloft. They hold your hands as you do, and you trust them to catch you should you stumble.

They take you to a fall festival, where the scent of maple curls across your senses. Paula stands over the produce stand and considers ingredients philosophically, and you sheepishly tug Laswell to go look at the petting zoo, to which she gives you a bemused look at your childlike fascination. When Paula fetches you to examine Halloween decorations Kate wanders off in search of coffee, returns to confess her secret adoration for cider-spiced flavors. You linger by the pumpkin patch, watch children struggle to hoist pumpkins larger than themselves. Paula nudes you meaningfully, and you carefully choose one for yourself, where it later sits on the steps up to the front door with a misshapen, lopsided grin.

“I know the sound of my own laughter now.” You write, and again that ache of grief and hope sits heavy in your chest, expands exponentially outwards as if your bones are barely enough to contain it. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel so much joy.”

The golden hour of afternoon spills through the windows of the office you visit each week, where conversations come easier to you now between you and your therapist. He smiles fondly at you as you struggle to reveal the things you’ve kept so tightly wound to yourself, trying and earnest and still learning the words to name the things you feel caught inside your hollow, filling heart.

You tell him everything you told Laswell and more. It’s a slow, grueling process. There’s so many things you’ve repressed and forgotten, and you learn you can’t remember them because it’s too painful, and that it’s alright. You learn the names of the things you experienced and learn how to balance them carefully against the weight of your soul, decide what is and isn’t worth remembering. He’s patient in a way you aren’t familiar with, and you smile at him gratefully when he gently suggests that it’s enough, and sends you home with a reminder to be kind to yourself.

It’s hard on some days, and you come back weary and ragged, overworn and crumpling into Kate and Paula’s arms. They hold you, keep you safe from the spiral of your own mind, and you learn how to let yourself be taken care of despite the tears that well in your eyes.

You learn that too- how to cry and not punish yourself for it.

Kate is patient as she reminds you over and over again the things she thinks of you, the things that are, and they balance against the words of your father, tip the scales so his prophecies are carried by the wind off the distant edge of the earth. You learn and keep the knowledge that you are so much more than what he thought of you.

“I didn’t realize just how much I’ve done with myself.” You write in your journal in the gentle cradle of evening. “I always thought it wasn’t enough, and maybe it still isn’t in some ways- but the things I’ve done mean a lot to me. I graduated university by myself, joined the military, got my medic training, made sergeant rank, got recruited by the CIA, and now I work with an international anti-terrorism taskforce.”

You pause.

“I’m still so young.”

You sometimes wonder what your father would think of you now, with all the things you’ve done, what they’d all think of you. The last time you’d spoken to your family had been shortly after your college graduation, when your mother had asked if you had gotten over your fierce independence and were ready to come home. You told her instead you were following through on your commitment to join the army. She’d been frantic and had handed the phone to your father. He’d only gotten three seconds of yelling before you had hung up and blocked all of them, curled into yourself in your dorm bunk and cried yourself empty.

You know reaching out would be only an attempt to prove yourself to them still, and you know now you don’t need them.

Instead, you look across the Atlantic, past the unfathomable depth of the ocean to the place where you belong. You look to them.

The team still hasn’t reached out, and you know it’s through no fault of your own. They’ve been deployed out of cellphone range for weeks now. Even if you tried to contact them the call wouldn’t go through. So you wait anxiously for them to return, thinking about all the things you want to tell them once you hear their voices.

Kate must take note of your anxious pacing when the worry becomes too much, because one weekend she tosses you a gym bag and tells you to be ready in ten minutes. You follow orders and clamber into the car with her, curious when she drives you out of the city and towards a subdued suburb with an aging strip mall, wherein lies what seems like a martial arts ring.

“Don’t tell Paula.” Kate levels at you with a pointed finger when she escorts you inside, and you hide a cheeky smile but cross your heart to never tell.

“Didn’t figure you for the type.” You levy back and watch as Kate rolls her shoulders while she wraps her hands. She has a lean build, narrow shoulders with stringy muscle that flexes under your eyes. She’s not strong so much as she is dexterous, agile in a way where the boys are not. They’re larger, packed with muscle that slows them down. Not Kate. Kate is lean, efficient, and fast.

You learn this quickly, as your typical approach to sparring with the boys becomes null and void against Kate’s quick onslaught, precise and practiced. A foot hooked around your ankle sends you sprawling the first time, and the second Kate uses your momentum to send you tumbling once more.

“I thought you never joined the military?” You wheeze from the mat as Kate stands over you.

“I didn’t.” She smirks and offers you a hand to stand. “I’ve just lived around soldiers long enough to pick up a few things.”

“More than a few things.” You gasp, doubling over to catch your breath as you rise. “Christ, Kate, that knocked the wind out of me.”

Laswell grins smugly. “That’s why we get back up.” She supplies, and you blink at the barely hidden nature of her words before feigning a roll of your eyes with a begrudging smile.

Kate stretches as she wanders away from you, looking very much like a cat in the sunshine, even with the pleased curl of her lips. It’s unfamiliar to you, the way she easily folds herself into the ring, seems at home here. Kate is a woman of many mysteries, and this itself feels like one of hundreds you’ve yet to fully understand. Yet somehow the confident flex of her muscles and glint of her eyes as she takes in your stance makes complete sense with what you know of her.

“Foot forward.” She nods, and you blink, glance down as you adjust. “It’ll help you balance when you throw your punch.”

You must look a little nervous at that because Kate huffs an amused chortle.

“Don’t laugh.” You whine piteously. “What if I hit you and Paula finds out? I don’t want to sleep on the streets.”

“Better make it count then.” Laswell quips, and springs forward.

Hours later, you find out Kate has been doing this since before Ethiopia, maybe even before you joined. You get the upper hand on her a few times, and warm under the praise she gives you before standing at attention when her hands gently guide your arms at a different angle, widening your stance. The guidance she gives you is much more focused on speed rather than the precision and endurance Price’s training offers. It’s useful in its own right, perfect for when you find yourself without any weapon to spare, and are focused more on escape than fatality. The bounce of the mat under your back becomes familiar, and more than once Kate snips at you for holding back on your strength, afraid to grapple in earnest.

It’s only once you’re both braced against the wall, damp with sweat and trying to catch your breath that you both call it quits. You pass a water bottle back and forth between you and prod the forming bruise on your hip with a minor grunt.

“You did well.” Kate tells you, and you beam at her.

“You’re different from the boys.” You tell her again, and Kate smiles around the lip of the water bottle.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She returns.

“It is.” You assure her, take a long sip of water when she offers it. “Harder, in some ways.”

A comfortable silence falls between you at that, and as you pull your knees up to stretch you idly offer: “I managed to pin Ghost once.”

Kate freezes out of the corner of your eye, but the gesture is lost in a moment before she offers a mild ‘Oh?’

“It’s true.” You go on, shifting to continue stretching with a little grunt. “Took a couple tries. Can’t say he was nice about it. I ended up bruised to hell the day after.”

“Sounds like he didn’t go easy on you.” Kate replies a little absently in a way where you know she’s thinking about something.

You pause, consider her words, mind hazing over and returning to that September day.

You blink and the light changes. Your next breath, forced through parted lips, seems to ooze the toxicity from your veins, lifting the weight from your shoulders. The bones inside you are still cracked, fractured, and you know they probably will be forever. Now, however, you understand, and the knowledge seems to strengthen them, dull the bitter horrible pain of your own doubt long enough for you to see.

Not a shadow, a light in the darkness. Guiding you forwards even if it threatens to blind you, drawing you out of the confines of your own lack of confidence by force if he has to. He's not doing this to mock you at all. He's not looking down on you, he's not gloating or tossing you around for his own sadistic self-pleasure. He's trying, in his own way, to teach you, to show you that you do have what it takes. He's breaking you systematically, scooping you from the ashes and charred remains so the frayed and broken edges of you are polished into something new. Something stronger.

He's doing this because he sees you. Just you, and that's already good enough. You're good enough.

“No.” You offer quietly. “I think he did. I think he knew how much I needed it.”

You straighten to look at her then, and there’s silence that passes between you as you are both caught by the other’s stare. There’s meaning in the absence of words, one that you can see by the way Kate’s eyes glint with curiosity and a knowing sort of intrigue. You wonder if what little you’ve said is too much, if maybe she’s seen that part of you too, the part that always wonders why Ghost seems softer with you than the others, the part that longs for him to be. She seems surprised for a moment, eyebrows arching silently as realization flickers across her gray eyed gaze.

When she smiles, she says nothing. At a mere glance, however, you can tell she knows.

You clear your throat, feeling your face warm, make a point to stand quickly and feign a few more stretches before hastily providing that Paula will be missing you both soon. Kate acquiesces gracefully, to which you are grateful that she does not needle you for further details about your concealed feelings towards the lieutenant. You’re not sure you can stand it if she did.

It’s after dinner that Kate gets a ping on her cellphone, taking a glance and grabbing for her coat. She provides a quick excuse of ‘work calls’ before giving Paula a parting kiss and grabbing her bag to race off towards the Pentagon. You and Paula exchange a look, and you can hardly contain your smile because even though Laswell has said nothing, you know her sudden disappearance means they’re back.

It’s already the wee hours of the morning in the UK, as Soap would say. The team sets up to debrief in the morning, and you know you won’t be able to contact them until after. You know from experience that they’re more than exhausted, de-kitting and slinking with weary limbs to rinse the grime and blood in the showers. There’s no way to talk to them tonight, and even tomorrow you know will be spent as a much-needed day of rest. The excitement, the trepidation gnaws at you as you force yourself to bed, anxious to hear the voices of your team, to know they’re home safe and sound, to tell them all the things you wish you said sooner.

Laswell doesn’t appear at breakfast the next morning, and Paula tells you she’s still at her office vigilantly reviewing the intel the team has gathered. You take it from her lack of contact that there’s been no major incidents, that everyone is alive and safe and well. Still, you pace anxiously around the house for most of the day, counting the hours on your watch and tracking the differences in the time zone before you’ve vowed to call them. As you do, you try to plan the words you want to say, raking a hand across your face and distracting yourself with the news, with something. You’re stalling, you know, but your mind wanders back to the hospital, to the way you pushed Soap and Gaz away, and you can’t help but wonder if the things you want to confess are going to come too little too late.

The phone line rings for what seems like hours when you finally gather the courage to dial Gaz. You know he’s the one who’s most responsive to his cell, with Soap being easily distracted and Price and Ghost hardly ever looking at theirs. It’s only a few moments, but the wait feels like a lifetime before he finally picks up.

“Fix?”

“Gaz.” You exhale, face melting into a relieved smile. He sounds surprised, yes, but more than that he sounds pleased to hear from you. A positive sign.

You hear a whoosh of air on the other end, and Gaz leans away to the phone to talk to someone on his side.

“Hang on, mate. Gimme a sec-”

You wait, and then blink down at your phone for the incoming video call, hesitantly tapping at the screen to reveal Gaz’s warm, cheerful gaze.

“Fix!” He greets again, and now you can see the smile that lights up his face at the sight of you. “Bloody good to hear from you. How have you been?”

Something sharp clenches in your ribs for a moment, in the same place as your injury, the place where you’ve been holding so much heartache for so long. You nearly wince at it, feeling the muscles grow taut-

and then release, unfurl in blessed, emotional relief.

“I’m good, Kyle.” You tell him, trying hard to keep the swell of emotion out of your voice despite the way it clings in your throat. “Really good.”

Gaz smiles impossibly brighter, but before he can say anything else there’s motion, bickering, a protest, and then Johnny’s face replaces Gaz.

“Fix!” He grins, eyes sparkling. “God, hen. We’ve missed you so much. How are you? How’s your ribs? Are you taking it easy?”

Warmth threatens your eyes now as you feel the sweet release of reprieve flood through you. It takes effort to swallow it down, to not get emotional at the mere sight of your friends- but Johnny’s words “We’ve missed you.” threaten to undo you at the seams.

“I am now.” You reply, and internally wince at the way your voice trembles when you force the tears back. “Not at first, but Laswell helped whip me into shape.”

“Good woman, Kate.” Gaz comments and tilts the phone so you can see both him and Soap at once. “Jesus, it’s good to hear from you, Fix. We’ve all been thinking about you, wondering if you were alright.”

Ah, fuck it.

You let the tears come, scrub your face and try to not let them wet your cheeks, tilting the phone away a moment too late. A hiccup seizes your chest for a moment, and you allow yourself a few moments to let it free before looking back to Gaz and Soap’s concerned stares.

“I am.” You tell them, voice choked up. “I’m more than alright.”

You wish you were there, you wish you could be there beside them, but the embraces they’d offer you feel warm all the same, even from a thousand miles away.

“What’s all this?” A voice intones on the other side, and Soap turns towards the source, beaming brightly.

“We’ve got our bonnie medic on the line.” He says, and you’re quickly passed in a flurry of motion to reveal the face of your captain.

“Sir.” You greet, and Price blinks, then shakes his head with a small, fond smile.

“None of that.” He admonishes lightly. “You call me as friends do.”

“Of course.” You manage, throat constricting with a fresh wave of emotion. “Price.”

Price’s eyes are warm, affectionate, looking upon you not with the furious discipline from before, but that of the friend you know him as.

“You look good, Fix.” He offers softly, and you straighten under his gaze as the praise finds its mark. “Has Kate been treating you right?”

“More than right.” You return, feeling the anxiety shed itself with every word. “I’m getting spoiled here.”

“As ye should!” Soap comments from off-screen. “Our medic deserves the best.”

Price huffs a laugh then, and it makes your smile grow that much larger, almost enough to make your cheeks hurt.

“Seriously.” You add. “Have you ever met Paula? I know you have, Price, she’s told me the story about coming home to you and Kate alone in the kitchen.”

Price winces at that, at the awkward memory of Paula finding a strange man in her house in familiar discussion with her wife. “That wasn’t my best first impression.” He admits, and you hear Soap and Gaz whisper conspiratorially somewhere behind him, curious as to the details of the unsaid story.

“She’s an amazing cook.” You go on. “I’m going to have to work hard to get back into shape with everything she’s been feeding me.”

“What I would give for a home cooked meal right now.” Gaz laments woefully. “Think you can bring her back with you to the UK?”

You’re about to respond when Gaz’s words catch inside you. Your brow furrows for a moment, processing, before you look at Price, who looks to Gaz with a reprimanding frown.

“Wait-” You manage, hope rising sharply inside of you. “Does that mean-”

Price smiles, and it’s genuine, sincere, the kind of smile you only see after he’s immensely pleased with you. You feel your heart stammer and you suck in a gasp when he speaks.

“Laswell officially cleared you for duty.” He tells you, scarcely containing his own enthusiasm. “You’ll be coming back whenever she gives the order. But-”

Your excitement cuts short in your chest, but the hope there lingers as your breath catches.

“Only if you want to.”

It takes a moment for you to understand, and in the silence that follows Soap grapples for the phone with an almost manic desperation.

“We want you to come back.” He clarifies quickly. “The team hasn’t been the same without you. Of course we understand if you need more time, if you want to talk it over with Laswell, but-” He sucks in a breath, and you watch the way his blue eyes alight with anxious energy.

“We...we want you home, Fix.”

Home.

The place you’ve fought to be, to earn your place there. Home, with your brothers who have kept a seat warm for you despite all this time, have made a place for you in their hearts despite your failures. Home, to the place you are meant to be, to the place where you belong.

“Of course I’m coming back.” You sigh at last, your voice breaking with an overwhelmed happiness you can’t contain. It bleeds into Soap, his eyes melting with relief before Gaz once more seizes the phone.

“Not a moment too soon.” He announces, and his own expression scarcely contains the joy in his eyes. “We can’t wait to get you back.”

You laugh a strange, overwhelmed sound at that, once more wiping your eyes as they warm and obscure your gaze of the team’s smiling faces. As you do, there’s a quiet murmur on the other side, and by the time you focus back there’s a different face that looks back.

Ghost.

“Fix.” He greets, and despite the balaclava that hides all but his eyes, you see his expression soften. “It’s been a while.”

“It really has, hasn’t it?” You return, voice dipping low to match his own. “Are you well?”

Ghost shrugs, eyes darting away from the camera for a moment before they return. “Nothing major.” He offers. “A few bruises and scrapes, the usual.”

“You’re not allowed to get injured before I get back.” You tell him seriously, eyes narrowing. He only tilts his head in return.

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to get injured at all?” He drawls, and your smile returns at the way he easily falls into the banter.

“Well then you wouldn’t need me, would you?”

Ghost blinks, considers this, his eyes weighing on you even as you grin at him. You fail to contain the affection in your eyes as his gaze softens.

“I suppose that’s true.” He concedes at last, and your laughter releases like a soft autumn breeze.

The group crowds around the phone for what seems like hours, passing you back and forth before finally setting you up on a nearby table to observe them all at once. Soap disappears and returns with beers as you give them a tour of Laswell’s house. When you stop to pet Whiskey Gaz fails to resist the urge to make baby noises at the retired K9, who thumps his tail in amicable greeting. It precedes a conversation about the various working dogs the team has seen, which is then followed by a serious discussion about the differences between British and American suburbs as you give the team a view of the outside of the house.

Paula is introduced shortly afterwards, and as you pass the phone to her she happily greets the team, and then quickly follows it with a declaration of how they’re to treat you properly once you return. You think you see Price swallow thickly on the other side of the camera.

The team finally discusses their most recent mission in Kenya, tracking a weapon smuggling ring along the Somali Coast. You share stories of your deployment in Ethiopia, of the dry mountain wind and your bustling medical tent. You feel it curl around you from the source of your memories, winding back far before this story began. It lifts your face to the sky you thought you fell from, the golden clouds that once rushed past your form as you hurtled downwards. Now, you feel it catch under your wings and lift you higher, basking in the glory of the sun you have missed so much. it doesn’t burn as it did before, and instead the gentle warmth and laughter of your comrades fills the emptiness of your heart where you once held so much sorrow.

It’s not over yet, you know that. There’s still so much more to be done. The long ignored, festering thing inside of you remains, but the growth is stifled now, replaced by an ease you have never felt before. It will take time for it to mend, just as the wound that once lay in your side, but you know now that even though you’re still healing, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. There are those that love you, adore you, hold you close and safe to their hearts.

You’ll fall again, you know. The darkness of the ocean below, of the churning water of failure where your past haunts you, will remain. Yet present too is the arms of your family, your real family, ready to catch you as you fall back down to earth. You know now that you’re not alone, that as much as you fall there will be people to catch you, hold you fast within the safety and comfort of their embrace. You look to them like a headwind, feel the breeze of their smiles graze across your cheeks, breathe in the familiar scent brought to you by the wind. You lift your hand to it, discern it like the rotating axis of the earth, let it whisper across your memories and engrave their hearts there.

The hour grows late in the UK, and eventually the team is forced to end the call with promises of another one shortly to follow. You say farewell, and in the seconds that follow the screen going dark you buckle into yourself and let loose the full tide of emotion within you. Heartache, grief, joy, relief, and above all sincere gratitude that the ones you love accept you for who you are, will stand beside you despite everything. The tears run warmly down your cheeks, but beneath it is a smile, a thanks to the heavens for putting you in a place where you are loved.

You talk to them frequently in the days that follow, waiting for Laswell to clear the red tape to re-designate you to the taskforce once more. Price calms you as you await the news anxiously, assures you Kate will find a way to send you back to them one way or another. Soap and Gaz happily distract you as they find a way to include you in a drunken game night that has you clutching your stomach with laughter.

It’s on a quiet night that you talk to Ghost, who is the one to call you, strangely enough. It’s a short call compared to the others, and it’s endearing the way Ghost feigns an excuse to check in on you. You curl into the window seat in your bedroom, watching the sunset as you talk in low voices about everything and nothing at all. The comfortable silence lingers between you both and finds a place to perch inside you alongside the secret you hold just for him.

At last, the order comes through. You’re sent back as Laswell’s CIA liaison under her command, on loan to the taskforce indefinitely. You unfold your military greaves from the closet, smooth the fabric under your palms. The heavy fabric is a reminder as to who you are, the person you’re born to be. A soldier, a warrior, a protector.

You hesitate in the doorway of the bedroom, hoisting your duffle over your shoulder. The sunlight dapples through the sheer white curtains, washes the room in pale, ethereal light that sighs softly into your memories. You know you’ll be back again. Maybe not soon, but you know this place too is home, that in this city you grew up in, your real home is the place you choose to be, with the people who love you.

They’ll see you off as you make the long journey back to England, and will embrace you before you climb aboard the plane. They’ll await you for the long flight, counting down the hours until your return. When you arrive they’ll take you into their arms when you step off the plane, lift your face to see your teary, joyful smile and by the sound of their voices alone you know you’re home.

The hazy pink light of sunset illuminates your bedroom.

The journal left on your desk remains unfinished.

Tag List:

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#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #Simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x ofc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #fic: snowblind #ITS DONE

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stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months

Note

i saw this couple on the train and his gf fell asleep on him and she just looked at her fondly and took off his jacket to put around her and i damn near burst into fucking tears because what the actual fuck-

ANYWAY

soft!simon reading to reader about something that interests him and she just...falls asleep on him (she could be tired from work or wvr) and he just looks at her like shes the only girl in the world????? please???? i need to heal my heart rn

<3333333

This isn’t proofread, as I risked my sanity typing this out on a long car drive. I hope you like it!

Time written - 5:43 p.m

“That’s a lot of paperwork.” Your comment reaches his ears after he hands you a mug of apple clove tea, cuddled up cozy in a warm gray comforter on the couch.

“It is,” he mutters, carrying with him a thick journal half full of pages he needed to continue. Such as a man like him to bring work home, wanting to keep an eye on you as you fought this seasonal cold.

“That looks like a thousand words.”

“Probably is.”

“What’s it about?” You ask while sipping your hot beverage, tasting orange blossom honey he used to sweeten your beverage.

“Boring stuff, love.” He comments after getting comfortable beside you, clicking his pen in case he needed to use it. “Not worth your time, just drink your tea.”

“Tell me.” You insist without force, resisting the urge to peer over at his blue and black handwriting.

Simon ponders for a good while, mindlessly tapping his pen along thick paper. He figured you’d ask once he brought out this old journal when inspiration struck, but to speak of it? That was a little new.

“It’s a … manuscript,” he decides to call it with the slightest bit of hesitation. “Or a draft. Thought of writing a novel at some point.”

“Really?” Your head meets his, watching him nod slowly.

“Mhm. Mostly short stories. Not ‘bout my life, no. Just … about a boy.”

“A boy?” Your smile permeates through your words, making him sheepishly tilt his head with a nervous grin.

“A boy with a stray dog. They have an adventure in the woods, that sorta stuff.”

“Sounds cute,” you smile, finding the idea of Simon writing a story endearing. Maybe this took his mind off his work stress, our about his own personal struggles in general.

“Can I hear some of it?”

Simon’s lips flatten in thought before he sets the pet down, proceeding to flip through a few pages.

“I’ve never showed anyone this,” he peers at you. “So, don’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” you smile with a mild giddiness whilst getting more comfortable.

Simon proceeds to relay a short paragraph he had written just a couple weeks back. Back when he barely had the time to think much of this journal, but felt the ever so endearing writing urge at a late hour of the night.

He remembers you had gone to bed early that night after cooking him dinner. The snow was dense outside, covering all the piles of withered, colored leaves that had long since fallen from hibernating trees.

“Through brittle cold air and dense fogs resides a canopy made of broken trees; the roof made of crunchy leaves, the steps made of cracked stones. Upon the center of the canopy laid a small puppy, no more than seven or eight months old. It’s fur was slick, her eyes a bright blue. She sat waiting for the boy, proceeding to greet him like an old friend that had left for a long time.”

Simon pauses, realizing his cheeks had grown a bit warm. Clearing his throat a bit, he turns his attention to the next paragraph, purposely avoiding the adoring look in your eyes after reading such a creation.

“The puppy clung to his side like a burr, waddling along with no promise of food. The boy gave nothing in return, other than carrying her in his arms when her legs were too tired to continue.”

“The boy was in search of an old well, said to be in the midst of fir trees in the center of a mushroom circle. Once he finds the well, he’s told to look inside for all his desires to come true.”

“He wandered for hours and hours until he found what he sought; a broken well with dried, dead vines clinging to the rocks. The boy leans over, peering inside to an apparition of a siren staring back in the water’s reflection. She smiles, singing promises of riches and cures to all sickness he knows, for all she requires is for him to reach for her hands fifty feet down below into the cavern.”

“He desired nothing more until the puppy bit into his pant leg, the strength of her tiny, curly body bracing him back from making such a jump. To the boy, who promised not even an ounce of bread to such a minor companion, broke his blindness to the siren’s secret demise.”

“Such a small little thing opened his eyes just in time before the stones cave in, swallowing up the well without its promised child. In return for the pup’s bravery in saving his life, the boy carried her in his arms, promising a warm bed and home cooked meal all the way back home.”

A faint, heavy pressure rests along his shoulder, your slumped head nearly slipping off of his shoulder.

He’s quiet for the longest time, gazing down at the reason he enjoys coming home each day. The sweetest, most heartwarming woman he’s had the pleasure of laying his eyes on.

A chorus of angels erupted from your lungs with every word you spoke, your pretty head full of ideas and phrases that never left his mind running dry with boredom. You were a strong, incredibly beautiful woman, whom sometimes reminded him of a bouncing puppy by his side during your private moments within your own home.

Especially now, snuggled up in his arms, your affected nasals interfering with your breathing just a bit. The cold medicine did it’s job in helping you sleep, so Simon was more than content. Especially as he chose to believe your mind was affected by a cold medicine’s side effect rather than pure boredom.

Softly, he hums as he removes the still warm mug from your hands, readjusting the blanket over your shoulders.

“Told ya so, sweetheart.” He murmurs, running two rugged fingers through your hair before peering outside, frost coating the window pane as pure white snow blankets the earth just outside.

#I miss writing about this man #simon ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #you’re the dog #cod simon riley #cod modern warfare ii #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you

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exactlyyoungchaos · 5 days

Text

till forever falls apart.

The bestfriendSimon x f!Reader fic I first talked about.

cw: all sorts of trauma, character death, fluff, probable smut, inaccurate military stuff, a little bit canon and a little bit AU. do tell me if i missed something.

Your history with Simon goes back to elementary school. He grew up in an abusive household and you grew up in foster care with guardians who only cared about the government money.

Both of you bonded over the same things and became inseparable.

No one dared to mess with you in school because they knew if they did, they would have to answer Simon, and nobody wanted to cross him.

Junior year of high school starts and you get a visit from your social service agent, who wants to relocate you, but you are adamant that you want to stay here, but alas she takes you kicking and screaming.

Simon promises that he will find you in the future, and so with tears in both of your eyes, you leave. The same year Simon ran away from home.

Now 12 years later, he is on an undercover intel mission in Australia with Johnny. that's when he spots you, sitting in a cafe, looking like a dream, writing furiously on your laptop.

How does he knows its you? why wouldn't he? You were, are everything to him. The only person who knows him better than himself.

He has been trying to find you for years but always came out empty handed. By joining the military he thought it would be easy but it wasn't.

Johnny notices him freezing in the middle of the sidewalk staring intently at the glass window of the cafe, he turns to see what caught his Lt's eye and he sees the prettiest bonnie lass that he's ever seen.

he smirks " see something you like Lt?"

"that's her" Simon barely whispers, his heart racing.

Johnny's head snaps in your direction again, everyone in the team knows who you are. the little bird Simon has been trying to find for years.

and here you are, sitting in the cafe, oblivious to the fact that the man you have been looking for is standing right outside.

You finish your work and pack up your stuff to leave, you turn around and slam face-first into a wall of muscle. A strong hand stabilizes you as a soft 'oomph" leaves your mouth.

now, you are not small in any proportions, but this man still dwarfs you.

you look up to apologize and the sorry dies on your tongue as you come face to face with a skull mask.

your brain short circuits for a minute, and you're trying to figure out what to say then suddenly a heavily accented voice speaks from behind him " A'm so sorry Bonnie, he wasn't keen" a bulky man with a mohawk speaks.

they both look like they came out of some military comic. scarred, bulky, and big.

"it's ok, I wasn't looking either" you reply, looking back to the big guy in the mask, who's still blocking your path.

"Birdie...." the big guy breathes in through his teeth.

Recognition hits you like a tsunami. only one person in your life called you that—your best friend.

your eyes turn comically wide as you ask "Simon?" in a small voice, not believing it's him.

His gloved hands frame your face and he traces every inch of you with his eyes.

You look into his eyes and familiarity hits you, the same warm brown eyes that used to comfort you, that was your home, now standing at almost 6ft 5 in.

"Found ya."

and any sense of where you are leaves your mind as you leap into his arms and hug him as tight as possible. his beefy arms come around you and crush you to his chest as he breathes in your sweet scent.

you hold him and sob, he's here you can't believe it. He's here.

finally, finally.......somebody clears their throat next to you. you turn your head from Simon's chest and see a line of people waiting to sidestep both of you but unsure because of the sheer size of the man in front of you.

"We are blocking the line Si," you giggle and sob simultaneously.

hearing your voice after so long, Simon feels like he can breathe again.

you are here, his birdie, his angel, his everything. and this time no one can take you away from him. No one.

SOOOOOOOO!! WHAT DO WE THINK????? This is going to be a multi-part series because I'm just starting with this. I have so much to add.

Do tell me your thoughts and theories. And feel free to ask anything

And if you have requests for COD more specifically Simon, do send them my way, I'll try my best to write them.

love ya!!!!!

ALI-❤️

#cod mw x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff #call of duty modern warfare 2 #fem reader #long lost friend #john soap mactavish #modern warfare

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graycomfort · 6 months

Text

Simon Henriksson x gn reader - Leende -Part 2

Synopsis: You just started learning Swedish.

Masterlist (coming soon) Part 1 Part 2

A/N: aiaiaiiaiai Part two to my first fanfiction ever. Still cheesy :] If there are any mistakes in the Swedish parts, please tell me and I will fix them!

They/Them is used like two times, the rest of it refers to you as you. Hope you enjoy! : ]

Word Count: ~2.8 k

It's been few weeks since you started learning Swedish. Simon has been quite helpful in the journey to learn his language. Even though he made fun of you from time to time, he provided you with practice and accuracy. He did throw you into deep water many times though. While buying stuff at the store or ordering fast food, he would just stop speaking forcing you to do the talking. Even though it made you stressed, it was a good practice. And Simon would make it up to you by paying for your stuff.

In the beginning, you would check if the information given by him was correct. But he valued your trust, so he never tricked you by telling you the wrong translations. However, he would confuse you by speaking words you don't know and never translating. He was not quite ready for you to know when he was complimenting you. To you, it was hard to catch and he refused to repeat so most of the time it was hard to look up what he said. That annoyed you, but also motivated you even more. You studied even harder to get back at him someday.

It was late at night. You have gotten a worrisome message from Simon's mom, asking about Simon's whereabouts. You told her you don't know, but that you will look for him. She said she would be grateful if you did and to be careful. So as soon as you told your guardian you were leaving, you were on your way. You jumped between rooftops with a flashlight turned on on your phone. You finally reached the one that you knew Simon would be at. A huge flat one.

He sat there when he felt upset and didn't want to dwell in his bed any longer. He told you that this was where Sophie killed herself. This confused you a lot since she was very much alive. You passed her in the hallway at school at least twice a week. You knew that he knew that too, since they went to the same classes. You decided not to question it. And Simon never elaborated, not wanting to put the baggage that was his mental health on you.

The important part to you at the moment was that Simon was in a bad mood. He sat there, in the same spot as always. You made sure your footsteps were audible, so you didn't startle him. You sat down on his left. You looked down at the street before switching to Simon. He wasn't crying, just looking in front of him with an empty stare. You were not sure he even knew you were there.

He in fact didn't. He only realized you were there when he was no longer zoning out. Your efforts not to startle him going to waste. In his point of view, you appeared out of thin air. His eyes turned away as soon as he saw you. "How long have you been here?" He asked you with a hoarse voice. He was clearly not dressed well for the weather, but so weren't you. Your hoodies not thick enough to stop the cold air hitting your bodies. "Just got here. How about you? Can you even feel your fingers anymore?" You grabbed his hand, feeling how cold to the touch it was.

"I'm not sure." Only then he felt how cold his fingers were compared to yours. He didn't move his hand away. Longing for your warmth and closeness. He felt like he wanted to crawl under your warm skin. "C'mon. Gimme your second hand." And he gladly did as he was told. Maybe a bit too eagerly than he would like to. Both of his cold hands now covered by yours, like a warm blanket. Your touch comforted him like he knew it would.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You looked at him, into his eyes that avoided yours. "Not at the moment, no." "That's alright." You looked away and squeezed his hands reassuringly. You thought about what to say for a minute.

"I learned a new word." He finally looked up. Simon appreciated that you decided to get his mind off whatever was bothering him. "Åh yeah? What is it?" "Leende" [smile] You yet again turned to him and smiled. That automatically made him smile slightly as well. "Did you learn that to bother me to smile more?" You laughed but shook your head.

"I did that to tell you 'Jag tycker om ditt leende'." [I like your smile.] His mouth fell open slightly in shock. Now not only his hands felt warm, but so did his face. He was stunned. Weeks of one-sided complimenting from his side did not prepare him to hear one back. He couldn't deny it, he could get used to it. He felt greedy, he wanted more.

"Thanks... You are the only person who gets to see it so... I'm glad that at least you like the sight of it." He smirked at the end of his words and looked down. Losing eye contact, but his lips did not fall. "You don't like it?" "Yeah, it's not a pretty sight to me" He mumbled. You hummed.

"What about mine?" "What?" His eyes came back from wandering, connecting with yours again. "What about my smile? Do you like the sight of it?" You fixed your position, now sitting facing him with your whole body. "Obviously, otherwise my lips wouldn't curve up at the sight of it." "Good, good thing pretty smiles are contagious then!" You laughed. He groaned at your cheesy attempt at a flirty joke. He removed his left hand from yours and shoved your shoulder. But his smile never fell as he scoffed.

Simon tried to return his hand into yours, but before he could both of your hands retracted. Both of his hands cold again. "Nu-uh" "What do you mean 'nu-uh'?! I'm cold!!" He kept his freezing hands extended. You have put yours on the roof behind your back and leaned on them. "I don't knowww... You hit me and it hurrrt sooo muchhh!" You said in a dramatic mocking tone. Simon started deadpan at you. He wasn't sure if his next move was okay or maybe would make you uncomfortable. But he wanted it so badly, so he followed his heart and...

Next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the roof. You screamed in horror as you felt Simon's cold hands against the lower half of your back. The only other noise, apart from your screaming, was the sound of a window being closed abruptly. "SIMON!! THAT'S SO COLD!!" "I KNOW!" You started daggers at him until you noticed. Simon was cuddled into your warm body, hugging you at your waist. His hands buried under your hoodie on your back. Not only trying to warm them up but also to get back at you. His chest was moving quicker than usual due to laughing. You felt each of his laughs with his warm breath on your collarbones, as his hooded head was buried on them. His black hair tickling your under chin and neck.

Your stare softened at that sight. You no longer minded the cold fingers touching your back, his warmth and laughter being enough to make it up to you. Simon didn't mind the cold anymore himself. As his laugh died down, he just laid there. The comfort he felt in your arms was so heavenly, it couldn't get better. His thoughts did start getting to him. You are so quiet. Are you angry? Are you uncomfortable? You relaxed and placed your arms around his shoulders, completing the embrace.

He was wrong. It did get better.

All of his worries melted away at that action. It was shocking to him, how many times you had helped him get rid of any bad thoughts without even saying a word. As if you knew what he was thinking about. You were perfect to him. He was so glad you were his best friend, but he couldn't hide that he did wanned to be something more. Little did he know, you wanted the same thing. But the voices in his head told him that you would never love a pathetic man like him. You knew that was far from the truth, and you decided it was finally time he knew that too.

After a bit of silence, you spoke up. "Hey, Simon." He answered with a questioning 'hm'. "Jag gillar dig oskså" You let those four words fly out of your mouth like you have practiced many times. Simon's head flew up in shock at that sentence. He locked his eyes with yours no longer interested in your warmth. He pulled himself up on his hands and stared at you in awe. "Like... like like? You like me like that?" "Yes, Simon." "Are you serious? You're not fucking with me, right?!" He asked frantically. You chuckled at that and grabbed his face. "I mean it, Simon."

Wrong again. It got even better.

Simon tried to process what was said to him. He was overfilled with emotions. It was the first time in his life anyone ever liked him in that way. He stayed frozen as you caressed his cheek. All he did was stare into your eyes like they were the rarest gemstones in the world. He began leaning in, wanting to connect his chapped lips to yours. Yet he stopped himself abruptly.

"Can I... kiss you?" The last thing he wanted to do was to scare you away. You didn't answer using words. Your hand shifted to the back of his neck, pulling down his hood in the process. Then you pulled him down, both of your lips bearly touching. They ghosted each other, feeling each other's warm breaths. You tested his patience. He did last a bit, but he couldn't wait any longer.

His lips connected to yours in a kiss. At first, the kiss resembled a long peck on the lips. But he wanted more, going in for a second time. Simon was very much inexperienced. So as your lips opened to suck on each other's tongues, clanking of teeth was unavoidable. His left hand rested on the connection of your shoulder and your neck, and your left played with the strands at the back of his head.

His focus was entirely on you, the rest of the world didn't matter to him right now. Well, until the quietness of the night was interrupted not only by your kisses but also by a car. Just under the building on which roof you two sat on, the car has stopped and a slam of a door could be heard two times. Simon made the distance between you two and peaked down at the street. You looked at him slightly confused, as he looked uneasy. But his concerns were right. A police car was parked just below them. It was most likely due to a noise complaint as, he can't argue, you two were quite loud earlier. He turned back to you as he sat between your legs, his hands on your sides.

"Well, that's our sign to go." He got up and held his hand out for you to grab. You accepted his hand and pulled yourself up. You didn't question his uneasiness, as your job was to bring him home anyway. And you didn't want both of you to get sick. So you held his hand and launched forward to jump between rooftops as you two reached the trusted ladder. He let go of your hand and waved it towards the exit, letting you go first. As you went down, he looked the way you two came from.

Quickly after being on the ground again, you two began your walk towards Simon's house. To get there you two would have to take a train. As you entered the train station, you felt uneasy at the fact it was so empty. You did enjoy the vibe, but it still gave you that uneasy feeling in your chest. Seconds later your hand ended up in Simon's. Simon grabbed your hand, reassuring you as if he was unfazed about the atmosphere. It was partly true, he felt uneasy each time he entered the station. As if he was scared the things he saw down there would come back to haunt him. Comforting you also benefited him, being focused on your well-being got his mind off his own struggles.

It didn't take much time till the train arrived at the track. The train was less so empty. The front occupied by tired men in fancy jackets. We without needing to say a word, opted for the back of the train. Of course, it was kept less tidy than the front car. But things like the broken light and newspaper on the floor, which you didn't mind, kept the well-dressed men away from the car. Resulting in having the whole car for yourselves.

You sat by the window as he sat next to you. You kept his hand in your lap and played with it. It didn't take long for Simon to put his head on your shoulder. The journey they were taking was already memorized by him. He lost all interest in whatever was behind the window, even though it's something he always watches on his way home. You took all of that interest, he watched as you played with his hand. Soft touches giving him comfort.

You dropped his hand. Letting it rest on your tight. He looked at you as you fished for your phone. "I should message your mom that we are on our way, so she doesn't worry anymore." He watched her type, he quirked his eyebrow. "She sent you to look for me?" "She told me you were missing, looking for you was my idea." You finished typing, hit send, and put your phone away. The hand that rested on your tight, once again in your hands. He felt glad you didn't come to get him because his mom told you to, but that you were worried yourself.

The ride was calm and quiet. Simon got comfortable on your shoulder. And you would have thought he fell asleep if he didn't get up from his seat as you two neared the station you're supposed to get off on. You two's hands never separated, holding each other and touching shoulders all the way to Simon's house.

Before Simon's house stood his mother, pacing on the small concrete path. She immediately saw you two as the house was now in your line of sight. You waved at her as you two went around the short white fence. Simon still felt your hand in his. You seemed to not mind being seen by his mother holding hands, so he didn't make any move to disconnect them. But he couldn't make eye contact with his mom.

"Åh, Simon, y/n. Där är du! Jag var så orolig!" [There you are! I was so worried] His mother came up to him. He was ready for the scolding that was already engraved in his mind. Yet his mother's attention switched to you. "Tack så mycket för att du tog hem honom, mitt barn." [Thank you so much for bringing him home, my child] You smiled at her in return. "Kom och sov över, jag låter dig inte åka tåg ensam så här sent på kvällen." [Come and sleep over, I won't let you ride the train this late at night]

You kept your smile on, but you were very much confused. The words spoken by her not known to you. You glanced at Simon, as a silent ask for translation. Simon felt your stare and turned his head to you. After a short silence without your reply to his mom's request it was clear to him you didn't understand. "She told you to stay over, she won't let you go alone this late."

"Åh" You exclaimed and turned back to his mother. "Okej, tack" That's all Simon's mom needed, as she imidietly lead you into the house. Simon let you enter first and his mom began a chat with him. "Du har äntligen bjudit ut dem." [You finally asked them out.] Simon's nervousness came back as quickly as it went away. "De gjorde det, inte jag" [they did, not me] He said under his nose. His mom chuckled and patted his back as they finally entered their home.

#simon henriksson #cry of fear #simon henriksson x reader #cry of fear x reader #fanfiction

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itsohh · 1 year

Text

Ghost and Price Soulmate AU

A/N: G/N reader, posted as seperate fics on ao3 with each specific tag relating.

Warnings: Angst, self-mutaliation, reference domestic abuse

AO3 Masterlist

Ghost

He never believed in soul mates. Not in the matter that most people thought. Sure, they were real, sure there was someone out there destined to be ones other's match. Ghost just didn't believe it meant anything. Not really.

He of course had seen what it lead to.

His mother, destined to be with his father. They were soul mates and yet he treated her just as bad. His father loved his mother, sure, but he loved himself so much more.

So when that fated day came, that one when a bullet hit Ghost directly on his thigh, he couldn't help but be a little relieved. The nurses had been so sympathetic, the doctors too. They hadn't been able to save the soul mark. Now replaced with a gunshot scar. A blessing in disguise. It was a weight off his shoulders.

Escaped. He had escaped destiny.

Legs rather comfortable on Soaps lap, you hand your arm over your eyes while you quietly rest. "How'd you get this one?" He poked the scar just under your knee. If anyone else had asked, you would have given them a piece of your mind. Asking about a scar wasn't a line that everyone could cross.

"Some dude tried to go for my kneecap and missed."

"Ouch."

"Didn't even hit me hard enough to shatter my kneecaps regardless of his shit aim."

The door clicked open and you heard the quietest of footsteps enter the room. "Sergeants." Ghost.

"Hey LT, what's the sit'?"

"Price's put us all on mandatory vacation leave." Your arm lift from your face at his voice as you stared at him.

"For real?" You asked, disbelief written across your face.

"Two weeks." You heard a huff from his voice as he sat down opposite to you. There was almost a relief in his eyes. He had been working hard. Too hard.

"Well gives the pair of you a perfect amount of time for a honeymoon huh-" Soap's tease was cut off by your kick but only made him laugh harder. Your relationship with Simon wasn't a secret, not to Soap anyway.

"Alright, alright I was joking. Shite."

"Perhaps you could use that two weeks to learn how to be funny." Your eyes narrowed at him.

"You wound me." He jabbed a finger next to a scar. "Speaking of wounds, How'd you get this one?" You looked over to the exposed skin just under your shirt.

You froze for a moment and your eyes didn't go to Soaps, but to Ghosts. The pair of you had never brought up the matter at hand. Soul marks, it never seemed important. So many people so dedicated to finding that person that the world designed for them, it just didn't seem to matter for you. You loved Ghost, you didn't want to know it was because of an outside force. You loved him and nothing would change that.

"That's my soul mark."

"Damn, that's rough. Not a pretty one." Soap looked down at the nasty scar.

"No, I mean it was. Alright, so when I was a kid I was totally in love with this girl at school called Lilith."

"Oh yeah?" He raised a brow while Ghost continued to watch.

"But she had a different soul mark than mine and wouldn't even look at someone who wasn't her soul mark. She was only gonna date her soulmate."

"What happened?"

"I figured I couldn't have the same one as her but maybe she would date me if I didn't have one. Like how would she ever know if I lost it."

"So you burnt it off?" Soap looked at you with slight horror.

"Cut actually. It uh, really fucking hurt but man she was really pretty." Soap straightened his back slightly and you swallowed.

"I presume it didn't work out."

"We started dating happily and were together up until right before I joined the military. Until her actual soulmate showed up."

"Ohhhh, rough." He gave you a look of sympathy.

"At the time? Was not happy. But I think everything worked out okay." Your eyes locked onto Ghosts for a moment.

"Cute. What about this one?" Soap asked and you looked at the scar on your hand.

"Think that was when I burnt myself making an omelette." Soap barked out a laugh and you could have sworn you saw Ghost's eyes squint from a smile.

"For fucks sake, Soap!" A grumble turned into a yell and the pair of you froze at Price's voice. In all honesty, Price didn't shout like that very often, especially at one of you. Normally it was more akin to a tired sigh.

"Whaddya do this time?" You removed your legs from his lap.

"Better go find out." He jumped up and cracked his neck. "If you don't hear from me in three hours then I want stripers at my funeral." He gave you a wink and headed out the door. The fact he locked the door after him wasn't something you missed.

Silence settled between the pair of you. Eventually, Ghost spoke up. "Can I see it?" Your eyes lift up and met his. You knew exactly what he meant.

"Sure. It's just a scar now, nothing special." Ghost stood up and towered his way over to you. He replaced Soap and your feet settled on his lap. Carefully, Simon removed the mask from his face and placed it on the coffee table next to you. You watched as he bit the top of his glove and slid it off his hand for it to join his mask.

His hand gently grazed the old scar. "Do you regret it?"

"No. Not really, to be honest after things didn't work out with Lilith I didn't think I would date again."

"Why did you?" His brown eyes settled on yours while he continued to stroke the scar.

"Well, we spent what like three months skirting around each other?"

"Four."

"Mmm, I mean you're an attractive man Simon. Enough to make someone change their mind."

"You couldn't see my face."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for tats." You grinned and he raised a brown. His curled lips betrayed him and you let out a small laugh. "Honestly blame Soap, dunno if he did the same to you but god fucking dammit was he a persistent wingman. I enjoy your company and he didn't let me forget that."

"Hmm, seems he played matchmaker for the pair of us."

"Are you really surprised? It's Soap, he loves to meddle."

"Probably why Price is ripping him a new one," Simon muttered and his eyes sent back to the scar.

"Does it bother you?" Your voice was small, quiet and concern drew across your face. "That I don't have a mark anymore. That we will never know if we were made for each other." Simon paused and then suddenly got up from the chair only adding to your uncertainty. He placed his leg on the coffee table and started to pull up his trouser leg.

Confused you watched him until he pointed to a particular scar. "See that there?"

"You got shot?" You raised a brow.

"That there's where my mark god before it was shot. Lucky bullet. Can't be upset with you an't having one if I don't have one now."

Simon let the trouser leg fall and sat back down on the couch. This time he grabbed your legs and pulled you up onto his lap. It was a swift movement that had you automatically let out a small laugh. He had that adoring look on his face. The corners of his lips all crinkled up. Now with you in arm's reach, his bare hand caressed your face. "Couldn't give a flying fuck about that shite. I'm with you because I want to be, not because some destiny bullshit tells me to. But because I choose to love you."

Price

It had been a completely innocent moment that he saw it. That mark on your torso. A cropped singlet showed it off while you played netball with your squad. A particular game that Gaz had joined. Price wasn't even supposed to be there, he was only getting Gaz. Yet he froze when he saw that mark. The one that was identical to the on his wrist. Just under his watch.

Gaz forgotten about, Price had a call he had to make.

"Look, Kate, doesn't need to be somewhere safe or dangerous just anywhere but where I am."

"John I can't just have people reassigned for no good reason. Are you trying to sabotage their career? Is this a personal thing?"

"No, fuck, I'm not trying to fuck with their career. I'll be compromised around them, it's not a problem now but it might be in the future."

"Are you in a relationship with this person? Or were you?" Kate asked and John let out a sound of slight frustration through the phone.

"They're my soul mate Kate. They don't know it but I saw it." The line went silent. John eventually heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I'll do what I can."

After that phone call, John hadn't heard from you again. Despite the desire for companionship feeling deep down inside of him, he knew he did the right thing. It wasn't your fault and it wasn't his. Yet he had decided to override date, to override destiny.

Laswell never told him where she sent you. On any other day, he would have said that was for the better.

Any other day.

Gaz sprinted alongside him, guns firing about near them. "Fuck!" He could hear Gaz as the building nearby crumbled down into dust, a building they had just come from.

The pair of them were overrun and for a moment he looked at Gaz and regretted bringing him to his death. There were just too many from too many directions. With no proper cover, the pair of them were fish in a barrel. Bullets came from in front of them but not at them. By some miracle, a door opened while gunfire continued to cover them.

The door promptly shut behind them as both Gaz and Price fell to the ground in their hurried movement.

"Well, I'll be damned, long time no see Gaz." You held a hand out for him and Price watched as you pulled Gaz off the ground.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Didn't expect you to be here." Lieutenant? Price never knew you were promoted. Then again it's not like he wanted to hear about you, it was easier pretending you didn't exist.

"Yeah well, not the worst place to be at. I presume you guys are here due to the attack three days ago?"

"Affirmative on that." Price finally spoke up, he could pretend at least now that you weren't his soul mate.

"We have been here since then, then you two were running through dead man's land."

"Are you guys stuck here?" Gaz asked while you lead them over to a table with a map on top.

"Of course not. We have an underground pathway in our access. But they don't know that. They think that we are stuck here, they tried to push a could of times but Katey up in the best keeps taking them out."

"Are they hoping to starve you out then?" Gaz asked and you nodded.

"Yup in the meantime we have been setting up."

"Setting up what?" Price asked and you gave him a big grind.

"Fireworks show of course. The tunnels below here are far more extensive than everyone originally thought. It goes directly under their set up so we are going to hit the supports."

"Have it crumble from beneath them." Gaz breathed and you nodded.

"Only problem is that there's a high chance that our tunnels will collapse too, we are right on a cliff face so it's gonna be close." Your Sergent popped up next to you.

"This is Sergeant Lawyerson. Demolitions and structural expert."

"The idea is we will evacuate everyone first. " You explained.

"Speaking of, we should get to that. I onto have one set of charges left."

"Right we have to be quick then, when they realise that we don't have people at their posts they might push."

"I'll go get them in place now. Captain, Sergent do you mind looking after my men? There's a side path on the mountain we need to take, it goes from tunnel to straight cliff face. It's pretty risky but KitKat knows the way."

They both gave you a nod and started to work with the squad to leave. Yet Price's eyes lingered on you for a moment. You were a storm, not one to be trifled with. You spoke with certainty and confidence. The perfect leader for your squad. He could see the trust in their eyes.

"Lieutenant!"

"What is it, Katey?"

"Fuck, they got a tank out here!" Price watched as you froze for a moment then sprinted to the exposed gap then swore.

"Right, everyone evacuates now. KitKat eyes front."

"What about Attorney?"

"I'll get Lawyerson, the rest of you go." Price was swept up with the small crowd and followed KitKat down a tunnel. He only had a glimpse of you before you ran down a different path away from him.

"Captain, this way." KitKat had a kind smile on her face but he couldn't help but feel the pit in his stomach form. Was this a result of the bond? Or was this a gut feeling? He couldn't tell.

With Gaz in front of him, he was led through the path until he reached outside. It was an old climbing path, the bridges were old and wooden while the actual path was thin. It didn't allow for fast movement.

A few minutes later his head whipped around to see you following your Sargent. "Blow it." You commanded as the pair of you expertly hurried down the path. Far faster than everyone else had. He couldn't help but wonder how many times the pair of you had travelled it in the last few days.

"We're too close to the blast!" Price's eyes went to the entryway as more voices started to echo down.

"We can't let them reach here else everyone's dead. There's no cover here."

"We can handle some!" She protested.

"Some, not a goddamn army." You were right. She glanced at you over her shoulder then hit the detonator.

A rumble echoed it as the pair of you continued to sprint. Echos of your enemies' screams carried through the tunnel and out into the open. True to Lawyersons suspicions, the tunnels on your side had started to collapse too.

Unfortunately, not all your foes were caught. A brief area by the exit was reinforced rather well and they survived. Meanwhile, the path around you started to crumble. Gaz lit up his gun in an attempt to cover the pair of you.

Price snapped to action just in time for the wooden bridge to collapse under both you and Lawyerson. She managed to barely leap over to safety but your jump, slightly further back didn't make it.

But he caught you.

Price's hand found yours as he dove prone to the side. With one hand off the side, you dangled to his hand. "I got you." His eyes bore into yours as the pair of you tried to pull you up. Yet the wood that you used cracked under your weight and all progress was lost. Lawyerson recovered and went to help pull you up but a bullet in her leg had her cry out.

A curse left John's mouth as a gunshot hit his shoulder. They were getting lit up trying to save you. Your eyes turned to see the small group that had survived. They were aiming for the three of you.

"Let go, you need to leave." Your voice came and for the first time in a very long time. He froze.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You will die if you stay and I'll die regardless. Don't water your life like this. " He felt your hand go limp against him and he used all his strength to continue holding on.

"I can't."

"They always said you were such a level-headed man. Let go. Don't put the weight of your death on me. Lawyerson will need help with that leg of hers. Save her."

His eyes glanced at the small mark on his exposed wrist, your eyes followed him and you gave him a weak smile. John couldn't say it out loud, that he was your soul mate. A man you only knew from word of mouth.

"I already knew. Gaz showed me a picture of the pair of you, your wrist was showing." His lips parted.

"You didn't say anything."

"Love wasn't an option for me. Soulmates? That's a fantasy for civilians to have. Not us. But for what it's worth, if there was anyone worth being cosmically tied to, your a pretty damn amazing man to be it."

He shouted your name and with your free hand, you pried yourself from his grip. "Go!" So John watched as you fell, a love finished before it had even started.

#ghost x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #mw x reader #modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #call of duty #simon riley #john price

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savemefromanepicoftimewasted · 3 months

Text

In Every Trio There's Always A Duo Pt. 2

John Price X F!Reader

thank you to everyone who voted for this in the poll! I've been stuck in a rut for forever and needed something to help break that rut. as always feedback is highly appreciated!

warnings: mentions of past injuries, panic attacks, slight vulgar language, Price being protective

While you hadn’t been honorably discharged(which honestly sounded like a much better option at this rate)you were put on permanent desk duty. Learning to walk was a struggle that had taken over the course of a year for you to finally get comfortable with. John had been by your side every step of the way, cheering you on even when you were ready to quit. It had been a nice surprise, knowing he was so supportive. He’d taken a short leave once you had finished the intense physical therapy, wanting to make sure you would be alright. No one had known that you had moved in together, John kept everything quiet for your privacy.

Johnny and Simon had wanted to broach the subject of speaking with you and discussing the matter of everything that had happened, but you weren’t ready. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to be ready. You’d started seeing a therapist to get everything off your chest, had it truly been your own fault that you were unaware of how Johnny and Simon felt about you? Of course your therapist was adamant that no, you were not at fault for their actions. They were your comrades, and when it mattered most that everyone was kept safe, you had been caught in the crossfire.

The memories haunt your dreams daily, you would wake up covered in sweat thinking you were back in the enemies hands. John would always be there, calming you down until you realized you were safe, there was nothing there to attack you. Even if the wounds had healed, the constant reminder that you couldn’t even walk around without a cane.

“Hey, you doing alright, sweetheart?” John was propped against the open door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah, just trying to get through this mountain of paperwork so I can head to lunch.” You’d gotten so into your work you hadn’t realized how late it actually was.

“Darling, it’s dinner time.” John raised a brow, had you not gotten up to even get a glass of water?

“Oh, well shit.” You muttered under your breath, reaching over for your cane.

John kept his distance, he’d offer assistance if you asked but never wanted you to feel like you absolutely had to use his arm. It was nice to know he didn’t see you as an invalid, unable to do something as simple as walking. The only times he would ever refuse to let you walk is whenever you’d fallen asleep on the couch, carrying you up to your shared room.

“Got distracted again, didn’t you?” John smirked as you reached his side, he couldn’t fault you for it though, he’d done the same many times before.

“It was all those damn mission reports Laswell sent over. She wanted them done by lunch and I completely forgot.” You sighed, leaning against his chest and breathing in the soft scent of his cologne.

Any cologne, perfume, or body spray was strictly forbidden when on base, but John always managed to sneak some because he knew you loved it so much. No one dared to try and bring it up to John, lest they piss off their Captain and be put on latrine duty. Johnny had wanted to jokingly reprimand him, how wearing cologne wasn’t allowed but then he remembered. Until things had calmed down, he was going to keep his head down and wait.

John wasn’t a monster though, he worked well with his team and made sure that everyone made it back home with no injuries if he could. However, his thoughts were always filled with you, if you were eating, if you were having nightmares. God, he was absolutely smitten with you and everyone could see it.

“I’ll call her tomorrow, tell her not to send reports that are nearly overdue.” John wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush to his own.

“I still need to do my job, don’t worry about me.” You patted his side, smiling into the fabric of his shirt.

“I always worry, gotta make sure my love is doing alright.” John pressed a kiss to your hair, rocking you both gently.

It was a nice feeling, being held so comfortably in his arms. You’d pictured your future together many times, curious if he felt the same way about things. It’d been just over two years since the incident, and things were going well. You had been living together for a little over a year, officially asking John to ditch his old flat and move into yours. It was only because you had the space, and not because of the stairs in his, totally not.

“I’ve been thinking…maybe it’s time for me to retire. And before you start freaking out and saying that I don’t need to, I want to.” You’d been debating it for a while, it would be easier to retire and find something else to occupy your time.

“As long as you’re sure, I don’t want you making any rash decisions because of what you believe my feelings would be.” John had been the one to fight to keep you on the task force, and while it was true you didn’t want to disappoint him, you hated doing paperwork.

“I’m sure. I’ll talk with Laswell about getting the paperwork ready.” It would be less stress on your end, which meant less walking and irritating your leg even more.

It would be a change for sure, but you couldn’t let everything from the past ruin what could turn into a bright future for you. ~~~~~~

It hadn’t been your idea to head out to lunch for the day, frankly you were more than ready to curl up on the couch and relax for the rest of the day. So, when John suddenly decided that the two of you should head out to get something to eat, you were suspicious. Now that isn’t to say that John couldn’t be spontaneous at times, but given everything that had happened? You were just a little bit wary of the situation. You’d thrown together a quick outfit, stealing one of his jackets since the air was beginning to chill.

“Well, well, look at this gorgeous lady.” John smirked as you walked over to him slowly. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes jokingly, pressing more of your weight against your cane.

“That’s only because a certain someone decided it was a great idea to head out and get lunch.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, smiling as his stubble grazed your skin.

“And it is, so let’s get going before all the good tables are gone.” John grabbed his wallet before helping you out to the car.

The good thing was that he didn’t hover. Whether it was during your rigorous physical therapy or your current journey, he gave you space when needed. There were times you wanted nothing more than for him to pick you up and just carry you everywhere, but that was overkill. Maybe he would offer to carry you over the threshold if you ever got married.

Marriage, a word neither of you had uttered after your relationship had become more serious, almost as if it were a dirty word. You knew after a few months that John was the only man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and if that meant never getting married, you were happy. Marriage, a family, those were things that you’d once truly wanted, but after all the horrors you’d bore witness to? You couldn’t bring a child into this world knowing it would never be truly safe for them.

“I already checked the layout and they do have stairs, so if you need help just let me know.” John’s voice was gruff, low and gravelly as he pulled into the seemingly small parking lot.

“We can check them out first.” You liked being independent, not wanting to feel so helpless at times.

John parked the truck and slipped out before you had even managed to slip off your seatbelt, coming around to your side and opening the door with your cane in his right hand. You swung your legs out of the car, taking the cane from his hand and scooting to the edge of the seat slowly. Once your good leg was on the ground you slowly stepped down with your bag leg. Your arm braced with the cane as you stood up, fully supporting you nodded at John.

John waited until you had stepped away from the truck before shutting the door, the sun was shining brightly as you both turned to make your way to the restaurant. There were two people standing outside, talking with one another quietly enough that you couldn’t hear them. A soft gasp slipped through your lips as you realized exactly who it was.

“John!” You turned and slapped his upper arm, jaw dropped open as he laughed.

“Sorry, I wanted to surprise you, didn’t think they would still be outside.” John smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“Well, consider me very surprised right now.” You shook your head and sped up your movements, wanting to greet them sooner.

John bit his tongue harshly, he knew better than to chastise you when you were excited to greet old friends, but god dammit he hated it when you didn’t listen to him. Their loud cheers echoed across the area as they both embraced you.

“It’s been so long! What are you even doing here?” You smiled over at Farah, eyes twinkling in the bright sun.

“We got a call from a certain captain asking us to come visit, and we couldn't say no.” Farah smiled over at John as he reached your side, an arm wrapping around your waist.

“Really?” You turned to look over at him, grateful and thankful he’d called in this favor for you.

“Of course. I know you've been feeling down lately, and I wanted to help you feel better.” John’s eyes crinkled as he smiled widely, gesturing towards the restaurant.

Alex held the door open for the three of you to head inside, waiting patiently as you made your way up the steps. John stood behind you, waiting to assist in case you needed him to at any moment. Once you were inside and seated everyone seemed to let out a soft sigh of relief. You’d known about Alex’s leg, it was one of the reasons you’d gotten so close over the last year, even if you hadn’t lost your actual leg, he understood your pain and struggle.

“You know? You and John actually kind of look alike.” You glanced between Alex and John, taking in their features.

Of course Alex was younger than your boyfriend but if the both of them shaved? They could definitely pass as brothers. Then again there were the two full sleeve tattoos that Alex had on his arms. Okay, okay, maybe the actual biggest difference was their accents, but your statement still stood.

“Darling, that’s the first thing you’re going to talk about?” John raised a brow and chuckled, turning to take a sip of his water.

“Yes! I’ve been cooped up in that damn office all week, I felt like I was going to go crazy.” You smiled and laid a hand on his knee.

The food was delicious, more along the line of appetizers and finger foods rather than a meal if you were honest. The conversation flowed so smoothly, not so much as an awkward silence as you all cracked jokes or told stories of everything that had been going on. You were so unaware of the world around you except for the four of you at the table you hadn’t noticed John slip out of his chair. Alex’s eyes widened as he caught on, jaw dropping open slightly. Your brow furrowed as you followed his line of sight, a loud and shocked gasp slipping through your lips.

“Darling, I know we’ve only been officially dating for just over a year, but I’ve known since the day we met that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You’ve been through something that most people wouldn’t have been able to handle and you came out even stronger than before. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” John slipped open the small box, a gorgeous ring nestled inside the black velvet.

“Yes, a thousand times yes! I will absolutely marry you!” You wanted to throw yourself into his arms but thought better of it.

John smiled widely as he slipped the ring onto your finger, pulling your fingers to his lips to press a soft kiss to each one. The entire restaurant burst into applause, cheering loudly for you both. Alex and Farah snapped a few photos, the two of them smiling happily for you. While Alex had no clue at all that John was going to propose, Farah had helped him find the perfect ring. She may have stalked your social media, finding your pinterest to find what you loved most. John was shocked at how much effort and work she’d put in, but right now he was so grateful for it.

“I love you so much darling, more than you’ll ever know.” John pressed a soft kiss to your lips, keeping you close as you cried.

“I love you too.” You sniffled, reaching up to wipe away your tears.

John pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing kisses all over your face. You laughed and pushed him away, albeit very weakly. It was a reminder that sometimes good things did happen in life. It was in that moment that you suddenly realized something, you would be announcing your engagement eventually to the entire crew. Which meant both Simon and Johnny would find out as well.

Should you have talked to them about everything that had happened? Sure. Except you didn’t want to, you wanted to avoid talking with them at all costs. It was mainly because you were still dealing with the issue with this leg. Maybe you could smooth things over, but at the end of the day you weren’t entirely sure.

The rest of lunch was eventful, Farah and Alex sending you the photos and videos they’d been able to take during the proposal. You couldn’t stop staring at the ring, a bright smile on your face as you thought about what your future entailed. You weren’t going to rush into planning, you wanted everything to be as stress free as it could be.

“Don’t be strangers! We’ll send the invite when we set a date.” You hugged Farah close, smiling as she squeezed your waist tighter.

“We’ll do our best to be there, if we can’t I expect to see all the lovely pictures.” Farah would make sure to be there for you and John, even if she had to drop everything last minute.

“Of course, if you can’t make it I’ll make sure John sends them to you right away.” You patted her arm gently, taking your cane as John stepped over to you.

Saying goodbye to friends you didn’t get to see much never got any easier, it was understandable of course but it never hurt any less. John would do whatever he could to make the rest of the day special for you, even if that meant going home and running a bath. On second thought, a bath might soothe your aching muscles so you could actually help with dinner.

“John, what do you-” You were cut off by the sound of a voice, rather two, calling your name.

As you turned to address whomever was calling you, your heart seemed to stop in your chest.

“Simon…”

tagging: @gaylemonshark

#captain john price #john price x y/n #john price x you #john price x reader #john price #captain price #captain johnathan price #tf141 #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #farah karim #alex keller #john price angst #john price fic

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gazs-blue-hat · 8 months

Note

Hi! :) you wanted requests love ?

Soap interactions with reader who he has a major crush on, but can’t flirt with since she’s shy and he will scare her away

Thanks so much for the request! I never expected people to actually ask. Lowkey highkey inspired by convos had with @sprout-fics Summary: Johnny struggles to find out how to woo you. Frustrated with his lack of success, his two buddies Gaz and Ghost play matchmaker Word Count:

Tw: Canon Typical Language, suggestive comments, idiots in love (LMK if I missed any)

For three years you had been friends with Johnny "Soap" MacTavish and for each of those three years, Johnny has pined after you like he was poisoned and you were the only cure. You had joined TF141 as the medic and language specialist. It was strange to Johnny to watch you work, speaking to people in foreign languages like you had been friends for years, but the SECOND he tried to talk to you, you were a skittish and nervous puppy.

He had thought you were afraid of him, but you didn't act afraid of him. When the team would go out for drink, you would always sit next to him. Your knee always bumped against his when you sat next to one another. He did his best to respect your space, scooting away to provide you more room so you were comfortable You two would sit at lunch and dinner together, not speaking but just being next to one another. Whenever Johnny tried to speak with you, you only listened and never really...reciprocated the conversation. "I don't know what to do Simon! Every time I try and talk to her, she just..." he made some gestures with his hands, exasperated. He was running on the treadmill next to Ghost who was doing pull ups on the bar next to him. "Have you ever thought that she's just shy?" Simon asked while lowering himself slowly, legs crossed under him as he worked on himself. Johnny rolled his eyes and nodded. "Aye, I've thought of that already. She only acts like that around me! She never talks, never makes conversation. She just...sits there!" Johnny was sprinting now on the treadmill, trying to work his frustration out. Simon finished his current set and landed softly on the floor next to Johnny.

“Why don’t you just..tell her how you feel? It’s not that complicated sergeant,” He grumbled after taking a sip of his water bottle. Johnny didn’t answer and Simon rolled his eyes and pulled the little cord connecting Johnny to the treadmill. The machine whirred to a stop and Johnny stood, glaring at him while sweat slipped down his forehead.

“The hell you do that for?” The Scot scolded while moving to grab the little clip back from Simon. Simon held it over his head, smirking.

“I’m not gonna let you run yourself to death MacTavish. You need to get into gear and tell that woman how you feel, before she decides you’re not worth her efforts.”

Johnny scoffed and grabbed his water bottle from the floor.

“Right bastard you are,” He muttered as he pushed the gym doors open. Simon rolled his eyes and opened his phone, texting Kyle.

Ghost: Solid copy on the package, you’re up.

Gaz: Copy that

Ghost: Think this will work?

Gaz: fuckin’ hope so. I bet Price twenty quid we could get them together by the end of the week.

Simon scoffed and locked his phone again, pressing play on his podcast he was listening to. Kyle didn’t know it, but Simon had bet Price the same amount that the pair of them would remain oblivious to one another.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Kyle put his phone down and sighed softly as he handed you another little cookie.

“I don’t know Kyle! He just…whenever I try and touch him, even a little, he scoots away.” You sounded so upset earlier and Kyle had immediately invited you to his quarters to vent have some tea. Price jokingly called these little venting sessions ‘Tea Parties’ and soon, you two started calling them that as well.

“Perhaps he just doesn’t like being touched?” Kyle offered, sipping at his tea after dunking a little sugar into it. You shook your head.

“But that’s not true! He touches literally everybody else! Even Simon! He constantly taps his shoulder or jabs his ribs. Heaven forbid I put my knee against his, he avoid touching me like… I’ve got the plague or something…” You looked down at your cup, the tea doing nothing to soothe your wounded heart.

“Perhaps…he’s nervous. Having a pretty girl touch you sometimes make a man…think certain things. He probably wants to be respectful and not freak you out or something.” Kyle shrugged, knowing full well that their resident Scotsman had often had to excuse himself from functions to…relieve some tension. The men had all given him shit for it before they realized how down bad he was for the linguist.

“Stop teasing Kyle! I’m serious!” You puffed out your cheeks and crossed your arms. Kyle shook his head and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Have you tried..talking to him?” He asked genuinely. Your face fell and you shook your head.

“I have tried. Every time I try and say something to him…it all gets jumbled. I’ve left him little notes and stuff but the message always gets lost in translation.”

Kyle remembered when you had written him a note in Arabic that basically said ‘I like you a lot’ and being the fool Johnny is, us used google translate rather than calling Farrah or even Alex.

When Kyle had showed the note to Alex and Farrah, they laughed like fools.

Gaz: (Image:click to expand) What does this say?

Farrah: The word used means ‘life friend’ but the internet decides that it only meant friend.

Alex: I assume this note was written by your linguist. Meant for Johnny? He is so down bad, he’s blinded himself. The poor idiot.

Farrah: Who’s gonna tell him?

Alex: Not it

Gaz: Not it

Ghost: Not it

Price: You all are acting like children. Literal children.

“Well love, I dunno what to tell you. Johnny talks, he likes talking. You don’t like talking, you like touching. Perhaps…just. Talk to him. The worst thing he can say is ‘no’ right?” His words were meant to be comforting but your smile fell and you nodded.

“That’s what I’m so afraid of…”

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

You had decided to tell him. Tell him straight up how you felt about him. You held your script in your hand tightly, almost crumpling the paper in your grip.

“It’s fine…it will be fine…If he says no, you have a whole case of wine and spy romcoms to cry about.”

Johnny was coming back from a mission today and after a week apart, you were able to find the courage to write your script and prepare it. Kyle had been ever so patient in listening to you rehearse and he even gave you advice so things wouldn’t be confused.

Meanwhile, Johnny had decided he was just gonna go for it. reputation be damned he was gonna kiss you today. He was going to stand his ground and feel your warm cheek under his lips. Simon knew next to nothing about kissing (that he was willing to share),, and he was little help to Johnny. So…he used his pillow for practice. Once he thought he would preform somewhat decently, he was sent on the stupid mission that separated you two.

Once the heli hit the tarmac outside, he marched his way back into the base.

“Man on a mission then…” Price grumbled softly, lighting a cigar and shaking his head. He made sure he still that the money in his pocket if things finally worked out between the two fools.

You and Johnny collided with one another in one of the hallways in the base. You had been reading your letter again and again, memorizing the words over and over again. When you were looking down, you crashed into the object of your affections. You would have slammed back into the ground if it hadn’t been for his swift reflexes. His left hand was holding your waist gently but with enough force that you held still. His right had had gone to the back of your head, just to be sure your head wouldn’t slam against the floor if his grip faltered.

“Easy lass, get your head on straight,” He joked as he helped you get back on your feet. Your face was flushed and your breath came quickly.

“S-sorry Johnny. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You words were soft, almost a whisper. Whatever wind you had in your sails had been shoved away by the stumble. Your note had dropped to the floor and was being crumpled underfoot. Once you straightened everything out, you turned sharply and made your way back to the mess hall, scurrying away like a scared mouse.

“Wait lass! You left your pa…per.” His sentence ended once he saw his name on the top of the sheet. He picked it up and read the words, his heart racing in his chest. Pure poetry was on the paper. Your heart had been spilled in obsidian ink and flowing words.

You liked him.

You loved him.

The paper fluttered down as he dropped it and sprinted in the direction you had left in.

————-

“Well lads…guess Simon won this round. Despite your best efforts, the idiots have yet to realize they belong together.” Price joked as he sipped at his drink. Kyle frowned and shook his head.

“Still have three hours before lights out…there’s still time.” Kyle had taken off his hat and placed it on the table, worrying it out of frustration. Simon only chuckled and crossed his arms.

“Just admit you lost Garrick. Nobody likes a…” his sentence was cut off by mess hall doors bursting open. There you stood, blushing red as a tomato. Johnny came from behind you like a rocket, grabbing you and spinning you to face him. He slammed his lips on yours, holding you tightly so you wouldn’t let go.

“Shit…” Simon grumbled while sliding money over to Kyle who was slamming his fist on the table and cheering. Price chuckled and slid the money over to Kyle.

“YES! FUCKIN FINALY!”

All of these words fell on deaf ears as Johnny kissed you like you were the center of his world.

That’s because you were.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

#request #johnny soap mactavish x reader #cod mw2 #john mactavish x reader

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