#found t-shirts for the 141
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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader
summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes
call sign: Freyja
warning: mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood
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John Price stood at a round table, leading the mission brief for the team’s upcoming operation. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat around the table in various positions. Soap with his boots kicked up onto the table, chair tilted back; Gaz leaned forward onto the table, his forearms on the surface; Ghost leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Soap and Gaz wore their regulation tan t-shirts and camo pants, while Ghost was clad in a black long-sleeve and his standard skull balaclava.
“So if we’re stormin’ the building, we’re all accounted for,” Soap pointed out, clicking the pen between his fingers. “We need a sniper.”
“Called in a favor with a good friend, who should have been here–”
“Ten minutes ago,” a strong but mellow voice cut in as a figure turned through the doorway. “I know, sorry John. Got a bit caught up with my room assignment. Tried to put me on the other side of base.”
A woman came into view, offering her hand out to John. They firmly grasped each other’s forearms in a quick shake. Soap and Gaz both had only slightly surprised expressions. Not at the fact that their sniper was female; they’d worked with plenty of fierce women during their time in Task Force 141.
The fact that she did not look the part.
She wore a massively oversized black sweatshirt that brushed her thighs and dark blue skinny jeans, her hair loose down her back. Must’ve just got off a plane, Soap thought to himself, looking her up and down. Her stance showed her confidence, feet shoulder-width apart as she faced the team with a bright smile (one not often found in their field of work) and glowing skin. She wasn’t necessarily small, more average height, but her attire dwarfed her frame.
“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Price nodded at her. “This is Freyja. American Special Forces, sniper, undercover ops. She’s been briefed and will be joining us temporarily for the op. She comes highly recommended and outranks all of you, so I’d suggest you be on your best behavior.”
The woman jabbed Price with her elbow, rolling her eyes, much to Soap’s surprise. He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled in his chest, unable to help the small choking laugh that escaped. Ghost glared at him and he quickly piped down.
“Thanks, John, but I think I’ll be fine. Glad to be of use.”
“Happy to have you. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here. I’ll leave you to it, get acquainted. We leave at 0400 hours. We’ll be infiltrating in daylight; prepare accordingly.”
“Aye, Captain,” Soap nodded once and saluted him, setting his chair back down as he rose. He watched John pat her shoulder on his way out, sharing what seemed like a knowing look, before finally departing to his quarters. Interesting.
Soap was the first to cross the room, taking her hand in a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Sergeant John Mactavish,” he introduced, shaking her hand. He noted her equally firm grip and the cool metal of a wedding band pressing into his palm. Her skin was calloused yet soft, not as rough as his own.
“Soap, right? Heard a lot about you.”
“Aye. Good things I hope?"
“Mostly.”
A boisterous laugh left him, so loud you’d think the room shook. Soap heard Gaz gag on his water before breaking into a choked wheeze. The other man approached, shaking her hand as well. “Kyle Garrick, call me Gaz.”
Her hands found their way into the pockets of her sweatshirt.
“So, Freyja… like the–?”
A gentle, airy giggle floated into his ears. What a lovely sound. “Yes, like the goddess. I know, my husband’s idea.”
Soap groaned, his head lolling back in faux agony as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, lass. Was hopin’ ya didn’t have one’a those. He in the service?”
“He is, but you wouldn’t know him. Keeps a pretty low profile,” she shrugged, keeping her eyes on the two men in front of her.
”D’ya think I could take him?”
”Probably not.”
Neither Soap nor Gaz noticed the way Ghost’s mask twitched slightly, evidence of the smirk that pulled at his lips. But she knew his microexpressions like the back of her hand, even out of the corner of her eye. The Scot remembered Ghost’s presence suddenly and waved his hand in his direction. He hadn’t made any move to greet the newcomer and hadn’t spoken during the entire brief.
“Steamin’ Jesus, Ghost, you heard the man. Be nice to the lady!”
Ghost grunted, keeping his arms folded on his chest. “Captain.”
“Lieutenant.”
The two stared at each other, her brow quirked. As the seconds passed, the interaction became increasingly awkward for everyone else in the room. Even the thickest person on the planet could have sensed the tension. Unable to take the silence any longer, Gaz stepped in to attempt to relieve some tension. “You two worked together before?”
“You could say that,” Ghost stated as he rose from his chair. “A word, Freyja?”
Her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek and she squinted at him. It was almost comical, the height difference between the two. Typically, Soap would have made a snarky quip, if not for the vicious look in her eyes. He wouldn’t say it out loud to him, but the scowl rivaled his lieutenant‘s. Finally, she spoke, “Excuse us, gentlemen. I’ll see you in the morning. You know where to find me in the meantime.”
“G’night, Cap,” Soap nodded and moved to the side, allowing her to pass to the door. Ghost didn’t spare them another glance as he followed behind her. The two men stood silently until they heard a door slam shut up the hall. Soap snapped his gaze to Gaz and found him already looking with wide eyes.
“What was that about?”
Soap shrugged noncommittally. “Not a clue. Bad history? Ghost’s no’ exactly skilled in manners.” He went to head to his room when he noticed a military-issue duffel where Freyja had been standing, an American flag patch on the side. He bent down and slung it over his shoulder. “Left her stuff. I’m gonna drop it by ‘for hittin’ the hay. See ya in the mornin’.”
They went their separate ways, Gaz disappearing to the armory to stock up for the mission. Soap approached the only spare room in their wing and rapped his knuckles against the door. He waited for a few beats to no response and repeated the motion.
Nothing.
Soap’s brows furrowed when he heard what sounded like a muffled argument from the next door up, labeled “Lt. Riley”. Soap should have just left her duffel in front of her door and continued on his way to his bedroom, and gone to bed.
But no, he just had to snoop.
He crept toward the door, still holding the bag as he pressed his ear to the hollow wood. They clearly knew each other, but Ghost hadn’t seemed happy to see her. He felt a bit guilty spying on his lieutenant, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He heard Ghost’s deep voice first.
“We had a deal. You’re supposed to be on leave, and Price knows that. I have half a mind to wring his fucking neck–”
“John didn’t ask me to be here, I volunteered–”
“Cut the shit, Y/N. I’m not daft. He has no place calling you in without asking me first.”
“I don’t take orders from you, Simon!”
Simon? Just how familiar were they with each other?
“Oh, I’m well aware. I just figured that when your husband asks you to stay home, you'd listen! How silly of me!”
So he knows her husband. Interesting.
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“You want to talk about fair? You went around my back to my Captain. I’d say anything’s fair play at this point.” Heavy boots crossed the floor. “This isn’t just about you anymore. You’re not my superior, you’re–”
Soap shuffled his feet, he realized too late how loud the noise was in the empty hallway, and the voices suddenly stopped. He knocked in an attempt to recover, quickly stepping back from the door before it opened. The woman appeared, now in a too-big band tee, her dog tags resting on her chest. “Hi, Johnny,” she greeted, her tone significantly warmer than it had been a moment ago.
He didn’t remember mentioning his preference for the name, but he couldn’t find a reason to comment on it then. “You, uh, left ya bag. Wanted to drop it off, figured you’d be here.”
“Oh, my bad. Thanks, I appreciate it.” He transferred her possessions to her. The bag that appeared standard when he carried it looked huge compared to her frame. The added weight did not phase her. “We have an early morning. I’m heading to bed.”
Ghost moved from his spot near the bed on the other side of the room. “Frey–”
She held a hand up, sending another chilling glare in his direction. Soap was impressed when Ghost didn’t even blink at the look. “Enough, Lieutenant. That’s an order.” He didn’t miss the eyes behind the skeleton glowering or how the fabric near his mouth shifted.
“Yes, ma’am,” he growled through clenched teeth.
She brushed by Soap, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stormed to her room, somehow gracefully maintaining her posture. Before he could turn back to question Ghost, the door swung shut in his face.
Real polite.
~*~
“Alpha-One, in position.”
“Copy that, one. Alpha-Two, in position.”
“Bravo?” Soap’s partner looked over his shoulder at the white light flashing at them in the distance. There was a muffled choking sound and a swallow, followed by a sniffle. “Freyja?”
“Sorry. Multiple armed guards. Two snipers at the east and west sides of the targets.” Her voice, while calm, sounded tired and a bit drained. As if she could sense the unspoken question, she came through their headsets again. “Little sick this morning. I’m fine.”
Ghost's jaw set and he rolled his shoulders, blinking a few times to focus. Soap noticed the motion and covered the mic on his headset. “You a’right, Lt.?” he asked, his voice concerned with his brows furrowed.
Ghost ignored him. “Can you get a visual inside?”
“Negative. Windows are blocked in both buildings. You’re going blind.”
“What’s the call, ma’am?” Gaz’s voice.
“This is Price’s op. I’m just here for support.”
“Ghost?” Price this time.
Ghost audibly sighed, his irritation at the situation clear. Soap wondered how bad their last encounter could have been for the usually collected man in front of him to be so disheveled. Soap looked over at the lieutenant, who had turned his attention back to the opening in the wall between them. “Bravo, hold your position. Understood?”
“Affirmative.”
“Alpha-One, move in on your target on my command.” Ghost clicked off his mic and slid the chamber back on his pistol, doing one final check.
Soap took the opportunity to follow up on his unanswered concern. “Ghost, you good? Seem tense. Something going on with the lass?”
“Shut up, Sergeant.” He reached up to click his headset back on. “Freyja cleared hot to engage.”
“Standby.” A beat passed, then another, until the suppressed shot of a sniper rifle rang through their headsets, followed by the bolt being pulled back and pushed forward. Another shot. “Clean hit. Snipers down.”
“Copy. Alpha-One, move in. Keep it quiet,” Ghost commanded, signaling Soap forward with a tilt of his head.
She watched Ghost and Soap move swiftly around structures and cars forward to their target. Her gaze periodically adjusted between them and Alpha-One, Gaz and Price. Soap’s accent was low in her ear. “Approaching target. Engaging two hostiles.”
The pair dispatched the guards with ease, the same as the other team up the road.
“Be advised, I have no eyes inside,” she reminded the group, surveying the surrounding area as both teams entered the building.
“Roger. Breaching.”
On their frequency, angry shouts and gunfire had her writing uncomfortably in her spot. She didn’t like not having a solid visual of her team; it made her feel helpless. The audio of the scene inside wasn’t helping her nerves (or nausea) much, either. The sniper was almost lost in her thoughts when she caught movement at the edge of her scope up the street.
Reinforcements.
“Ghost, engaging incoming hostiles. You might want to bug out,” she suggested, taking several shots at the armed men back-to-back. “Alpha-One, sound off.”
“Heard. Intel acquired,” Price acknowledged. “Clearing out.”
“Alpha-Two, how copy?”
The radio crackled once before Soap came through. “Copy, I’ve lost visual on Ghost. Got separated in the firefight,” he grunted, still firing shots inside the building. “‘M gonna have to squirt.”
Something wasn’t right. “Ghost, how copy?”
Silence.
“Lieutenant, what’s your status?”
Her skin crawled at the repeated silence. “Fuck.” She took a deep breath and pulled her knees underneath her body, her stomach suddenly stilling, nausea disappearing. “Abandoning post.” Her voice pierced through their radios with urgency. She abandoned her rifle and made her way down from her perch.
“Absolutely not. We’re converging at the meeting point now.” Price cursed under his breath as she brandished her sidearm and sprinted towards Ghost’s last location. “Stand down, Bravo, that’s an order!” The captain commanded, rough and authoritative.
“All due respect, Price, get bent.”
Price and Gaz watched helplessly as she disappeared into the structure, Soap approaching them from their flank. “The absolute balls on that one, aye?” he snickered, eyeballing Price. He didn’t even flinch, expression hard as steel as he rubbed his face. He hadn’t seen his captain that stressed in quite a while. Maybe not the time for jokes…
The blood-curdling screams Soap heard would scare any man straight. It sounded like a horror movie slaughterhouse over their comms, whether it was caused by Ghost or Freyja he didn’t know. He did know it was her voice that said Ghost’s name and assumed the distant, heated mumbling was Ghost. He must have lost his headset if they couldn’t hear him clearly, and what they were hearing was whatever her comms picked up. “Shut the fuck up and move. If you were fine, I wouldn’t be here, Lieutenant. You can thank me later,” she snapped, sounding eerily similar to a stereotypical angry wife. There’s no way she cleared out that entire convoy on her own…
Right?
Moments later, without any other gunfire, the pair emerged. Ghost was indeed missing his headset, while Freyja trudged in front of him, taking long steps to cross the street. Her helmet was gone, and her hair had come loose. Gun in one hand, a familiar black combat knife in the other, dripping blood. Strands of hair clung to her face, coated in dark red, along with her hands, bare arms, and vest. Soap’s eyes blew wide. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, did she–?”
Price hummed and nodded beside him. In the same breath, she stumbled over to a car and gripped the door handle, dumping her stomach on the dusty road. Soap and Gaz moved to help, but Price stopped them with a single grunt. Ghost was immediately on her, expertly sweeping her hair into one hand as he pulled her earpiece out, cutting off their audio. One of her hands grabbed his vest for support while his other hand rested on her back.
“Well, that’s unusual,” Soap chimed, his head cocked to the side as he watched the display.
“Quit starin’ and load up. I doubt that’s the last of those reinforcements.” Price waved at them, catching Ghost’s attention and pointing to an approaching Heli, waving his hand in a “roll out” motion.
~*~
The ride back to base in the heli was one of the most awkward experiences of Soap’s life; not a word was spoken during the short trip. Ghost pulled a rag out of his vest and silently handed it to Freyja to wipe some blood from her face; she passed him the blade she had carried, and he finally placed its familiarity when Ghost tucked it into the empty holster at his hip. She looked utterly drained now that they were in close quarters. In another shocking moment, she rested her head on Ghost’s shoulder, and he didn’t move to shove her off.
What the fuck?
At the base, Ghost dropped her off at the medical bay before storming into the meeting room where the team had gathered to debrief. “You’re a dead man, Price,” he barked, finger jabbed at him as his skull plate skittered across the table when he threw it. “You fuckin’ knew–”
“Simon, I’m sorry–”
“Don’t “Simon” me. Sorry’s not gonna cut it, Captain! If she’s hurt–”
“I didn’t think she would compromise herself that easily.”
Ghost barked a dry, humorless laugh as he pointed in the general direction of the infirmary. “Of course, she’s bloody compromised! She’s my fuckin’ wife, you git!” he snarled, teeth viciously bared as he ripped off his mask.
“Hell’s fuckin’ bells…”
“Bloody hell…”
He was too angry (and, frankly, scared for his wife’s health) to acknowledge their audience. “This is exactly why I told you not to call her. I can’t focus if I’m worried about her safety right now. She’s supposed to be safe at home, resting, not running into a bloody warzone, for God’s sake!”
“She was told not to leave her post–”
“When has she ever obeyed a direct order?”
Silence fell over the group, Price effectively losing the argument. Neither Sergeant wanted to find themselves on the other end of Ghost’s rage. They had no envy for Price and dared not get between them. No envy at all. On the other hand, Soap had so many questions. Since where was Ghost married? When did he have the time for a wife? And an American at that? How long had he been keeping her a secret?
“Simon.”
Four heads whipped to the soft voice across the room, finding the woman of the hour standing in the doorway. A superficial cut on her forehead had been taped up, her face clear of blood. Soap and Gaz stared at her in disbelief, jaws dropped as they looked from her to Ghost and back again. She chuckled at their expressions but didn’t move to approach them. “Captain Riley. Lovely to meet you both, officially,” she reintroduced herself, a slight smirk on her lips. She finally met her husband’s gaze, her expression softened at his bare face, save for the black paint.
He curled two fingers at her, one arm crossed over his chest. “C’mere. Now,” he ordered her, though his tone had little bite to it.
Even only knowing the sniper for such little time, Soap was outright shocked at the display. Flabbergasted by her obedience when she immediately strode to the spot next to him, barely leaving any space between their chests. It didn’t seem like her. He was obviously wrong, considering what he’d just witnessed.
Ghost took a deep breath as he peered down at her, examining her visible skin for injuries. “I’m right pissed at you, love,” he muttered, allowing her to loop a finger in his belt loop.
She smiled up at him, her admiration clear now that the sergeants had been let in on the secret. “I know.”
“Don’t give me that look.” The man sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hold his ground with that smile of hers. He dropped a gloved hand to rest on her lower belly, rubbing the spot with his thumb. “You alright?”
She placed her hand on top of his and bobbed her head. Her familiar glow from the night before had returned.
“I’d like an apology.”
“And I’d like a parade in my honor. Oh, and a good ol’ fashioned fu–”
“Oi, better watch that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”
“You love my mouth.”
“Tha’ I do. Just not right now, sweetheart.”
Soap couldn’t take it anymore. “Steamin’ blood Jesus L.t., are you…flirting?”
“Shamelessly,” she giggled, never once tearing her eyes away from the man towering over her.
Ghost rolled his eyes again, his other hand slipping into its home on the side of her neck. “You’re done. I mean it. And if you call her again, I walk,” he threatened, turning his head to address Price directly. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“Ghost, she held her own just fine,” Soap interjected from his chair. “Hen took out an entire squad practically single-handedly, plus the convoy before she went in after ya. I don’t see the problem.”
Realization dawned on Gaz suddenly, forcing him to his feet again. “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed, both in shock and awe. “That’s why you were feeling sick. And the big clothes. You’re on maternity leave."
The lack of response from John and Freyja and how Ghost studied Gaz said everything they needed to know.
“No wonder you’ve been downright crabbit with her! Can’t say I blame ye, ‘s too dangerous out there to be mucking about with a little one in there.” Soap rose to his feet too, smiling like a cheeseball, ready to ruthlessly tease him. “How’d you manage that, Ghost? A bangin’ wife and a baby?”
“I know it’s been a while for you, Sarge–”
“Aw, away n’ bile yer heid!” the Scot barked, dismissing his lieutenant with a wave.
“English, MacTavish.”
“Sorry, sir, let me translate…Go fuck yourself.”
“Much better.”
He moved on from Ghost, addressing Freyja now. “I’ve so many questions! How long ‘ave you been together?” Soap leaned against the round table in front of them, his hands dragging across the shaved portion of his head.
“How old am I?” Ghost asked in a low, teasing timber.
Her upper lip tugged upwards as her hand wavered, indicating an estimate. “Five years, give or take.”
“Five years?! Son of the god-damn-devil, Lt! You’ve had a secret wife for five years–” He cut himself off with a gasp, his volume dropping to a brash whisper. “Does he take the mask off when you—”
“Tha’ll do, Johnny.”
Her bubbly laugh filled the room, and she swatted his tactical vest with her palm. “Si, don’t be an ass,” she warned, raising a brow at him. “Oh, John! I have pictures for you!” The woman let go of her husband and dug out folded ultrasound photos from her zipped pocket. She, Price, and Gaz moved to another corner of the room, gushing over the snapshots of her latest appointment before flying out, leaving Soap and Ghost alone by the meeting table.
A mischievous grin overtook Soap’s face. “An American, eh, Lt.? And she outranks you?”
“Not another word, Sergeant.”
A long pause stretched between them, although not long enough for Ghost’s liking.
“So… Goddess of love, beauty, and war,” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at the Brit, who threw him a questioning side-eye. Soap hummed. “Fitting.”
Soap almost gawked at the smirk (borderline smile) that Ghost bore as he watched his wife animatedly pour over her photos. “I’m well aware.” Another moment passed between them before Ghost fully turned to the other man. “Johnny?”
“Yeah, Ghost?"
“Flirt with my wife again, I’ll knock your teeth in."
"Noted, sir."
Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.
#task force 141#simon ghost riley x wife!reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x sniper!reader#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#soap call of duty#soap cod#ghost cod#ghost mw2#cod mw#cod mwii#fanfic#cod mw ghost#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon riley x wife!reader#pregnant reader#simon riley x pregnant!reader#angst#fluff#call of duty#task force 141/reader#ghost 👻
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i’m going feral for shy!reader x mafia!underboss simon like i need him flirting with her at johns club and her blushing hard at him lighting touching her cheek but also she doesn’t really know how to flirt and is getting all flustered but he enjoys watching her get flustered while there’s a crowd of people around them
oh i've had an idea about this brewing in my mind for a bit and i'm so glad that i can use you a catalyst to make it everyone else's problem <3 think of this as a part 2 to this drabble here
mafia!141 masterlist
warnings: fem!reader, fluff and flirting, some tension, mentions of alcohol/club settings, reader is too shy for her own good lmao, short-ish drabble/oneshot
The very appearance of the building in front of you spoke volumes, warning you to turn around and run away while you still could. Dark, thumping music sounded more like an alarm than it did something to dance to, and the stench of alcohol was strong even from outside. To make things worse, you were very much out of your depth not only in location, but in the clothes you wore. Some short, scantily dress your friend insisted you borrow from her because a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt simply wouldn't do in a place as high profile as her husband's club. You tried to feel confident, or at least appear so. Tried to straighten your back and relax your face as if you were above everything in that building, but you were never very good at pretending.
However, nothing was worse than the fact Simon fucking Riley stood outside the door to greet the two of you. At first, you almost didn't recognize him with the face mask on and the long sleeves covering his tattoos, but you'd recognize those eyes of his anywhere. So dark in the dim lighting that attempted to illuminate the area outside of the club, you knew you would get lost in them if you stared at them too long.
"Evening, ladies," he greeted. His voice was all too familiar, and you tried not to think about how you still felt his breath on your ear when he taught you how to shoot pool.
"Riley," your friend whined, "don't tell me John sent you."
He crossed his arms over his chest, and you found yourself having to look away from how his biceps bulged with the movement. "Boss's orders."
"So much for girls night," she muttered.
"Don't worry 'bout it," he assured while his eyes flickered to you. "You won't even know I'm here."
And he was right. Mostly, anyway. Once he led the two of you into the building, up past the lower level and up into the elevated and sparsely dense VIP section of the bar, Simon had pretty much blended in with the shadows. You and your friend were unbothered while you enjoyed your free drinks (thanks to either John or Simon, you didn't know for sure) all while you tried to ignore the fact you were in your a place that utterly terrified you.
Of course, all good things had to come to an end. Eventually John emerged from somewhere in the mass of bodies that surrounded you, and your friend, who was more than a little tipsy by that point, hung off of his arm within an instant. And it was kind of cute, watching the way John rested his hands on her hips while she tried to make him dance with her. Yet, at the same time, you got secondhand embarrassment from it, so you averted your gaze as you looked down at the dance floor on the lower level. There were so many people packed together, jumping and dancing to the music, that it looked like a pulsing mass of flesh. The sight of it mixed with the alcohol in your stomach and you started to feel queasy.
"Wanna get some fresh air?"
You hadn't even realized Simon had walked up to you until he was right next to you, arms resting on the railing that separated you from becoming a messy stain on the lower level.
"Huh?" you asked, not because you hadn't heard him, but because you were somewhat perplexed by his offer.
Though his mouth was covered by that black medical mask, you could still see his smirk crinkle the corner of his eyes. Before he explained any further, his hand gently reached up where he grazed his thumb along the flesh of your cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you found yourself utterly frozen by the gesture. You tried not to think about how warm his hand was on your skin, or how your stomach fluttered at his touch just like it had the last time his skin had grazed yours. As you tried to hold back a shiver, you silently prayed no one was looking at the two of you.
"Thought we could give the lovebirds over here some alone time," he finally continued as he pulled his hand away from your face. He flicked his middle finger along the flesh of his thumb, as if he had taken something on your face and was getting rid of it, but since he didn't even bother to look at his hand before doing so, you couldn't help but wonder if there had even been something on your face to begin with.
God, it was fucking hot in that building, and the cool night air was a welcomed feeling on your exposed skin. Towards the back of the VIP section was the entrance to the terrace, where plenty of people still mingled about, but it was significantly more quiet than inside. Simon led you underneath the hanging lights over to a dark corner where the railing looked too sketchy to be safe or up to code.
"You smoke?" Simon asked as he dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans.
You watched him carefully as he took out a pack of smokes and started beating the bottom of the carton against the palm of his hand. His fingers wrapped around the object with ease, and you swallowed hard as you shook your head.
"Good," he hummed as he removed his mask and lazily shoved it into his pocket, "don't start."
You didn't mean to stare, and you really hoped he didn't notice, but it was impossible for you to tear your eyes away from him. How could anyone expect you to when the cigarette sat so perfectly between his lips while he lit it? It only got worse when he held it limply between his fingers and exhaled the smoke out into the night air.
"You look good," he commented as he nodded his head at you.
"Oh, uhm," you muttered in surprise. You stared down at yourself and the obnoxiously sequined dress your friend insisted you wore and self consciously pulled at the skirt. "Thanks. I'm, uh, just borrowing the dress."
He hummed as he placed the cigarette between his lips again. "You'd still look good despite it."
This was strange. Something you weren't used to. Being complimented. Having someone look at you in a way that made your stomach churn, and it only got worse the longer you stood there speechless. And you tried to come up with a response, but the wider his smirk became, the harder it was for you to formulate a sentence.
And god, he wouldn't look away from you, like his eyes were stuck on you for the rest of eternity. Not even as he stepped closer to you. It felt like he was the sun, and the closer he got the warmer you felt until you were rendered breathless. He was so... close and just so... fuck. Fuck you wished he'd stop looking at you like that. Like he wanted to eat you alive, like he wanted to devour you, like-
"We should go back inside." The words left your mouth, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. It was all too much at once, between the crowd of people, how flustered this man made you; all of it was too much.
"Right," Simon hummed. "Should make sure Mrs. Price isn't getting in too much trouble," he teased.
Yet, neither of you moved. Simon raised the cigarette to his mouth again and took a long drag of it. Instead of turning his head to the side to exhale, he leaned his head back and let the smoke drift up and out of his mouth. And you were stunned, eyes locked on him as he did so, too captivated by the skin of his throat and the curve of his Adam's apple to look away. Then his head rolled back down where his eyes found you once again and his lips pulled into that signature smirk he could never seem to wipe off when he was around you.
He gestured towards the door that led back inside of the club as he flicked the ash off of his cigarette. "After you, sweetheart."
writing this gave me the worst thoughts ever. what if shy!reader is a virgin? someone needs to sedate me at this point. hope y'all enjoyed more of our boy :3
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#mafia!ghost#mafia!simon#mafia!141#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader
Summary: Simon is out at a stag party for Prices upcoming wedding when he comes how early with something important on his mind that he needs to see you to say. Is he just drunk or is it something more?
Word Count: 3.8 k
Warnings:
Author's Note: I just needed a little more fluff smut, so here is this. I have some other things planned for variety coming soon soon.
***
The ringing vibration of the front door opening and shutting with a bit of force caught you by surprise as you lay in bed, the phone in your hand the only light in the room as you bundled yourself under the covers to shield out the cold of that winter night. Eyes flitted up to the clock in the corner of your screen; you hadn't expected him to be home yet as you were sure there would be no sign of Simon until at least sunrise if past experience when he went out with the team was any indication.
Heavy stumbling footsteps sounded throughout the small apartment, getting closer with each passing second, before two distinct thuds of something weighted falling to the floor followed from Simon removing his shoes. The footsteps continued on a bit quieter now until they stopped just right outside the door to your bedroom. With a click the door was opened to reveal your boyfriend standing there, eyes searching for your form in the darkened room as he blocked out the light in the hallway from taking up the majority of the door frame.
Reaching up you flicked on the bedside lamp to illuminate everything in a soft yellow glow. Even with the dim light, brown eyes had to blink a few times to adjust as he propped himself up against the door frame until he could see properly. Setting your phone down on the bedside tabletop you gave him the once over as you untangled yourself from your sheet burrito.
“Is there any booze left out there or did you sorry lot clean out the entire stock?” you chuckled as you rolled over onto your back, eyes trailing him as he crossed into the room to stand at the foot of the bed. “Didn't think you'd be back so soon. Aren't stag nights supposed to go till the sun rises? I seriously doubt the boys were done yet.”
“Had to call it quits early,” he drunkenly strung his words together, accent thick and slightly slurred as the whiskey ran through his veins.
Odd. “Why? Something happen?” you questioned curiously as you watched him throw off his overcoat and rip off his thin balaclava, short, dirty blonde hair springing back up from being crushed under the fabric as he reached to the back of his neck and gripped the collar of his t-shirt to pull it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor so that he stood before you bare-chested in his dark wash jeans that clung to his sizeable thighs.
That bulky, broad chest was flushed pink in the center to match the staining through his cheeks, a product of his drinking mixed with the stifling warmth inside the string of bars the 141 found themselves venturing to in celebration of Price’s upcoming wedding. A playful grin crossed his pale lips as he stalked over to the bed and grabbed at the bottom edge of the bedding, pulling the sheets and comforter out from their place tucked under the mattress up so that he could climb in, letting them fall over him as he crawled underneath up towards you.
Parched lips weathered by the frozen air outside caressed your ankles and calves as that giant mass of man traveled up through the covers, taking his sweet time. Over your knees, thighs, and hips he peppered sloppy kisses along the skin as he went until you felt Simon’s rough fingertips brushing against the panties covering your pelvis as he tugged at the hem of your oversized sleep shirt, pulling it up so that he could shove himself inside it as far as he could go. Warmer kisses now made your stomach flutter where they were placed along your torso as his nose nuzzled into your abdomen until your warmth covered his face and heated his cold features.
“Nah, nothin’ like that. Fuckin’ needed to get home to ya is all,” he breathed those need-filled words into your skin under your clothes as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Had a fuckin’ ridiculous cravin’ to see my beautiful girl, so I made up an excuse and told the boys I had ta go.”
A large hand ran up and down the length of your right hip tracing pathways that he knew by heart, tempting smooth skin with his touch while his padded torso pressed itself over your thighs. He held on tight as if it had been days since he had last seen you in person. Over the years you’d been together you came to notice that whenever those arms were around your body you could pinpoint the exact moment when all the tension he always held in his shoulders would ease and his entire form would relax into you as if he had been holding his breath until the moment he touched you.
You shook your head with another chuckle; it was always a delightful surprise just how he was even more affectionate when he was drunk. “You weren’t even gone that long. Miss me that much?” you questioned playfully as Simon kissed in delicate circles around your navel, lips eventually trailing upwards over temperate skin towards your ribcage to caress the delicate underside of your breasts with his mouth.
“Always,” he returned, voice muffled by lips against your body.
Everywhere he went your skin lit up, reacting to the prickly stubble on his cheeks as his face glided over your body until you were entranced by the feeling of him. Your hands kneaded at the muscles in his shoulder as you writhed beneath him and he would have continued to turn you into a puddle, but there was something he needed to do first; the real reason he had rushed home.
Slipping out of your shirt he emerged from the top of the sheets, cropped hair tousled and cheeks even more pink. The scent of whiskey was on his breath, accentuated by the sting of tobacco and the frosty winter night. He moved up onto his knees between your legs, kneeling over top of you, sunset eyes drifting down your form from your face to your torso.
“What?” you questioned as he sat there, taking you all in with gentle eyes that softened the longer he gazed.
“It’s always been you and me, ya know,” he said as his hands wandered to find yours resting by your sides. Spreading them open with his fingers, he slipped his palms up against your own so that he could interlace those long digits between the empty spaces. “Through all the bullshit, all the long deployments and late nights, all the nightmares and the bad days. You’ve always been a fuckin’ rock for me through it all.”
Simon lifted your hands still wrapped in his and moved them up over your head as he laid himself over top of you until his face was mere inches from your own.
“Well yeah, I love you ya know,” you agreed, unsure of why he was saying such things now. “But where is this coming from, baby?”
“Conversations tonight got me thinkin’ things again,” he admitted.
You raised an eyebrow. “What kind of things, hmm?”
“Things I’ve been thinkin’ for a while now, just didn’t think I could make ‘em happen… or that maybe I shouldn’t. But maybe I can…maybe we can…” his words tripped over themselves with the quickening pounding of his heart.
“Simon, what are you trying to say?”
He paused with a smile on his lips, sighing contentedly. His inebriated mind had nothing but the truth to give him as a response and so he spoke the words he never thought he’d get to say to anyone, but he was surprised how easily they rolled off his tongue now. “I’m tryin’ to say that I’ve been thinkin’ about how I wanna fuckin' marry ya, luv,” he stumbled out, copper gaze lingering on your eyes shimmering in the low light. “Don't want no one else to get a fuckin' chance to snatch ya up before I come to my senses and make sure your mine foreva’.”
You laughed it off, caught completely off-guard by his words. They say that drunk words are sober thoughts, but this was more than you had ever expected from him tonight. It wasn't that you hadn't thought about the possibility of such a future with Simon, you'd been together for long enough now that it was something you had hoped for, yet whenever the subject was approached the few times it was before it was met with hesitation on his part. There was no question that you knew he loved you, that you loved him, but taking that next huge step had never seemed like a priority and you were fine with that. Hearing him say it aloud so assuredly made your stomach flip with anticipation.
However you also knew he wasn't in a state to be thinking clearly and you didn't want to get ahead of yourself just yet. Tomorrow he could wake up, head pounding, and not even remember you had had this conversation in the first place. Best to wait until he could sober up before discussing such heavy things in any more detail.
“You're drunk, baby,” you chuckled as your hand cupped against him and lingered on his face, thumb tenderly stroking his cheek. “We can talk about this later, okay?”
Closing his eyes he melted into your touch, so soft and silky against his rough face; it was like magic how you were his comfort. It was effortless, your love, and that was something he had never known. Everything had always been a struggle, an uphill battle that he had to sacrifice for, but being with you was the first time he had ever understood when people would talk about someone being their other half because you truly were his.
“Maybe I’m a little fuckin’ sloshed,” he conceded, “but I ain't gotta be sober ta know that I’m tired of pretendin’ I’m some kind of cold-hearted monster that doesn’t want ta have some type a life outside of my work; like I haven’t been wantin’ ta give ya the title of missus, maybe start a family with ya and all that. Things I didn’t think I’d be able ta have till ya came along and fuckin’ changed everythin’.”
Fluttering open his eyes they locked onto yours and there was not an ounce of apprehension to be found in their depths. “You’re serious?” you asked, watching for any subtle change in his face as you struggled to find air to fill your lungs.
Again he leaned into you, capturing your mouth within a kiss that spoke volumes of love into you so that the synapses in your brain misfired the longer your lips danced and worked to make your body feel as if it was floating. “As a fuckin’ heart attack,” he breathed against your mouth. “I sat there tonight listenin’ to Price go on and on about not wantin’ to waste anymore time denying tha life he wanted and it made me realize I can’t keep bein’ afraid to take tha plunge. Ya deserve someone ta be better than that, sweetheart. And do ya know what it is that I really fuckin’ want?”
Speech failed you in that moment as his lips brushed across yours, electricity sparking over them as he took a deep breath to fill himself with your scent as his grip on your hands above your head tightened. It was so easy the way you could become consumed by him; his touch, his words, they cast their spell over you in an instant to fill your heart to nearly breaking. And yet all you wanted was more.
You swallowed to gain control of your vocal chords, finally finding your voice. “What?” the simple question barely audible under your breath.
“What I fuckin’ want is for ya ta be my wife.”
You stopped breathing completely for a moment, heart fluttering frantically as the certainty in his statement filled up all that secret yearning in your soul, the one that desperately wanted to be claimed permanently no matter how much you denied it didn’t bother you not to be.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” you stammered out in a whisper, afraid that this was all an illusion that would break apart the moment you got too loud.
“I am askin’ ya right now if ya want to be Mrs. Riley,” he answered with a smile. “And don’t fuckin’ say I don’t know what I’m doin’ cause I do, luv. I do.”
Releasing you from his grasp he stretched himself all the way over to the chest of drawers near the bed and pulled open the one that contained the lockbox for his pistol. Pressing the numbered buttons on the front in the correct order he opened it and grabbed something out of the inside that you could not see before he set the lockbox on the ground. Sitting back upright, he held out his hand and inside was something small and square.
You sat up straight in the bed and looked from the velvet box up into his face with a gasp as he flipped the lid open to reveal a ring. “Got it a couple months back,” he admitted, “just wanted it ta be the right time. Kept fuckin’ talkin’ myself outta it cause I thought ya deserved better than me. But I want ya, sweetheart, I wanna make ya mine so fuckin’ bad if that’s what ya want too.”
All you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat in your ears that drowned out everything else as one of Simon’s large hands cupped around your cheek. “Will ya marry me?”
“Simon,” you said his name so sweetly that it rendered his mind numb as tears pooled in your eyes and time seemed to stand still as he waited for you to finish your answer. “There’s nothing else I want more than to be married to you. Yes, my answer is yes.”
Simon’s reaction was visceral as he hurriedly leaned back down into you with back arching and crashed his lips upon yours, greedily drawing all the love from your mouth that he could as he captured your mouth over and over again. Unconsciously the ring box was discarded on the nightstand as his hands desperately needed to be filled with the being that made up his entire world; that was all that mattered.
“Whatever the fuck I did to deserve ya I hope I continue to do it to keep ya,” he moaned into your open mouth while he pulled you onto his lap and you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck to keep yourself steady as you sat down on him. “You’re the only thing I’ll eva want.”
You let yourself sink into his embrace as his hands kneaded at your hips and ran over the curve of your ass, overcome with so many emotions that it was impossible not to get swept up in them all. “I’m yours,” you responded in a moan. “Not going anywhere.”
The sound of your soft, breathy voice creating music out of the tender sounds as his fingers sent shivers down your spine made the collected and stoic soldier crack at the seams and any trace of the disastrous thoughts that had plagued him about how this interaction would happen fell away; a fire roared to life in his chest, spreading throughout his limbs until his fingertips prickled with desperation as he lost himself in you until nothing else existed except what lay inside the bed.
Simon was a moth drawn to your flame and if it killed him, then he knew now that he would happily burn.
His fingers went caressing along the lines of your body over your t-shirt as if he were ravenous, as if he hasn’t touched you in years: over hips and thighs, circling over the fullness of your backside, up and around to your back where he flattened his palms to run them up the length of your spine all the way to where he ran coarse fingers through your hair at the back of your head. A tangled mess of limbs and lips, raw and wanting, as his hands descended back down into your lap.
Grabbing the hem of your sleep shirt with his exploring fingers, he released your mouth for as long as it took to rip it off over your head and toss it somewhere onto the floor. “There she is,” he breathed before mouth was diving into all that newly exposed warm flesh. Simon’s mouth left your kiss-flushed face and traveled to your jaw, adorning it with his lips as he dragged them along the length and trailed them down to your neck where they meet his fingers who took over and followed down the line of your neck to your chest and around the soft tissue of your breasts.
Securing you to him with a strong arm around your waist, bare chest against bare chest, his hand rubbed across the length of your thighs until he decided to slip it in the crevasse between them. Up against your panty-clothed pussy he pressed his hand sending chills along your skin so that you’d buck against his hand and you could feel a smile grow on his mouth that now rested at the crook of your neck.
“I fuckin’ love makin’ ya feel good baby,” he groaned. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ perfect… so perfect, pretty girl.”
Simon pushed his fingers up through the cloth until he was sure he had your petals pressed into your clit so that he could grind into it over and over until you began to ache something fierce. Your hips mirrored the work of his fingers as you rolled them over his hand, the excitement of the moment and the giddy feelings heightening all sensations so that the slightest bit of effort had you dripping.
Suddenly you pulled away from his mouth, leaving his lips missing your touch. “Take off your pants,” you said.
“Only if ya take off these tiny things,” Simon smiled as he pawed at your pelvis.
That was a deal easily made.
It was a mad scramble to remove the rest of the clothing that kept you apart, his jeans being ripped off in a flash as you pulled off your panties, but you were quick and resituated yourselves back in that intimate position of facing one another. His cock throbbed hard, the veiny appendage swollen and aching and ready to slide into you. With a firm grip he helped you situate yourself kneeling over his cock and then held onto you as you slowly lowered yourself onto the engorged tip.
Breathing strained and muscles tensed along his abdomen as Simon slipped inside, your body taking him all in down to the base of his cock. Your arms locked around the back of his neck to keep you from falling off his lap, delicate whimpers dripping from your lips as his cock nestled securely inside to stretch you good and full to the brim. The stretch of him was heaven, only slight discomfort that immediately gave way to ecstasy as it pulsed and throbbed against your walls like a heartbeat deep in your core, its rhythm making your body tremble to the cadence of a dance that only you two had perfected.
“I love you,” the emotion-laden words left your lips.
“I love ya too, sweetheart,” he returns without missing a beat.
There were no more words that could be said as you both devolved into beings created solely for the pleasure of the other, the sounds of grunting and moaning filling up the room. The longer you went the harder you ground your hips into his pubic bone to engage your swollen clit like you couldn’t get enough of the way it felt. Your fingertips tingled with the prickling sensation of them running over the cropped bottom of Simon’s blonde locks at the back of his neck as you rode him, every part of you from your head down to your toes in pure bliss.
Simon let you take the lead, so worked up that he was barely hanging on by a thread the moment he was inside you, the overwhelming sensation of love being shared the catalyst that drew you both closer to the precipice of release. Tender snaps of his hips upward into you helped to engage that region inside your core that felt divine. Mixed with the rubbing of your clit against him and you were quickly being made to come undone.
Head falling forward, your eyes closed as you moaned into his face. “Yes, mmm… yes.”
“Come with me baby,” he groaned as he leaned forward so that your foreheads were pressed tightly against one another, “I know you’re close. Come on, you and me, together.”
Your hands around his neck squeezed harder to match the feeling as his grip wrenched down on your hips, your mouth hung agape as you desperately focused on your breathing. The coil wound tightly in your abdomen pulled taunt, body vibrating with pleasure, your orgasm within reach. It wouldn’t be long now and Simon was straining to hold on till the end.
“That’s it,” he coaxed gently, keeping his movements at a steady rhythm. “Just breathe; we’re almost there.”
The coil of arousal compressed in your core finally snapped and with a shudder your orgasm rocketed through you fiery hot, making you whimper closed mouth into his face as your hips bucked harshly into his. And before you could even finish through a second of your ecstasy, Simon locked his mouth onto yours as he let go and came fast and rough, mixing his groans with yours in the space created by your mouths.
Remembering what started this all he stretched his arm over to the nightstand and reached for the ring inside the box, taking your left hand to place the delicate band around your finger. He held up your hand before you both to admire the look of it, watching the gem glint and gleam in the light as he turned it back and forth. Never in his dreams could he imagine something so perfect being his to keep.
Simon’s hands stayed locked to your hips as a natural rhythm rocked you both back and forth through your high, just breathing until you could both come back down. He didn't want to let you go and you were more than content to stay nestled in his arms for as long as possible just to feel him. Eventually his heart rate slowed enough that he could breathe normally again and as he did he eased you both down to the mattress, you resting atop his chest. Your finger drew lazy patterns through the hair along his chest as the pair of you clung to one another.
Simon brought your hand to his mouth and placed gentle lips to it. “Can’t believe I get to ‘ave her as mine for the rest of my life,” he said as he pulled you into another toe-curling kiss, as happy as one person could be.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#ghost cod#ghost mw2#cod mw2#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#fluff and smut#simin ghost riley#simon smut#ghost simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost smut#ghost call of duty#ghost#ghost cod smut#cod ghost
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Just a blurb/ thought bc I don’t have the ability to right a full fic of this aesthetic that I need and desperately crave.
Captain John price who is secretly tatted the fuck up.
Captain John price who has piercings and hangs out in tattoo shops when he’s home from deployments, Simon and him have the same artist.
Captain John price whos married to the artist he met when he got his first tattoo at 20.
The Prices are one bad ass couple bro, they look fucking good. John wears Combat boots, jeans and plain black or white t shirts and beanies. Simple and effective. Tatted the fuck up. The beanie like god damn daddy.
Captain John price whos home is a dark eclectic style, comfortable in leather and dark tones that are comfy and cozy with the candles and cigar smoke lingering in the air.
Tattoo Artist!reader who wasn’t necessarily into John when they first met, but hey that’s a paying client. But then he kept coming back, to get more tats of course because John also finds the artists shop to be relaxing and comfortable and they let him smoke during their sessions, and the artist is really nice on the eyes and oh the softness of their touch contrasting the precise pressure of the gun- oh maybe there’s going to be a problem.
Tattoo Artist!reader who notices as time pass, john gets harder, war will do that to ya. His gruffer, voice deepening and the lines around his eyes starting to show. He grows a beard. His eyes still shine with a stubbornness that looks like it could intimidate death itself. But they go so soft when your eyes meet across the counter as he walks in. Oh that charming ass smile is growing on you. Don’t fool yourself, that smile had you from the get go, we’re just all in denial.
And that’s how you find yourself here. Tattoo gun buzzing in your hand, wearing nothing but John’s oversized t shirt, and sprawled across his large thick thighs. Concentration at 100% while you ink up your lover.
John’s leaning his head back, cigar in one hand, your waist in the other giving (not so) gentle squeezes, kneading the love handles on your hips. Smoke travels past his lips as he stares down at you through his lashes. He’s shirtless, ink going all the way down and disappearing under the waist band of his gray sweatpants. They hide legs that are tatted to hell.
It’s a chest piece for the 141 that constantly grows. His way of holding his found family close to his heart. They’re apart of him. So you’re not going to mess this up…but oh, oh it is hard when he’s looking at you through half lidded eyes that emulate the dirtiest sin, and you feel him harden under you. You’re grinding subtly in his lap.
The buzzing stops as you wipe away ink and you feel his hand at your chin, tilting up.
Lips come down on yours before you know it.
The kiss is breathless, feels like an attack in a way. All teeth, bites and nips. His hand moves to behind your head, pulling you in more. It doesn’t last long enough, and next thing you know you’re both pulling away for air.
“What was that for?” You question
“Like you don’t know what you do to me.” A gruff reply leaves his lips, a rumble in his chest.
SIR NO ITS WHAT YOU DO TO US
#john price x reader#captain johnathan price#john soap mactavish x reader#cod#cod x reader#blurb#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#ghostsoap#task force 141
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TASK FORCE 141 x afab femreader, MDNI!!!
Tags: simon riley x reader, ghost x reader, call of duty, cod mw2, simon ghost riley, cod x reader, cod smut, kyle gaz garrick mw2, kyle gaz garrick x reader, gaz mw2, gaz cod, call of duty smut, john price, price cod, john price smut, soap mactavish, john soap mactavish, soap cod, soap smut
cw: topics of you cheating on Simon, slight non consent from Price, fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), four men on one woman, slight degradation, humiliation topics, choking kink, underwear sniffing/ licking kink, orgasm denial, aggressive attitude, breast play, teasing.
A/N: Sorry i’ve been gone so long I’ve kind of found it hard to find the effort to write!! I have some more ideas coming though and slowly but surely i’m pushing through this. Apologies if this short story may seem a little rushed in places or confusing, I just felt I had to get it done and dusted so I probably isn’t the greatest thing ever!! I hope you enjoy though !! 🎀
You woke up on a dark wooden floor, skin burning from the cold and in nothing but your frilly pink knickers. Your back, brushed against the rough material of an old sofa and the smell of an unfamiliar place filled your nostrils.
Your head is pounding to the same hungover beat of the clubs music last night and finally, you open your eyes. Vision clearing up at the sight of a used condom sprawled out under a clear topped, oak-wooden coffee table.
Where the hell am I? Who’s apartment am I in?
Last night you and your boyfriend Simon had gotten into a heated argument over something minor. As minutes turned into hours of you two going forwards and backwards insulting each other you decided to leave. Slamming your apartment door and heading towards a club your friends were at. Which was now obviously a horrible decision.
A few drinks down and you were completely blacked out, needing something to release your anger, and from the sight of the shrivel up, cum covered latex, it was clear to anyone you found just that. You blinked blindly at the floor, trying to piece together everything and the reality of the situation hit you harshly.
Did I seriously fucking cheat on Simon?
Bile formed in your throat and a dark unsettling channeled through your stomach: watering your eyes and filling disgust and discomfort within yourself. Your nose stung with tears that threatened to spill but before you could even act, a dark figure hovered from above you. It’s shadow grabbing your phone from the table in-front of you.
Reflexively you shot up, taking your weak arms and covering your bare chest as you turn to face the figure, your mouth falling dry as a familiar set of dark eyes scanned your face.
Simon stood there dressed in his military uniform, mask on with his phone in one hand and yours in the other. His expression was unreadable but from what you can figure he must be immensely pissed. The door behind him had clearly been broken into and as you open your mouth to speak his phone beeps, signifying his and your phones are in the same location.
“Simon, Look! I’m so sorry! I don’t even know what happened!” You spat out, standing up to reach your inside out t-shirt and pulling it over your head. Everything felt faded and distorted like you were stuck in a nightmare. The silence between you two was a murderous storm of emotion and raindrops of tears began to fall onto your cheeks. Simon however didn’t utter a word, his face unreadable behind his mask. It was like he didn’t care about anything and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a horrible one.
It was like looking through a dead man’s eyes and for once you truly understood the meaning of “Ghost”.
“Please Simon Please! Let’s just go home and talk about it? I’m so sorry! I was drunk and out of my mind! I’m so fucking sorry Simon!” But nothing made him budge. He just kept staring at you, dark brown eyes that would visually kiss down the soft skin of your body, now showing no emotion, no affection and no care. Your words changed nothing about this situation but you knew that even before opening your mouth. No matter how much you plead and cry, nothing could be done. You seriously fucked up.
“Get your shit together. We’re fucking leavin’. ” He growled out, crimson coating every word as he turned his head to look at my scattered clothes. You didn’t question him and you instantly did as he said-fumbling for the rest of your things, slipping on shoes and wasting no time to grabbing your bag. He watched you as you did this, like he was silently judging every move you made.
As if you were a new person to him, a stranger he’d only just met.
After you dressed yourself, the two of you left the stranger’s apartment instantly. No goodbyes or apologies, leaving the poor unknown man alone in his shower. Footsteps followed you out onto the sidewalk and you slipped into Simons car. His aroma filled the air and eloped with the guilt and pain in your stomach.
Why was I so stupid? How could I have done that to him?
“Simon..” You started but you couldn’t finish. His eyes that were once watching the road now settled on your face. You shook your head almost confirming to yourself you couldn’t say anything else; his blank expression rose to the road again. The ride was silent and hurtful, the pain in your gut a knife stabbing you over and over with every slight bump in the road.
The car came to a holt as he parked outside. Without a word you leaped out and stomped up the moss covered stairs before slamming your front door open and barging inside.
It didn’t make any sense why he brought you home, surely he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me. He realised what I did right? Why didn’t he just leave me?
Simons hesitant footsteps followed behind you as he shut the door gently and walked over to you. Something else was off with him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mad at you but this time was fucking terrifying. His patiently calm body language and slow speed contradicted his furious demeanour and it goosebumps coated your arms.
Trying to keep it in but obviously failing you broke down in-front of him. Confused cries and helpless sobs cascades through your body and you felt the pain in almost every organ: your lungs, your stomach and heart. This is ridiculous, i’m not the one that should be hurting here.
Your hands started to shake, your vision blurring as tears uncontrollably fell. ‘Stop crying.’ you shouted at yourself it was no use. Your emotions spiralled out of control.
Simons hand cupped one of your cheeks, the rough and scarred skin on his fingers wiping tears away. You were reluctant to keep him so close to you after how badly you hurt him, but you didn’t want to risk making the situation any worse. It made no sense but you couldn’t help but sink into his warm palm. A kiss was planted against the same cheek he rubbed and Simons still dead eyes glared daggers into your sorrowful ones.
“Have a sleep on the couch. I’ll be back later.” He said in an almost whisper before walking out of the house, shutting the door and leaving you alone. For a moment your mind fell blank and weakly fell down on the couch.
A sharp pain in your neck that you didn’t feel before now ached and you realised how uncomfortably you slept before on that wooden floor. Your legs also ached but you decided not to focus on that since that could’ve been from last night and you wanted to forget it all. Even if it was absolutely impossible to you could at least try.
What should I do? What the fuck is even happening?
Still your hands trembled as more and more tears fell from your face, you took a deep breath. You’re crying because of something you’ve done- it was pathetic.
You had absolutely no right to cry, you hurt Simon and now there’s nothing you could do. His words hung around your head and suddenly your eyes felt heavy. He did want you to sleep so it was for the best you did that right? Even if it’s just for ten minutes. Plus it would probably help my head clear and we could tackle this issue later. Together.
Shutting your damp eyes, your head hit the fluffy cushion on the sofa and you felt yourself drift off to sleep, thinking of Simon and regretting everything you’ve done. Hopefully when you wake up, he had cleared his mind a little, Hopefully when you wake up, he’ll take you back into his loving arms and hug you and tell you ‘It’s okay, we all make mistakes, doll.’ But you could only hope.
When your eyes opened, it didn’t take long for you to register it had been a bit more than just ten minutes. The apartment lights were still off from earlier and the sun from outside had set already, casting an orange hue through the windows. Your head ached from all the crying earlier and you suddenly remembered the situation you are in.
Holy fuck, I need to talk to Simon.
But before you could begin to get up off of the sofa your eyes flicked to your right. Catching a glance at the three random men staring at you.
Your throat ran dry and a shriek like gasp fell from your partially dry lips. One of them was sat on the other sofa, horizontal from you. His hair dark and in a sort of mohawk style, his face had a little bit of stubble on his chin and his eyes flashed away from yours back to the others.
Another guys sat sprawled out on the armchair. His gaze was much harsher and more intense than the others. It was like he was trying to see through you, like he was some king looking down on his dainty little servant. His breathing was visible and you took in how his chest rose and fell shakily.
And for the final guy, he stood between the couch and chair in-front of you. His arms folded across his broad chest and the faint remains of a smirk glued to his handsome face. He looked younger than the other too and you swallowed the saliva that was stuck in your throat. Pondering on what to say to them but a voice cut you off.
“So the cheat has finally chosen to wake up?” The man in the chair said, a deep chuckle slipping out matching the smugness in his eyes. You scanned their bodies again going by each and every one of them and finally it clicked who they were. They were Simons teammates. Simon had been begging for you to meet them, to introduce his only love to the people he trusted with his life. And now they are here, calling you a cheater. What a great first impression. Fighting the yawn that was yearning to leave your lips, you locked eyes with the man who was sat on your sofa.
“Simon isn’t here.. So you may as well come back tomorrow and check.” You muttered. Simon had told you earlier he’d be back and since they had clearly sat down to wait for him you figured he wasn’t home yet. You’d be lucky if he returned home at all actually. The overwhelming guilt from earlier flooded back through you, overpowering your thoughts yet again. You knew the sleep would make you forget temporarily but it was almost harder to swallow down your emotions for a second time. The guy that was sat on the chair stood up, clenching his knees with a deep sigh. He began to walk over to you, hunching over and his size intimidated you slightly; he was taller than you thought. Oceanic eyes pierced through yours, awakening some sort of emotion that made your stomach rattle uneasily.
Where is Simon? I hope he comes home soon.
“Let us introduce ourselves..” His dark gravelly voice spoke and his lip lifted up in a smirk as he itches closer to my face. “I’m Price, that’s Soap over there on that settee and that’s Gaz..” His head nodded in the various directions as he mentioned each name. You felt as your eyes indecisively flicked between each of them before focusing on the white ceiling like some nervous child. Price exhaled in amusement before turning to glance at the others and giving a short nod.
“You see my lovey, our boy Simon means an awful lot to us..” He began. His voice smooth however the huskiness added texture, like a mix of sandpaper and silk. Burning eyes left yours for a second and his blue pupils latched onto your lips. “And when he gets agitated with a girl,” Soap and Gaz walked towards us swiftly. Gaz positioned himself on Prices left while Soap took the right, finishing his friends sentence with a thick Scottish accent. “So do we.”
Slowly, you let your eyes shut for a minute, gut summersaulting and face a burning mess. Not only had you utterly ruined the relationship between you and Simon, you had now upset his friends. Although you knew it was horrible to think like that, but a part of you felt more intimidated by the fact his friends were angry with you. Simon had limits, he had boundaries that you was aware of. But this was the first time you’d met them. You had no idea what they could do to you and how far they’d take things. You sat there as the three men towered above you, with three pairs of eyes staring back at you. They wouldn’t do anything too bad, right?
“And when we get agitated, we don’t play nice. Do we?” His face turned to his sides directing the questions at the two by his sides. My heart throbbed all around my body in right places and wrong ones and a sense of dread fell down into my stomach. Simon was bound to pissed with you- absolutely furious even and here his friends are. Talking like this with you, in that tone. It could just be an innocent little encounter of them threatening me to not hurt Simon again.
But the way his voice teased out every word made it hard to believe that. You gulped thickly at what they could be insinuating, your head racing wildly with thoughts that you shouldn’t be having.
Your mouth widened to protest but Price cut me off, turning to the guy on his left, giving him a look as the other smirked. His legs danced on the spot to the left and right before he was facing me again, his hand rubbing his chin, fingers massaging his jaw. Your eyes furrowed and locked onto him. He was thinking about something, but what? And just like the universe was listening to your queries, he dove for my chin. Holding it up hard with his index finger and stroking your lips with his thumb. You could smell the tobacco on his breath as his eyes were locked onto your lips, staring deeply.
He scanned each and every little crack and he rubbed the flesh smiling to himself. His sight drifted back to you.
“You’re lips are stunning girl,” Almost on que, Soap came from behind him and hovered over you, threading his fingers through the waistband of your bottoms and dragging them down. What the hell? Your lips parted and Prices thumb fell slightly however before you could shrug him off his whole other hand covered your mouth, innocent blue eyes darkened and began to look more grey as a sinister half-smirk half-snarl forced upon his lips.
“I wanna see the other lips too.” Your breathing hitched and the fear on your face must have been visible as Gaz let out a laugh and Soap began threading your feet out of your bottoms. The heat on your cheeks had travelled down into your stomach and you just knew your eyes faltered for a moment. All thoughts dissipated when reality slipped back for a second. Simon, you had already hurt him. Imagine if he finds out about this, about his close friends stripping you down and teasing you. About his cheating lying slut of a woman had snuck behind his back and taken on not one but three of them. You couldn’t let his happen, You had to stop this.
Prices hand grabbed hold of your clothed sex, smirking in delight as the slick stuck to your panties, warmed his fingers. A hum left his lips while a gasped moan left yours. The same thumb from before circled your clothed clit, the one place that made you vulnerable. Soap and Gaz had both inched back forward, closing you in like a little box. Your focus glued on Prices actions. He was so clearly experienced, finding the clit so fast and circling it at the right speed. Not too slow but not fast. Your eyes fell shut again as it began to feel good, the sound of his voice opening them a little while later.
“Simon told me all about this little thing,” He pressed his finger into your clit almost like a button, the pressure was hard and for such a sensitive part of your body you whined.
“He told us all about how you like it. The way you don’t like going to fast and how slow is good but you don’t want it too take too long and spoil the moment. He spoke to us about how wet this little girl gets when being tended too. We all thought he was joking but fuck.” His apples adam bobbed in his throat as he swallowed the saliva stored up in his throat. The hunger in his eyes enough to make a man’s stomach growl. He was starving.
“Gaz, get her knickers off. I need to have a taste.” You twitched down there and your eyeballs nearly jumped out of their sockets. The thin fabric of your underwear slipping down your thighs before you could even process what he said. Prices breathing hitched as he locked eyes with your pussy. Unable to look at him out of embarrassment you lifted your eyes back to Gaz to catch what him and Soap were doing.
Soaps hands crashed together as my now screwed up underwear few from Gaz to Soap like it was some basketball. ‘How lovely’ you thought. Shockingly though, Soap caught it with no ease, shaking it out and holding it from the top to get a better look. Prices finger touched against your bare pussy and he held it there for a few seconds, his eyes watching as you looked at Soap no doubt.
Soft blue eyes, unlike Prices store into yours as he brought your panties to his face and placed the damped crotch to his nose. Taking a slow and long sniff and savouring your erotic scent. For a moment you swore you watched his eyes roll back and a twitch come from the bulge in his military uniform. His tongue quickly gushed out his mouth, licking a line from where you’d worn them, tasting my flavourful nectar and grunting. You looked away too embarrassed at this point and a groan fell from his mouth.
“Little beamer tastes great Cap, go on ‘ave a taste.” Your cheeks flared hotter and you tried to squeeze your thighs together preventing him but he caught you before. Spreading you wide open and putting you on display. All of their eyes were locked onto your aching slit and you felt the heat burn down your neck. Beard hairs tickled your inner thighs and a warm tongue swiped down you. Shivering you felt how wet and smooth his tongue was on your clit and he began to worship you, taking the focus away from your embarrassment to your pleasure. His lips slapped against your flaps and you cursed yourself mentally, knowing you was probably soaking his beard. You squeezed your eyes shut and let yourself relax as you soaked in deeper and deeper. He ate you like a mad man and you were lost in lust.
It felt like hours before you began to get close and the thought of what the other two were doing crossed your mind. You looked up to find both Soap and Gaz shirtless, their scars and scratches visible and showing off, making there already sexy body even hotter. Price began to growl into you and you let out a cry feeling close. Your pussy throbbed harder and harder and you felt it in your throat. You couldn’t stop your legs as they began to shake. You were going to cum, you were about to fucking cum. But then it all faded.
Price drug his tongue away, a clear string of spit, cum or whatever joint his beard to you. His breath was heavy and his delicate and gentle fingers from before fell down giving you a gentle slap on the clit. What, why? All he did was look down on you and he ripped off his military gauntlets and vest taking off the top below. Three half naked muscular men staring from infront of you while you sat there panting, pussy on show and drunk on the pleasure they were giving you. For a punishment, this wasn’t a hell of a lot bad. Your eyebrows furrowed as you locked your eyes back on Price.
“Why? Why did you do that? I was close.” Your tone spat out like a spoiled brat but he just smirked gesturing his arms to the two other gentlemen stood there. You had to hold yourself back from moaning as you realised what he was signifying.
“I wouldn’t dream of taking all the fun now, would I?” Soap and Gaz stepped forward, the same starving expression plastered on their face as Prices. The couch bobbed down as Soaps weight fell next to you and he leant over, tearing off your T-shirt, revealing your bare breasts. He must’ve been surprised you weren’t wearing a bra but he clearly wasn’t complaining. Snatching your left nipple in between his teeth and squeezing the other one harshly. Gaz on the other hand, knelt down between your legs but instead of tasting you, he slowly dragged his finger up and down between your folds.
“Has she been good enough Sir? Does she deserve my fingers?” He asked Price or so you assumed, Price just let out a laugh and Gaz licked his lips slowly eyeing up how we you were. Admiring as your clear juices lubricated his fingers.
“You’re absolutely soaking, my love. My finger would slip in like butter.” You whimpered as them dirty words left his lips. You needed either his mouth on you or his fingers deep inside, the pleasure was getting too much for you. You were too far gone now to back out.
You squeezed your mouth shut, lips quivering as you felt his finger prod your tight entrance. You cried out a loud moan as his finger rammed into you hard and started fucking you slowly.
Tears welled up in your drunken eyes as he abused your g spot over and over again and although it felt good, you didn’t feel your stomach knot or feel yourself get close again; It wouldn’t give you the orgasmic feeling you were chasing after. You were being used and after some time it began to burn a little. Through your shakes and sobs, Soaps teeth sunk into your breasts again, leaving hickeys on your soft skin. The roughness from the two men leaving you flustered. They were completely different from Price, they were savage. You winced and closed your eyes, the pain more prominent than the pleasure. Footsteps walked over to Gaz who was still between your thighs and Price placed his two hands on his shoulders.
“Slower Gaz, take your time and work her.” Gaz looked up at Price nodding and then he worked his fingers into you slowly, taking note at how your back arched and trembled at the feeling.
Fuck this was good. You found myself muttering words, a few pleases there and many yeses, it was embarrassing but you couldn’t even think. His hands continued to penetrate you slowly and softly, not harsh and not fast and it felt heavenly. His other hand slid onto your bladder and he weighted a bit of pressure onto it, making his fingers feel deeper and deeper inside. Your stomach twisted and you needed more. You wanted one of their cocks deep inside you but you were Simon’s.
You couldn’t be wanting that, You shouldn’t even be doing this. You’ve cheated on him once before and now, with his friends? You thought about stopping it but there was something about the way they tended to you that refrained me from that. The way they moved and caressed your body; you couldn’t pull away just yet. You needed to cum and you would wait here until they let you.
Fingers pumped into you faster as Gaz sped up matching your shaking breaths and moans. Every now and then he’d curl his fingers into you and cackle at how your legs shook before he ripped them out teasing you. Every muscle in your body felt tense and he worked you until the familiar feeing swarmed deep in your stomach. You found yourself slowly grinding against his fingers, desperate for that sensation to explode inside you and all three of them exchanged looks. Of course you were embarrassed but fuck it, in that moment you couldn’t help but be taken away by your wishes. The feeling inside you started to amplify and your whole body ran hot and suddenly you were coming to the edge. Your breathing stoped as you held your breath unconsciously but instead of exhaling as you came, you found yourself being chocked.
Thick, familiar fingers tightened the grip on your throat as you felt your orgasm travel through you. You couldn’t breathe, what the hell was he doing? And then you froze. The three men were still in front of you. Gaz had his fingers inside you and on your bladder, Soap was busy playing with your tits and Price was admiring your pretty, lewd face as his hands clenched around Gaz.
“Pull your fingers out Gaz.” Simon demanded, hands still squeezing your throat from behind the sofa. His voice melted into your ears like hot honey and your cum gushed out of your hole and coated the fingers inside. With a smirk, Gaz yanked them out and licked them clean, standing up and walking over to Price as they reached for their shirts. What?
Your head felt dizzy and just like earlier things went back to making no sense. Did Simon just walk in? You scanned the men’s faces again but they weren’t alarmed or worried, they were fine. Simon let go of you partially, his hands rubbing soothing circles down your back. The sweat on your forehead shone in the sunset and you turned around to face Simon in attempt explain but he cut you off, passionately kissing you. His tongue tickled against your lips and he pulled away with a demeaning smirk on his face, chocolate eyes drowning deeply in yours.
“If you wanted another man to toy with, jus’ let me know, yeah? I don’t mind if you want to switch things up for a bit. Just make sure it’s one of these fine gents.” You blinked and scanned his face to see if he was being sarcastic or trying to see if you’d take the bate but there was nothing but honesty. He planted another solemn kiss on your cheek and let out a chuckle, rubbing your turning to his teammates who were now fully dressed.
“I’ve got to say Simon, you’ve caught yourself a good lass.” Soap said with a chuckle, looking down at me with some remaining hunger. Prices turned to face us too, his nonchalant expression turned into another seductive grin. Simon just smiled to himself and looked back down at you. Your confused but relieved expression warming his heart and hardening his cock and he couldn’t look away.
“I know, she’s fuckin’ fun to please, ain’t ya?”
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#call of duty#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#cod x reader#cod smut#kyle gaz garrick mw2#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz mw2#gaz cod#call of duty smut#john price#price cod#john price smut#soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soap smut
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HELLO!! I've got an idea (idk if anybody request it already or u already wrote it). Can you write about grim stealing clothes from the 141? And their reaction? IT WOULD BE AMAZING I SWEAR! THX <3 P.S YOUR STUFF IS SO CUTE AND PERFECT. KEEP UP THE WORK💕🫂💕
A Thief
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pairings: platonic 141 x grim
warnings: none i believe
summary: grim gets caught read handed
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you’d always enjoyed winter. but, because of your small size, it was always harder for you get warm and stay that way.
the first time you’d ever stolen one of the task force’s articles of clothing was when you were stuck in the russian woods during winter.
you and ghost had been thrown into the field. alone. the mission actually went incredibly well considering it was tackled by a grumpy, closed off lieutenant, and a jittery, talkative, kid-sergeant.
the two of you were in and out- just like you’d been briefed to do so.
the issue? a giant fucking snowstorm that prevented evac.
the wind howled in your ear as you shouted over to ghost, “do you even know where you’re going?”
the wind pushed you back, but you prevailed. the cold nipped at your nose and cheeks. snow fell into your eyelashes, and your body was soaked from the wet.
“jus’ a bit further.” he was gruff, as usual, but even the loud wind couldn’t silence his chattering teeth.
you were severely underdressed for the weather. just a thermal shirt, your cargo pants, boots, a fleece quarter-zip, and your tac gear. ghost was no better off than you.
the small cabin came into view after roughly 20 more minutes of silence.
ghost rushed in, clearing it, before pulling you by your bicep.
the cabin wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t exactly what you had hoped. luckily, there were two bedrooms. but, other than that, there wasn’t much. a kitchen, a bathroom, and a random couch.
“it’s not much, but it’ll do.”
the giant next you hummed in agreement, “go get in the shower. you’ll get hypothermia, kid.”
you almost argued, saying he could’ve gone first, but your body was shaking so badly you almost couldn’t stand.
you sighed with a nod and made your way to the bathroom. stripping yourself down to nothing and turning on the shower. the water was heavenly even if it wasn’t that warm. you stood there, letting it warm up your limbs. your red fingers finally gaining some feeling.
a knock on the door about 5 minutes later sounded through the room.
“yeah?”
“want me to take your clothes to dry them off? built a fire.”
“go for it!”
ten minutes later, you walked out with sweats and a t-shirt on. a towel bunched in your hands, with your head tilted to the side- drying your hair off. goosebumps raised on your skin as the steam rolled out of the bathroom behind you. looking around the small house, you found ghost crouched in front of the fire, warming up his hands.
“hey, big guy. bathroom’s all yours” you offered a small smile when his dark eyes met yours.
“thanks, grim.” he stood and made his way to shower before he paused right next to you.
you were about to ask him what was wrong before he stalked back the way he came, riffled through his pack, and tossed something at your face.
you squeaked as you caught it, dropping the towel.
you were about to scold him, but the soft material of a hoodie stopped you in your tracks. you offered your lieutenant a questioning look.
“you’re fucking shivering, grim. put it on.” his voice was gruff. and with that, he walked into the bathroom without a word.
later that night as you both sat in front of the fire, backs resting on the couch, ghost voiced out, “i’m not gettin’ that back, am i?”
“nope!” you curled up to him with a smile too big for your face.
———
since that mission, you’d taken it upon yourself to make yourself as cozy as possible.
ghost’s hoodies were just so much bigger than yours.
soap’s sweats were just so much comfier than yours.
gaz’s shirts just fit so much better than yours.
and price’s socks were socks, but you didn’t want him to feel left out.
this is how you found yourself being interrogated in the commons, surrounded by your team.
“why am i here, boys?” you almost sang out.
“grim. you have an issue. who’s clothes are you even wearing right now?” gaz was the first to break the ice.
“oh, a little bit of everyone’s i suppose.” you shrugged.
“kid. we need those back. you have your own clothes, for god’s sake!” price scolded you, arms crossed against his chest and head tilted to look you in the eye.
“but they’re comfier than mine! and, they keep me warmer! please?” you threw out your best puppy dog eyes, knowing it would hit them in the heart.
soap sighed out, a hand dragging down his face.
“let me tell you what, kid. keep what you have, but no more stealing them.” ghost’s voice was gruff from behind you.
you whirled around, “how about i switch them out when they don’t smell like you guys anymore? heh, variety!”
“whatever. meeting dismissed, i’m tired.”
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a/n: thank you for reading <33
#grim au#john price#kyle gaz garrick#soap cod#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#ghost#john price x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#cod#cod mw2 imagine#cod mw2#cod x reader#cod mw22#141 x reader#task force 141
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hiii hope your day is going well <3 could you pls do something where ghost and the reader are just starting to see each other? the reader is on the team and ghost finally asked them out on a date. i just wanna see your view on what he’d plan out for the first date. also the night could end with smut 👀 (only if you think it would ofc)
the very first night
YESS sorry this got me too excited, he'd be so nervous about the date, trying to make it romantic UGH idc what anyone says that man would be so awkward on dates, so cute
warnings: fluff, mdni (18+), unproteted pinv, riding, sex in a car;), two idiots in love tbh
You had been working with the 141 for a little over a year, growing close to them, but mostly Ghost. He avoided you at first, you thought he hated you but it turned out you made him nervous, he had admitted it a while back, saying that being around you gave him butterflies and he didn't understand what those were but he'd like to take you out on a date.
You were more than willing, mostly out of intrigue, most of your interactions were short, he didn't talk a lot and you could never read him behind that mask, you wondered if he wore it off base. You felt drawn to him, always glancing at him during meetings, you found yourself blushing when he'd address you by your real name rather than your call sign.
He had asked you to go on a date on Thursday, you thankfully had the week off to try and settle your anxiety, showering and prepping yourself for the date. He didn't tell you much of what he had planned, honestly you assumed he would take you to some small bar, none the less you got dressed, nervous that this would be the first time he saw you with your hair and makeup done, the bar for your appearance set rather low considering he'd only ever seen you in uniform.
You waited by the door, bouncing your leg in anticipation, around 7 you heard a knock, opening it to see him, he was dressed rather plainly, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that let you see the full image of the tattoo on his forearm, to your dismay he still wore a mask, but at least the balaclava let you see a little more of him. You beam a smile at him, his arm extending to hold out a small bouquet of flowers.
"I wasn't sure what the protocol was so I asked Soap, he said I should bring flowers"
You soften our gaze, grabbing the flowers and giving them a small sniff,
"They're beautiful Simon, thank you"
You move to place them inside,
"You look great," He says nervously,
"You're not so bad yourself" You giggle, you close your door and he waits for you to walk down the stairs before opening your door to the car,
"Such a gentleman"
He huffs a nervous laugh, moving to settle in his own seat before driving off. You drive for a few minutes, the radio in the car set on some 70's rock station, you wondered if he actually listened to this music or if he just put it on to fill the silence. He parks the car on a dirt road,
"We have to walk from here"
You glance around eyeing the terrain, there's a small path bordered with trees,
"You're not gonna kill me are you?" You joke
"What? No."
You widen your eyes a little at his quick response, walking beside him down the path. You reach your hand to wrap around his bicep, feeling his muscle tense under your touch before he relaxes, your thumb drawing small patterns over the skin ad the two of you make your way to a clearing,
"Here, the ground's a little rough so, watch your step"
You move forward to walk and he grabs your hand, helping you keep balance, your hand fits in his perfectly, he moves with you, his hand moving to pull away but you squeeze it, keeping it to yours. He feels himself relax a little under your grip, directing you to a blanket he had set out. your eyes widen at the sight completely taken aback by the scene. He had laid a blanket for the two of you, a small lantern on top beside a little cooler.
"You did all this?" You say glancing up at him,
He chuckles shyly, "Yea I um, don't do great in restaurants so I figured this might be better"
You swear you feel your heart swell, you walk towards the blanket tugging him behind you as you sit down, you're facing toward a small pond, the sun just dipping below the horizon as it sets, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange.
"Is it alright?"
You look at him with a smile, a soft hand resting on his leg, "It's perfect"
He huffs a small laugh, opening the cooler and pulling out some sandwiches and drinks.
"I'm not a chef by any means but, they're good I swear"
He hands you a sandwich, truth be told he could give you burnt toast and you'd still look at him with hearts in your eyes. You bite into it, pleasantly surprised that it tasted rather good, you nod your head at his waiting face, a crinkle forming beside his eyes as pride fills his chest.
You watch him unwrap his sandwich, moving his hands to his mask apprehensively,
"Oh, I can just-" You say, turning your body to face away from him
"No, it's alright"
He takes a deep breath and removes his mask, your heart skips a beat, he's gorgeous, you'd only ever seen his eyes before and you found them mesmerizing, dark orbs that twinkled in the light, but the rest of him, his dusty blonde hair, his plush lips, a small scar that cut through his eyebrow ending just above his cheekbone. You wanted to stare at him forever but you felt him grow shy under your gaze, pulling your focus back to your food.
You sit in silence as you eat, the air filled with the sound of wind blowing through the tall grass as you watch the colours of the sky change, the cool air settling the heat that roamed under your skin.
"So, um, what do you do outside of work?" He asked,
"Oh, not a whole lot, I like to garden if the weather is right, sometimes I'll go see a movie if there's a good one playing, I caught this late showing of Dracula last week"
He's clinging on to your every word, "I love that movie"
You smile, "What about you, what does the Ghost do in his off-time?"
"The Ghost, I'm not sure, Simon reads a lot though"
"Oh, sorry"
"No it's alright, most people don't know me behind the mask so I get it"
"Well I like the you behind the mask"
His cheeks flush with heat as he smirks, leaning forward to turn the lantern on. You scoot yourself closer to him, leaning your head against his shoulder, he melts into your touch, his cheek resting against your head.
"So what music do you listen to," You ask
"Whatevers on the radio, mostly classic rock" So it was his radio choice
You chat about hobbies, wanting to get to know each other better, you learn that he liked bourbon, tea with a lot of sugar, he always wanted a cat but could never justify getting one. Somewhere in the middle the two of you fell back, eyes staring at the stars in the sky, your hand on his chest, fingers skimming over the muscle. In a surge of confidence, you pull yourself up his form, placing a kiss to his lips, pulling back quickly,
"Sorry, I- I don't know what that was"
He stares at you for a moment before his hands move to hold your cheeks, moving in to kiss you, your lips melt into his, they're soft and plush, he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that" He huffs and you giggle, moving to kiss him again.
"It's getting late," He says, you nod, "Should probably get home"
He grabs your hand pulling you up as he gathers up the picnic, guiding you back to the car. He throws everything in the trunk before getting into the driver's seat,
"I had a really nice time-" His sentence is cut short as you connect your lips again, this time it's deep, he pushes his tongue past your teeth, swirling it with yours as his hand moves to hold at the small of your back. Your body moves forward, climbing over the centre console to straddle him as you keep your lips to his.
"Are you sure you want to?" He asks breathlessly,
"So badly"
He holds you to him as you begin grinding down, his length hardening against your core.
"Because you know if you're having second thoughts"
You cut him off with another kiss, "Simon please"
And who is he to deny you, reaching to palm at your ass, pressing you down onto him as you moan, you feel the tent in his pants form below you, urging you on.
"I don't have any protection"
"I'm on the pill"
The prospect of being inside you raw excites him as he reaches down to unbutton his pants, your hands roaming over his form, his fingers moving to toy at your clit, your head falling forward against his shoulder as you moan breathlessly against his skin. He pulls your panties to the side as you lift up, allowing him to line himself up, you brace your hands on his shoulders before sinking down.
The stretch of him burns but it feels too good to stop, you inch your way down slowly as he plants kisses to your neck, buttoning out with a grunt from him, getting adjusted to his size before you begin moving up and down. He throws his head back as his hands settle on your hips, just holding you,
"Shit that feels amazing love"
You bounce up and down on him, the stimulation from his pubic hair grazing your clit, as you pull him in for another kiss, it's sloppy as you feel yourself unravel on top of him, his grip tightens on your hips, pulling you down on him harder, chasing his own high. You raise an arm to plant your hand on the roof and he holds your hips up, fucking into you, his hands pull at the top of your dress, letting your breasts fall free as he takes one into his mouth.
"Please, don't stop" You sigh
"I'm not gonna last, where do you want me" He manages through grunts.
"Shit, inside, please need to feel you"
Your words go straight to his cock as his balls tighten, the sensation of him pulsing just enough to bring you over the edge as you cum, head falling forward to rest against his as he spills into you with a string of curses. His arms snake around your back to hold you, placing a kiss to your swollen lips.
"So would you want to do this again sometime?" He huffs and you laugh, chest vibrating against his. The two of you gather yourselves, cleaning up before returning to your original seats, he rests his arm on the console, you grab it with a tender hand and place it on top of your thigh and he smiles to himself. The drive back was quiet, a newfound adoration for classic rock forming in you as you could almost make out him quietly singing along. You arrive back at your house, stepping out of car while Simon's arm finds your waist again, walking you to the door, you reach the top of the steps and he leans down to kiss you as your hands grab at the collar of his shirt.
"Did you want to come in?" You ask
He doesn't even think to answer, he simply snakes an arm under your legs and lifts you up, carrying you into the house as his foot closes the door, your giggles echoing throughout the building.
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley fluff#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley smut#ghost cod#ghost smut#ghost fluff#ghost x reader#mw2022#cod mw x reader#call of duty mwii#ghost mw2#cod mw2#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#reqs💌
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Morning baby
Ghost x Afab!Reader
After coming home from hanging out with the lads, ghost finds his baby sleeping in his shirt and some panties; he can’t help but eat you up~
MDNI (18+ only)
Warnings~ slightly cnc if you squint (Reader is sleeping in the beginning), awakened with sexual touching, boozy!Ghost, oral f!Receiving, fingering, rough sex, P.I.V, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it.), just in general super smutty, and this gets away from me~
Dear reader
If any of the warnings above bother you, please don’t engage with this post; if you continue and find other warnings I should mention, please let me know, reader has female anatomy, but reader is referred to as you. (Also I didn’t proof read this)
Word count~ 1.6k
Please do not repost as your own, share on other platforms or plagiarize. Explore your creativity~
Reblog if you enjoy!
You were waiting patiently on the bed for Simon to get home from the pub. He rarely gets time to himself and the boys from T.141 outside of missions and bloodshed, so it didn’t bother you as much as it could have when you noticed it was half past midnight.
You sighed deeply through your nose and felt your eyelids getting heavy. You tried to stay awake, hoping to see Simon home before falling asleep, but your eyes slowly drifted closed. Before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep.
-
It was a quarter after two in the morning when Simon unlocked the front door to your shared flat. He grunted out softly as he did his best to unlace his boots; his dark eyes looked around the entrance of the flat, the TV off in the living room and the kitchen unoccupied; he often found you there making sweets; it was one of your favorite hobbies to make cupcakes and cookies.
He quietly walked further into the flat and ripped off the balaclava from his head, his sandy blonde hair messy; he didn't think he drank that much but could still feel a lingering numbness from the alcohol consumed tonight; he rubbed his rough hands softly over his face trying to sober up cursing Johnny in the process for wanting to see who could hold out longer.
He went to the bedroom, hoping to find you reading or perhaps even touching yourself. He loved coming home to the lewd sounds of your wet fingers touching your needy little cunt and the whimpers you moan, and the sound of his name rolling off of your tongue. His mind was already swimming in lust as he made it past the door into the bedroom, finding you sleeping on top of the covers of the bed.
His eyes lingered on you, wearing his black shirt that almost completely covered you. If it weren’t for the fact your legs are slightly spread, revealing the thin fabric of your panties covering your mound. His mouth was almost salivating as his dark eyes devoured you.
He couldn’t help his mind getting more excited when his touch fingertips slowly brushed down your exposed leg; you let out a soft moan from the touch, and his eyes darted back to your face only to see you were still sleeping, his hand softly caressing your leg giving it a soft squeeze and before he can stop himself he hooks both his thumbs under the waistband of your panties slowly bringing them down your legs.
Simon softly grunts as he looks at your moist folds, his mouth watering; he slowly pushes your legs apart as he sets his head between them, his tongue pressing to your clit, Simon feels your body stir, but you still haven’t awakened just yet, he smirks before he laps from your hole to your clit slowly, giving your clit a little suck. A soft moan leaves your mouth, eyes still closed, his hands now gripping your thighs while his tongue works on your clit.
You start panting in your sleep, another moan passing through your lips into the quiet room. He grunts softly into your mound as he tastes more of your arousal. He feels your body stirring more before your eyes start to flutter open.
“S-Simon?” You whimper out as the sensation between your legs grows; you see his head first in your cunt as you try to sit upright with your arms. He kisses your clit, earning another soft moan from you before moving his head away from your soaked cunt
“Morning baby,” his rough voice hits your ears softly. Before he returns to giving your cunt another long lick from your hole to your clit once again
You weren't expecting to be treated like this once he got home, but you’re not complaining as his mouth works on you skillfully; soft moans continue to spill past your lips; to him, the sound is heavenly. One of his hands left your thigh, and his finger dipped into your soaked hole, his fingers curling with each thrust to hit your perfect spot.
“Simon!” You moaned as your fingers found their way into his hair, softly gripping onto it as your hips jerked towards him, a familiar knot forming in your lower stomach.
He grunts against your clitoris, sending a wave of electricity through you, your walls gripping onto his fingers, the sound of your arousal and lewd wetness from your cunt getting louder as his fingers start to move faster into you, he knew you were close, and he wanted so badly to tip you over the edge, to taste your sweet release on his fingers after he’s made you come undone.
Your back starts to arch as the knot becomes intense; he moves his other hand from your thigh to the right under your knee, forcing your leg towards yourself as he enters a second finger into your already dripping cunt, his fingers moving more roughly inside of you as he starts to suck on your bud.
You scream out his name as you come undone, your fingers tugging roughly at his hair, seeing stars in your vision. His fingers don’t slow down; he wants you to ride your high as long as he can push you
“O-oh fuck y-yes,” you scream as your legs shake, your eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. He slows the movements of his fingers as your high ends; he sits up to look at you, a panting mess, his dark eyes locking onto your half-closed ones, your face flushed. He doesn’t stop himself from moving his fingers into his mouth, a groan coming from his throat as he sucks his fingers clean from your juices. He smirks after he takes them out of his mouth.
“I’m not done with you yet, baby.” His voice is thick with lust as he quickly tugs off his belt and unzips his pants; his thick hard cock springs to attention, already dipping with his arousal.
Your mind is already foggy; being awakened with him between your legs and having an intense orgasm has clouded your mind. You softly hum, almost falling asleep again; his hands grip your waist, pulling you towards him, a soft scream escaping your lips from such sudden movement.
“I’m going to fuck the living hell out of you,” he growled close to your ear as he hicks your legs onto his clothed chest, his buff arms on either side of your head; before you could comprehend what was said, you feel the tip of his cock already at your entrance, and with a quick movement of his hips he slams his cock deep inside your cunt, you walls clenching around him as a gasp leaves you, you always felt so full when his cock was barred deep inside you
He growls, his head dropping as he circles his hips, wanting to ensure he has stuffed you as completely as he can with his cock. He can feel your walls twitch around him before he brings his hips back and slams into you again, another moan echoing through his ears. He’s unable to hold himself back any longer, his eyes hungry for more; he pounds into you relentlessly, your hands now digging into the duvet, his balls slap into your ass with each quick thrust he slams into you
“Fucking take my cock, baby; you always take it so well,” he rasps as he continues plowing into you. You can’t help but moan; you loved when he got so rough with you, his dirty words always making you crave more of him.
“Fuck” he yells out, his hand moving around your neck as he starts to choke you, your eyes once again going to the back of your head as you become a moaning mess underneath him. You feel the knot once again forming in your stomach, your moans getting drowned out by his grunts and the sound of him slamming into you relentlessly. He can feel your walls tightening around his cock as he fucks you into the bed.
“Don’t you dare cum.” He barks at you, his hand still secure around your throat. “You're not allowed to cum until I say so,” he grunts.
You do your best not to cum as his cock continues to plow into you, your moans becoming louder, your throat becoming scratchy. He can feel your walls get tighter around him as you try to hold onto your orgasm.
“Fuck! Simon, please,” you scream out, your knuckles becoming white as you fist the duvet
“No. Not yet,” he barks at you again. He releases your neck and uses his thumb on your clit, the rough finger moving in circles. He can see the tears forming in your eyes as you do your best to listen to him, not to come undone.
You can feel his cock swell inside of you, his thrusts not halting for a second. “Please, Simon! I can't,” you scream in lustful agony. You can hear his grunts and growls get louder; for a moment, you are positive he is starting to ignore your pleas; he circles your clit fast with his thumb before pinching it harshly
“Cum.” He commands you to let go, your knot coming undone, and he slams his hips into you one last time before he empties his ropes of seed deep inside of you; he feels your walls twitch around his cock as you both reach your highs.
After a few moments, you both panting, he moves off of you and lays beside you on the bed; he turns his head towards you and brings his hand to your face; tucking a hair behind your ear, he pulls you into his chest and kisses the top of your head.
You’re exhausted, and all you hear before you drift into sleep is Simon saying softly, “Goodnight, baby.”
#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#ghost smut#smut#mdni#hornyposting#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#afab reader#afab!reader#simon riley x you
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Hi :) first of all, I already made a request for you a month ago. And I was very happy with the outcome of it. So if you are bored sometime in the future, here is another request:
Its Holidays (You can choose which, I believe spring would be cool because it would probably rain) and the whole 141 are by their family members. So since Ghost got none, he stays at the military. Since the reader is new in the crew she doesn't know that he always stays at there.
You came home late from a mission which took longer than expected. You go to bed and can't sleep so you decide to make tea and you are surprised the you meet Simon there. You tell him that you don't have a family too and it gets kind of angsty. From then on you could decide how the story goes on...
Are they just sleeping together on the couch or is it going to continue in a more smutty way? Who knows?
Thanks in advance 🪸
When It Rains, It Pours | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader |
Chapter Summary: You and Simon happen to be the only two on base during spring break.
Warnings: Language, Fluff, mentions of loss, trauma, a bit of sexual undertones.
Word Count: 1.6K
A/N: I’m so happy you liked the last request I wrote for!! I hope you enjoy this one too :)) Might do a pt.2 so lmk 🫶🏼
PT. 2 HERE
You had just returned from a 2 week long grueling mission, and the rain was pouring down on you as you stepped off of the plane, and onto base.
It was almost night, and the sky was gloomy and dark. You're were still wearing your gear, and the weight of it had been pressing down on your tired muscles, making them ache even more.
Your head was pounding, and you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. You let yourself look up at the sky and let the rain wash over you, feeling the cold drops soaking through the layer of your clothes that weren’t covered by the vest, and let it seep onto your skin.
You were exhausted and sore, but you knew that you had done your duty and completed the mission. Despite the rain and the fatigue, you felt a sense of satisfaction that came from knowing that you had gone through with your orders successfully.
Laswell had a lot of hope on the line with you as the new Marine recruit for the 141. Herself and Captain Price had picked your file from the dozens of qualified soldiers.
As you stepped inside the familiar lodging’s building, you were met with a silence. You dropped your duffel bag, then remembering you would the only one here.
The team had all been given time off for the spring holidays, to go to their respective homes and find some rest. You on the other hand had taken on more work instead, not having the ‘luxury’ of something to go back to.
It was better that way. You would be far more comfortable here where you had a sense of security on base, even if you were alone.
You made your way to your room, shedding off your gear and leaving it in a neat pile by the door. You could feel your muscles relaxing just from the act of removing the weight from your body.
You decided to take a warm shower to ease your sore muscles, hoping it would also help to clear your head. You turned the faucet on and stepped into the warm stream, feeling the hot water wash away the grime and dirt from your skin.
Taking your time in the shower, not wanting to rush the experience, you washed your hair, feeling the suds massage your scalp and the warm water rinse it away. You ran your hands over your body, feeling every inch of your skin, enjoying the sensation of finally being clean.
After what felt like an eternity, you reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. You walked over to your small closet and grabbed a random Marine labeled t-shirt that you had around from your BMT trainee days. You slipped it on and felt the familiar comfort of the cotton against your skin.
Despite the warm shower, you found yourself unable to sleep. You tossed and turned in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing seemed to work. You couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in your chest, and the sound of heavy rain hitting the roof only added to your restlessness.
After what felt like an eternity, you finally gave up and sat up in bed, letting out a frustrated sigh. You rubbed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion weighing heavy on your body, but your mind refused to let you rest.
You decided to get up and make yourself some tea, hoping the warm drink would help soothe your nerves somehow. As you made your way to the kitchen area, you were lost in your thoughts, trying to gather your uneasiness.
You didn't notice another person hunched over, sitting on the couch until you were only a few feet away. Startled, you let out a gasp, and Simon looked up at you, his knives in his hands.
"You scare easily, Sergeant." He spoke, teasing yet absolutely serious in his tone.
"Sorry, I didn't think anyone else was here." You answered softly, before going to find any sort of tea you could make. Unbeknownst to you, Simon watched you going about your business, trying not to let yourself make eye contact with him.
As you busied yourself with making tea, Simon remained silent, observing you with a keen eye. He had been on a mission as well, but he had managed to complete it earlier and had returned to base before you, staying true to his callsign.
After a few moments, he stood up and walked over to you, his knives left on the coffee table where he had been cleaning them off. "Why aren't you home, Sergeant." His voice was deep, but his eyes held a glint of curiosity.
You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to open up to someone, but something in his demeanor made you feel like you could trust him. "There's no home to be at." you admitted, taking a sip of the hot tea a little too quickly before it had cooled, making you bite back a hiss. "What about you?"
Simon took a moment to consider your question, his expression unreadable. "I stick around here, Sergeant." he finally replied, not going any further into detail. "Can't sleep?" You leaned back against the edge of the counter, a couple of feet in front of the Lt.
His demeanor was a bit more relaxed than you were accustomed to seeing him. His heavy camo and skull mask were replaced with sweats and a plain black balaclava, only revealing his deep brown eyes. For the first time you could clearly see his tattoos, with his sleeves pushed up to his forearms.
"Can't catch much of it these days." You spoke, letting the hot mug rest in your hands. You could feel his piercing gaze on you, while you tried not to meet his eyes.
Simon remained silent for a moment, taking in your words. "Doesn't get much better if you're always this tense, I'm afraid." He might not have been joking, but you found humor in his blatant honesty.
"I'm not the tense one." You claimed back, a small tired smile playing at your lips. It was strange yet comforting to have someone else here, especially that someone you had never really spoken to before. outside of a professional setting.
He suddenly walked up closer to you, taking the mug from your hands and placing it on the counter. "Turn around." He asserted. You wondered if his field voice was just his all-the-time voice, but nonetheless you followed his direction.
He wasn't completely what had gotten into him so suddenly, seeing you in the kitchen barefaced and vulnerable to your surroundings. He had taken a keen liking to having you on the team, but even more having you to himself.
His hands found themselves on your upper shoulders, causing you to jerk a little. He immediately felt how tense you were, but being under his touch didn't exactly lighten that sensation.
Simon began to knead your shoulders, you felt the tension melting away. He worked his way to your arms, his strong hands working out the knots and kinks in your muscles. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh as you leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours. It felt wrong, letting your Lieutenant touch you like that, but it felt too good to stop.
"You don't have to, Lt-"
"Simon." His voice was low this time, soft, but he didn't stop. You suddenly felt self conscious, realizing you had failed to put on any pants under your t shirt that was coming down your upper thighs.
Your heart started racing a bit as you tried to subtly pull your shirt down, hoping to cover more of your legs. Simon must have noticed your movement, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he continued massaging your arms, his touch firm yet gentle.
His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone so strong, and you found yourself relaxing into it despite your initial reservations. As the tension in your body continued to melt away, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Simon's unexpected gesture.
After a few minutes, his hands gradually slowed down and eventually came to a stop. You turned around to face him, feeling a little bit awkward but also strangely comforted by his presence. You weren't sure what had just happened, but you knew it was something you couldn't ignore.
Your tea had gone cold, being the last thing you could think about in the moment. You stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. The air between you heavy with unspoken words, and for a moment it felt like he was seeing right through you.
You finally broke the silence, "Si-" Which was suddenly cut off by his mouth coming down onto yours.
Your mind went blank for a moment as you felt Simon's lips pressing against yours. The sensation was both familiar and foreign at the same time. You had never imagined that anything like this could happen between the two of you, but now that it was happening, it felt almost inevitable.
You tentatively kissed him back, your arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened the kiss. It was like a floodgate had been opened, all the pent-up desire and attraction suddenly spilling out between you.
As you pulled away, gasping for air, you both looked at each other with a mix of surprise and intensity. This was new territory for both of you, and you weren't quite sure what to do next.
Who knew something so wrong could feel so right.
#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley imagine#ghost x female reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#call of duty#cod x reader#cod mwii#mw2 x reader#141 x reader#141 x you#mw2022#ghost smut#ghost fanfiction#cod fanfic#call of duty fanfic#mw2 fanfic#simon riley x y/n#cod mw2
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I am in need of more Dad Price! I love your how you write the relationships between 141 and the reader.
carry me to bed, please — python333
— — — —
synopsis the 141 base is cold-- luckily, price had told you that his office is always open to you, since it's far warmer in there than the rest of the base. cue some comfort no hurt (???? i think this counts as that) and so much fluff it will give u cavities.
relationships platonic!cap. price & gn!reader.
characters cap. price.
word count 2.2k
warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], no usage of c/n [code name/call sign], maybe one or two pet names used.
note tysm for the req anon!! and yes omg i agree i think we all need some more dad price :3 so heres some dad price for everyone, he carries u to bed because i say so and totally not because i miss pretending to be asleep in the back of my dad's car after a late night drive and forcing him to carry me to bed. totally not haha. stop looking at me like that. anyway!!! i hope u enjoy this fic, its short & sweet and is literally just so fluffy i loved writing it sm!!
Price’s office has always been warmer.
A majority of the 141 base was incredibly cold, especially the training rooms. You could see why, there’s a bunch of people sparring or whatever. It's more useful for it to be colder there, and that’s all fine, but it really gets on your nerves sometimes.
Especially because you were doing target practice in those same rooms more than actually sparring people, which would always end with you walking out of that same room a mere hour later, freezing your ass off and heading to the showers to turn the water to the hottest setting and defrost yourself in there.
And almost immediately after you were done showering and putting your clothes back on, the cold 141 air would hit you again, and you’d slowly freeze all over again.
This was a fairly known issue among the other soldiers, a majority of them teasing you for your obvious shivering throughout the day. Price, however, after hearing about your small issue, went about it in a completely different way.
You remember just a month ago when he had first heard about it, he had gone around base trying to find you and eventually found you in the recreation room, just scrolling through your phone.
Covering every inch of your forearms up to where the short sleeves of your shirt ended were goosebumps, and the slowness of your thumb as you scrolled through your phone almost perfectly showcased just how cold you were.
He’d walked right up to you, one of his jackets with a fluffy interior bundled up in his hands, and he’d waited for you to notice him before talking. In short, he mentioned how he’d heard about how you had an issue with the cold temperatures of the base, and decided to give you one of his jackets.
You had gratefully accepted it and had it on for the rest of the day, a few others who recognized Price’s jacket had teased you for it but you didn’t really mind that—you were more focused on how much warmer you felt.
So then, just a few days later, after seeing you in his jacket every day after that initial conversation, Price had walked up to you again and offered something else. He’d told you about how his office was generally warmer than the rest of the base, and he had an extra chair in there for you to sit on.
Naturally, you let him know of your appreciation of his offer, and just after dinner, when you knew you had nothing else you needed to do that day, you knocked on the door of his office and let yourself in after he granted you permission to do so.
He must’ve known you would’ve been wanting to enter his office, because when you walked in a chair was already pulled up right next to his behind his desk, as well as a small blanket. You’d immediately spotted the chair and blanket and quickly walked over there, your immediate interest in it making an amused smile grace Price’s lips as he watched you pick up the blanket and sit in the chair, unfolding said blanket and throwing it over yourself.
You vaguely remember drifting off to sleep in that very chair and waking up in your own sleeping quarters. You never really asked Price about the specifics of what happened, but you’ve always had your suspicions that he’d carried you there—well, not really suspicions, since that’s the only logical thing that could’ve happened, but you never know.
You can’t really imagine Price carrying you to bed, like some dad who had to carry his kid to their bed because they pretended to fall asleep in the back of his car while driving home, but you can’t think of what else could have possibly happened.
So while you walk to Price’s office now, arms crossed to conceal the goosebumps formed on your arms, you think about the warmth you’ll finally feel once you get to his office. You had made the dumb mistake of leaving the jacket he’d lent to you in your sleeping quarters and hadn’t had the time to go back for it all day.
Sure, you could go back to your sleeping quarters now and just put on the jacket to warm yourself up, but you had a whole room open to you that was warm even without a jacket, and if that wasn’t enough, it had a blanket in it as well for you to use. So in your mind, it was only logical to go there instead.
Plus, you enjoyed being in Price’s presence, finding it oddly calm, but that’s not the point.
You eventually reach Price’s office and uncross your arms to knock on the door, a little bit surprised at how quickly he calls out, “Come in!”
You open the door wordlessly and close it behind you once you walk into his office, and see the chair still by his own with the same blanket you use neatly folded on top of it. Price looks up from his computer and smiles and nods at you before going back to his work, leaving it up to you whether or not you wanted to just be left alone or chat with him.
You immediately walk over to the chair and do what you usually do, picking up the blanket and sitting down on the chair, then unfolding the blanket and throwing it over yourself. The room was warm enough for you to go without a blanket—but the blanket was just so much warmer and more cozy, you don’t think you could really go without it.
You toe your boots off and bring your knees up to your chest, bringing the edges of the blanket over your legs and holding the two ends of the blanket together with one hand, the other grabbing the arm rest of Price’s chair for a moment to roll your chair closer to his before letting go and letting your hand retreat back into the blanket.
Price spares a glance at you once you’ve rolled your chair closer to his before taking one of his hands off of the keyboard of his computer and reaching over to wrap it around your shoulders. It’s significantly harder for him to type this way, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when you hum contently at the physical contact and lean your head to the side to rest it on his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you have your jacket on?” It takes you a moment to realize he’s asking about the jacket he lent to you.
When you do realize that’s what he’s asking about, you respond in your tired-raspy tone, “Forgot it in my room.”
“And you went here instead of going back to your own sleeping quarters to get it and put it on?” Price asks, both somewhat amused and flattered.
“I did,” You hum, before asking, “Is that an issue?”
“No, no, not at all,” Price quickly says, squeezing your shoulder gently for a second, “I’m flattered that you decided to come to me.”
You don’t respond verbally, instead simply letting out a tired huff through your nose, watching as Price types up an email to someone on his computer—to whom, you can’t tell. Your sleepiness and the warmth of the room, the blanket, and Price’s arm around your shoulders causes your eyelids to droop a bit and as a result your vision blurs just a bit, making you unable to read who Price is emailing.
You can faintly hear Price mumbling, reading out the email as he types under his breath, and the sound of his soft voice gently lulls you to sleep. It’s never been this easy to fall asleep, You realize, I’ve been here for what, a minute? Two minutes? And I’m already falling asleep?
You aren’t complaining, of course. You let yourself fall asleep, faintly hearing Price’s soft chuckle once he sees that you’re falling asleep, and for a good hour or three you have some uninterrupted rest.
That is, until you’re awoken by some small movements near your head.
You don’t open your eyes or anything yet, instead simply waiting to see what happens. You feel the shoulder you were resting your head on move out from under your cheek and before you can even mourn the loss of your pseudo-pillow, you feel gentle hands peeling the blanket you’d been using off of you and hear it being tossed somewhere else.
Then, you feel a hand snake behind your back, and one goes under your knees. You manage to keep your body relaxed as Price picks you up, hearing him give a soft grunt as he lifts you up from the chair, and he stands in place for a moment—presumably to make sure he has a good hold on you—before beginning to walk away from the chair.
You hear the soft thumping of his boots against the floor as he carries you over to his office door, and he reaches the hand that’s under your back out a little farther to twist the knob on the door before retracting his hand and kicking open the door.
He walks out and kicks the door closed behind him, making sure to readjust his hand so that it’s more secure under your back, before continuing to walk down the hall towards your sleeping quarters. You continue to remain relaxed in Price’s arms, but just to fuck with him a little bit, you shift a little in his arms and turn your head so that it leans against his chest.
He stops in his tracks almost immediately and you can feel his eyes on you, and you can feel him grip onto you tighter before continuing to walk down the hall.
“Thought you were clingy enough when you came into my office instead of going to your own sleeping quarters,” Price muses quietly, his breathy voice just loud enough for you to hear, “But no, apparently you’re clingier in your sleep, always needing to be closer to me. You’re lucky I don’t mind.”
You hold back an amused huff at his hushed comments and instead remain silent, and in just a few more steps Price is at the door of your room, extending the hand below your back once again to twist the knob on the door then retract his hand and kick the door open.
He walks in and doesn’t bother to close the door behind him, instead simply walking over to your bed and gently setting you down, much to your disappointment. You can feel him still standing there even after he’s already set you down, and he sighs to himself before bringing the covers up and over you, basically tucking you into bed.
Tucking you into bed. The thought of it is enough to make you have to fight the urge to smile, trying to maintain the pretense of you being asleep.
Even after Price has tucked you in, he still stands there for a moment, as if thinking of anything else he has to do while in your sleeping quarters, before suddenly you feel him leaning closer to you and feel him press a soft kiss to your forehead just a second later.
“G’night, lovey,” Price murmurs against your forehead, before pulling back and sighing down at you. Then, he finally walks away from your bed and leaves your room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Oh. You blink your eyes open once you’re sure he’s left and find yourself staring up at the ceiling, slowly blinking up at it, not sure what to think. Huh.
So that kind of… confirms that he carried me to bed that night, You think, Which is making me more emotional than it should be.
You sigh and turn onto your side, closing your eyes again, your thoughts beginning to loop until it’s basically just, He carried me to bed, he kissed me on the forehead, he called me lovey, he carried me to bed, he kissed me on the forehead, he called me lovey—
For whatever reason, your brain is particularly stuck on how he’d carried you to bed. Not the other things that, to you, seemed far more affectionate. But for some reason, the fact that he carried you to bed gets you all warm inside, almost as warm as his office.
Maybe it’s because of the gentle way he cradles you as he carries you to bed, or the quiet musings he’d spoken under his breath while he thought you weren’t listening, or the fact that he’d never mentioned that he carried you to bed after you’d fallen asleep before and had just left you to either guess or forget about it—whichever reason it is for why your brain is stuck on the fact that Price carried you to bed, all you know for sure is that it’s enough to reduce you to a soft pile of mush even just thinking about it.
You eventually fall asleep after a few minutes of forcing yourself not to think about it too much, and the next morning, when you see Price, you don’t say a thing about anything that happened the night before.
#cod#cod hcs#hcs#task force 141#tf141#captain john price#platonic taskforce141#platonic task force 141#platonic john price#price#comfort no hurt#fluff#tooth rotting fluff#like youll get cavities#guaranteed#its also 2 am as im tagging this and my eyes HURT#so i will be going to sleep immediately after queing this
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Whoa whoa whoa, why did you have to make mafiaunderboss!Simon sound so hot 😩😩??
Can we see what it looks like when Price’s wifey brings a friend around, and she’s nothing but heart eyes for him and vice versa? I honestly just love this au
mafiaunderboss!Simon has my whole fucking heart i have so many ideas for him it's not even funny. and you know what's even better than price's wife bringing a friend around??? being that friend she brings around..... (we truly are out here living our best y/n lives)
also, i've created a mafia!141 masterlist here <3 because i don't think i'm getting out of this phase anytime soon.
warnings: mafia!underboss!Simon x shy-ish!fem!reader, reader doesn't know simon's in a mafia lmao, sorta sexual tension, short-ish drabble
When your friend invited you over to a family dinner, you weren't sure if you should go or not. Family events always seemed more like a private and cut off thing, not something a friend should attend, and you were terrified about intruding. But when she insisted that her husband wouldn't mind, and how she would love it if you were able to meet the others, you begrudgingly accepted.
You arrived right on time wearing a cute little outfit that you hoped would keep you cool enough so that you weren't sweating all throughout dinner. Once you were led into the dining room of your friends home, you very quickly realized that this was not the type of family dinner you had expected. At first, you had thought of extended family, some brothers and sisters, maybe nieces and nephews. Instead, you saw your friend's husband, John, at the head of the table, along with three other men, none of whom looked related.
After a few quick introductions, you took your seat in between your friend and a kind, boisterous man with a mohawk who the others called Soap. Once dinner was served, conversation erupted throughout the table, and while you found yourself actively listening, you didn't add a whole lot to the conversation. Instead, you were perfectly content glancing around the table, watching the men around you curse and joke with one another.
However, there was one man who caught your eyes more than anyone else. The others called him Riley, and he was almost too large to fit comfortably in the small, wooden dining chair. You swore you heard his knees knock against the table a few times. The simple black t-shirt he wore perfectly displayed the sleeve of tattoos on his arm, and you found yourself enchanted by the way the sinewy muscles of his forearm flexed as he raised his glass to his lips. It seemed impossible to tear your eyes away from him, until you realized his dark and alluring eyes had caught you. You quickly averted your gaze just in time to miss the smirk that pulled at his lips.
Dessert was served in what you assumed was the entertainment room. There was a dartboard shoved up against the wall and a billiards table towards the side of the room, both of which looked very loved with years worth of holes and scratches. While you and your friend indulged in the mouthwatering tiramisu she had made, the boys started up a game of pool, where they played long enough for John to get either too bored or too fed up with the others. They tried to get your friend to play so that they could continue playing doubles, but she quickly declined.
"What about you?" Kyle spoke up.
It took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you. All three men had their eyes on you, including Riley. Swallowing, you shook your head as you set your dishware on the side table next to you.
"Oh, I don't really know how to play," you excused.
"That's alright," Soap said as he tapped his pool cue on the floor. "Riley's a good teacher."
Before you knew it you were standing next to the table alongside the others, your own cue in hand. It didn't take long to realize just how better at the game they were than you as they made shot after shot, and when your turn rolled around, you swallowed hard, not exactly excited to make a fool of yourself.
Still, you conjured as much confidence as you could as you leaned over the table, trying to line the stick up with the cue ball. Yet no matter how hard you tried to steady your hands, you couldn't quite get stable enough to make a good shot.
"Here," Riley spoke up as he leaned his stick against the table.
The warmth of him engulfed you as you found your back pressed against his chest. It took everything in you not to boil alive under his touch as he moved your guiding hand into position in order to strike efficiently. His hand engulfed yours as he helped you hold onto the stick, and you attempted to ignore the way his breath fanned across your ear as he spoke.
"Steady, yeah? Strike right here in the center, angle a bit to the left," he guided.
Eventually his hands slid off of yours so you could make the shot, but your brain was too overwhelmed to fully focus. Yet you tried anyway, striking the ball just like he told you and barely pocketing one of the stripes. A quick round of whoops escaped the boys as they congratulated you on your shot, despite the fact you were on the other team. Riley went for a more tame reaction, and he rested his hand on your shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.
"Nice shot."
Heat rose in your face at his touch, and you tried to swallow the warmth back into your stomach as you tapped your cue against the tip of your shoe. "All thanks to you, Riley."
For a moment, he was silent as he leaned over the table for his turn where thick fingers guided his cue along the table. Pudgy skin and muscles forced his shirt to tighten along his shoulders, and you stood there speechless as he hit his shot. He easily pocketed yet another ball before he straightened back up and turned his attention to you. His dark eyes, the ones that had been sneaking glances at you all night long, gave you a quick once over before he tilted his head slightly.
"It's just Simon to you, sweetheart."
i am fucking feral for this man. also, unrelated but mafia simon has a dick piercing <3
#mafia!ghost#mafia!141#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader
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Midnight Massacre
Pairing: Ghost x Reader (tried to keep it gender neutral)
Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort
Warnings: Depictions of violence/blood/death/k*lling, g*ns, knives, bullets, strong language, mentions of s*icide and PTSD
A/N: And I'd fuckin do it again. I'm playing MW2 and I swear to GOD this man has me in a whole chokehold. Lovin' it. I will not apologize. Enjoy lol
It had taken a few minutes for your heart rate to return to normal, the nightmare leaving you in a cold sweat and pumped full of adrenaline. The dreams were never the same, so you never knew what to expect when they reared their ugly heads. One night it could be slow torture from a faceless enemy, the next it could be fire, horrifying screams, and death.
No matter the context, the scenes haunted your sleep on random occasions and left you feeling weak and helpless by the time you woke up. Tonight's dream, however, was especially traumatizing, and it did a number on your perception of reality.
Once you were fully aware of your surroundings again and realized you were awake, you shook the images away and covered your eyes with your palms. Sweat dropped down your spine, leaving a cold trail. You all but ripped your t-shirt off, searched for a replacement in the dark, and settled on a tank top.
With shaking hands you left your designated sleeping area for the night, slipping on your black cargo pants and boots. Leaving behind all thoughts of blood, gore, and the sounds of your friends perishing, you made your way down the dark, dusty hallway.
You'd only joined 141 recently, but it had been long enough now that you weren't exactly considered new blood anymore. One of the more interesting men in the unit had caught your eye from day one, despite the fact that he had little interest in getting to know you on a personal level. In group conversations he rarely engaged you, but one on one was a different story. There had been plenty of nights where the others had gone to bed while the two of you played a little game to see who would cave and take first watch.
It was usually you.
Ghost had a fucking novel of shitty jokes; some crude, some cheesy, some straight up cruel. Every now and then he'd crack one that would have you accepting defeat and taking the first watch of the night. Granted, he always took the second one if you took the first, and vice versa. None of the others dared to complain about this strange ritual, since it left them each with a later watch.
Tonight, Ghost had caved in first, finding your story about summer camp as a teenager unbelievably boring. It did offend you in a way, but at the same time, you knew it would get him to give in quickly. A man can only hear so much about how to make a friendship bracelet in vivid detail, or how to do a proper French braid.
Because of this, it allowed you to get some sleep first, but that obviously didn't work out. You'd all found shelter in a warehouse that wasn't far from your destination, and had to stay the night since the plan had to take place during the day to work. As you traveled down the hall, using the wall to guide you in the darkness, you finally stumbled upon the main area of the warehouse.
A circle of chairs sat in the middle of the room where you'd all gathered earlier that night, where you claimed your victory over Ghost. He was still there in the dim yellow lighting, arms crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes trained forward. Most of his own gear was absent, the only thing covering his torso a thick black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You shuffled into the room, kicking the concrete floor to make your presence known.
"Your watch hasn't started yet," Ghost stated without turning to look at you.
"I'm aware," You replied, leaning against the hallway entrance.
He looked over his shoulder at you, black makeup smudged around his eyes as if he'd just been rubbing at them. "Come to relieve me early, then? Sweet of you."
"Sure," You said, throwing up your hands in defeat. "You caught me, boss."
"Don't get all soft on me now, Sledge," Ghost said, blowing air out of his nose.
The use of your call sign made you visibly cringe; you didn't even choose the damn thing. After running out of amo and breaking your only knife during a firefight, you made do with your surroundings and found a sledge hammer. Needless to say, the unit was shocked at the amount of damage you managed to inflict with the thing. Thus, your call sign was born, and from that moment forward, you were affectionately known as Sledge.
You hated it.
There was nothing worse than a daily reminder of the carnage you witnessed at your own hand.
Shaking off the memory, you made your way over to a table with weapons and amo scattered all about. Rolling your eyes, you carefully examined the guns to make sure they still had their safety on, and made sure every knife was sheathed. After organizing the mess a bit, you snagged a hunting knife and a pistol, tucking them away and looking for the proper ammunition.
"I know you're not actually here to take your watch," Ghost said, his voice dangerously close to your ear. "What's goin' on?"
"Nothing," You shrugged, "Concrete floors are hard on my shoulders. Makes it hard to sleep."
"Sure, sure," Ghost hummed, "Wanna tell me the real reason you're up, Sledge?"
"Quit calling me that, you know I hate it. And no, I'm not telling you."
"Shame. Was hoping you'd tell me Johnny's talkin' in his sleep again."
You threw him a half-hearted smile over your shoulder, now fully aware of just how close he truly was. "Maybe you should go check on him, then. He might be."
His eyes locked with yours and you felt your insides shrink. It was easy to feel small under his gaze, considering he was a brick house of a human being and looked like he ate bullets and nails for breakfast. The mask certainly didn't help, that was for sure. Feeling uneasy with the eye contact, you returned your attention to the table of weapons.
"Y/N, look at me," Ghost whispered.
Hearing him say your name was enough to make you shiver, his accent making it roll off of his tongue like silk. It was nice that he listened to your request to stop calling you by the nickname you despised, considering you'd normally be taunted for expressing your distain for it. Even still, you did your best to ignore him.
"Do you remember which amo we use for these?" You asked, hoping to change the subject and gesturing to your empty gun. "Can't remember to save my life."
"Don't try this with me. Won't work and you know it."
"I always get them mixed up."
"Y/N, look at me, that's an order."
With some reluctance, you turned on your heel, leaned back against the table, and looked up at your lieutenant. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and you couldn't help eyeing the tattoo you hadn't seen before on his forearm. How long had that been there? Realizing you still weren't looking at him, Ghost placed his index finger under your chin and raised your head to meet his gaze.
"If something's going on with you, I need to know," He explained, "If you're not okay, that's something we have to take into account."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," You muttered, shaking your head. "Is anyone in this unit actually okay? I mean, really. I'm pretty sure everyone gets nightmares every now and then, Ghost. I'm fine."
"So it's nightmares, then," He said with a nod, "Could'a just said that."
"Didn't feel relevant."
"Come sit down."
Groaning like a teenager about to be grounded, you followed him over to the circle of chairs, sitting down beside him and crossing your arms. He leaned forward on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. You waited patiently to get the scolding of the century about 'paying attention to your mental health' and 'you know what happens when a soldier starts displaying signs of PTSD'.
But it never came.
Instead, an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. The only sound you could make out was the faintest rain drops that began splattering the old windows of the warehouse.
"Go on, tell us about it," Ghost said after a few moments.
"The nightmare?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're joking, right?"
He didn't respond.
With a deep breath, you turned your head to the side, focusing on the many different objects that dotted the floor before you began.
"It's always different," You sighed, "I'm used to them by now, I can shake them off just fine usually. But this one... I don't know. I woke up, but I was still dreaming. Everyone was here, just talking like normal. These soldiers came out of the shadows and stood behind everyone. One for each of you. They all had guns, and one by one, they just..."
Tears welled in your eyes at the images that flitted through your head, forcing you to shake them away. You rubbed the back of your neck anxiously, taking a small breath and willing away the pain. A large hand closed over your knee, startling you.
When you looked up at Ghost, he had turned fully in his seat to face you. His arm was outstretched as his gloved hand sat carefully on your knee. The gesture made you shift in your seat, and you unintentionally found yourself facing him as well. Something in your subconscious knew he was safe, despite your efforts to avoid this whole encounter.
"Tell me what they did," Ghost said, his tone soft like you'd never heard it before. "Go on."
"Do I really have to say it?" You asked in a weak voice.
"Trust me."
You drew in another shaky breath before continuing, "They executed everyone."
"Sounds pretty serious," Ghost said with a nod, "Then what?"
"I was trying to stop them, but I couldn't move," You recalled as you fought back tears again. "It was like I was stuck in quicksand. I was just... Frozen. All I could do was watch."
"What would you have done?" He asked, "If you could've moved, what would you do?"
Anger bubbled in the pit of your stomach, overtaking the sadness. You balled your fists and dug your nails in hard. "I would've killed them myself. I don't care how long it would take, I'd do it. I wanted to, I'd make them suffer."
"I know you would," Ghost said with a small laugh, "I've seen you take big groups out for less."
"But I didn't," You said, lowering your head.
Ghost stood from his chair to move in front of you, crouching down on the floor in the space between your legs. He had to crane his neck to look up at you, and when you avoided his gaze again, he gently took your chin in his hand and held you in place. With no other choice but to stare into his eyes, you gave in, your shoulders slumping.
"It wasn't real," He said slowly, "If it was, none of those soldiers would have made it out in one piece. But it wasn't real, and it didn't happen."
"That doesn't really make me feel any better," You said with a small, broken laugh.
"How can I make it better?" He asked, his voice just above a whisper. "Anything, just tell me."
"Why do you care so much?" You asked in return, puzzled by his question. It wasn't like him to act like this, and you wondered to yourself if this was some kind of prank. "It was just a dream."
Ghost released your chin and let his hand slide down to your arm, slowly trailing downward until he reached the palms of your hands. When his fingers began lacing between yours, heat flooded your body and you tensed. Sensing this, Ghost loosened his grip and used the pad of his thumb to stroke your knuckles.
"Like it or not, I do care about you," He explained, and you could swear he was smiling beneath his mask. "Nightmares are serious business. I've seen soldiers off themselves over nightmares more times than I can count. I don't want that to happen to you."
"I wouldn't do that," You scoffed, "I don't think I'm capable of that sort of thing, anyway."
"Keep it that way," Ghost said, his tone firm. "You even start thinkin' like that, you come straight to me. That's an order."
"You sure like dishing out orders," You joked, allowing yourself a small smile. "When are you gonna quit telling me what to do, huh?"
"When you start listening," He shot back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Definitely a smile under there, you were sure of it now. "Head back to bed, yeah? I'll take your watch."
"You don't have to do that, seriously-"
"I'm not asking, I'm telling," He cut you off, standing from his spot in front of you and pulling you up with him. "You've had more than enough excitement for one night."
Before you could further protest, Ghost did the unthinkable, pulling you in close by your wrist so you were flush against his chest. Your breath caught in your throat as he looked you over, his eyes trailing over your face, down your nose, and landing on your lips. A different hand snaked around your middle and you froze, his palm pressed flat against the center of your back. When it began sliding downward, you thought you were going to pass out.
For the first time that night, you were just fine with maintaining eye contact, waiting for him to do something, anything. His hand traveled lower and lower until it reached the hem of your pants, one of his fingers lacing through a belt loop.
"Make me a promise, yeah?" He asked in a deep, gruff voice.
You swallowed hard. "Depends on what it is."
Ghost leaned in close until he reached the shell of your ear, his hot breath barely grazing your skin through his mask. Your head was running marathons as you tried to comprehend what was happening, but for whatever reason, you didn't want it to stop. Using what little bravery you had, you dared to reach up and lay your hand over the left side of his chest. Even with the thick fabric in the way, it was easy to make out every detail of the muscle there. He tensed under your touch and held his own breath for a moment.
Ghost released your hand and raised it to his own face. You were sure what he was doing until you felt warm, chapped lips ghosting over the skin of your ear.
He pulled his mask up.
"Promise me you'll keep this between us, love," He murmured, his tone close to that of a purr. When he spoke, his lips made contact with your ear, and goosebumps raised on your skin.
"What if I don't?" You dared to ask, feeling bold.
He fell silent, humming once as the hand on your lower back abandoned its position. For a moment you thought you'd gone too far, and when he removed your knife from it's place on your hip, you took in a sharp breath. It clattered to the floor beside you, the protective case around the blade muffling the sound slightly. Next he took your still empty gun, placing it in his own holster and making a point to shove it in roughly.
"Guess I'll have to make it an order, then."
#im not even sorry#or ashamed#im on my knees for this man#i have smut in my drafts but we'll see how this one does first#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost imagine#simon riley imagine#mw2 imagine#ghost mw2#ghost fluff#simon riley fanfic#simon riley fluff#mywriting#q
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Sorry shamless asking for another one. Only if you wanna answer.
Either 141 boys or Paz ( or all ) not quite thot.
Their proposal style.
💍
Happy weekend!
do I wanna answer????
you bet ur ass i do goddamn
I'll do a little proposal style for college!athlete!roommate!paz if ya'll want, but I'll answer this ask specifically for our 141 boys (plus alejandro and rudy bc ofc)
Task Force 141 + Alejandro Vargas & Rodolfo Parra and Proposal Style
Captain John Price
I hc that Price has a love of old things. I think he loves antiques, history, collectibles, etc. I think his flat is filled with memorabilia shit from WWI and WWII, classic novels he finds at garage sales and thrift book shops that are well worn and well loved, things with history and a past, things that mean something.
So, I think when he's going to propose, he's got the ring picked out, something he found in a pawn shop or thrift store, something that's old and beautiful, full of meaning and history. Of course, if it needs repairing, or new setting, he'll do what he needs to, make sure that it's clean and polished and that it suits you. He just likes sharing these little bits of history that have fascinated him for his entire life with you, and to put one of those little bits of history on your finger and swearing to love you for eternity? He loves it.
For reference, I imagine the ring Price finds looks something like this:
For the actual proposal, he's not going to make a big, public spectacle. He's always a little more uncomfortable in crowded places, due to his years as active military, he's a paranoid bastard by nature, and besides, this is supposed to be a happy, special occasion and something he wants to be fully engaged in, not distracted trying to analyze potential threats to your safety.
You're probably at home, in the flat you share with him. He'll make dinner, nothing super fancy, but a comfort meal that both of you love. It's not overly fancy or romantic, but it's thoughtful and sweet and everything that you love about him. He'd wanted to wait until after you'd both eaten, and were maybe cuddled up on the couch in front of the fire, but as he's putting the leftovers away, and you're elbow deep in sudsy water, rinsing the dishes, he finds he physically cannot wait a second longer.
He drops to a knee, the quiet utterance of your name barely heard over the rushing sink water, but you throw a "Yes, John?" over your shoulder. When he doesn't say anything, you turn to look and realise what's happening.
Of course, the two of you have talked about it before, after you'd been settled in a relationship for a few years, talking about the future and what you both wanted, but you'd had no idea when he was planning to propose, so the act itself is shock. You don't even shut off the water, falling to your own knees in front of him, hands fisting in the front of his shirt as you whisper "yes" against his mouth before you kiss him.
He reluctantly pulls away from your kiss, only to slide the ring onto your finger, before he pulls the both of you to your feet. Shutting off the water is the extent of the cleaning that you finish, deciding as you stumble to the bedroom that the rest of the dishes can wait until after the two of you have had some time to celebrate.
Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley
I think that for the longest time, Ghost truly believed he'd never marry. At first, it was just a matter of not having met anyone he'd want to spend the rest of his life with, but over time and missions, scars and torments, blood and secrets, Ghost decided that he'd never find someone who'd be able to love all of him, that he was only good for the harsh things in life, never the soft.
So, it's a huge surprise when he meets you and realises months into knowing you that he's fallen, and he's fallen hard. He meets you in the most mundane of places, like a coffee shop, an interaction that should just be a one off, but one that repeats with enough regularity that the cold, stone muscle that functions as his heart begins to beat faster with excitement at the anticipation of seeing you.
You remember him, greet him with a soft smile whenever you see him, never seeming to be put off by the fact that he never removes his balaclava. You'll ask him how he's doing, but you don't seem to mind that his answers are usually a fraction of the syllables. He's used to his size intimidating others, but you never seem to mind that he's roughly the size of a tank.
I think it's like pulling teeth to get him to admit his feelings, but when he finally does, the two of you fall into a relationship like you were built for each other. It's easy, far easier than the rest of his life, and for the first time, he finds himself dreading longer missions, because he's actually got someone to come home to.
That being said, I think when he proposes, it's not something planned. Maybe something happens at home, where you are, the danger not being something he'd thought to worry about. Maybe there was a robbery, maybe someone attacked your workplace with a gun, and when Ghost sees it on the news, because Johnny's there saying "Dinnae ya say somethin' 'bout ya girl workin' there, Ghost?", he panics.
Price gets him on the first flight home, and Ghost is bursting into your flat with an urgency he's not felt outside the battlefield, even though it's the dead of night and you're fast asleep in your bed. He doesn't miss a beat, shedding the worst of his tac gear and crawling onto the bed, wrapping his arms and legs around you even as you stir awake, burying his face in your neck as his heartbeat finally begins to slow.
You seem to know why he's here, why he's like this, because you don't say anything, just simply wrap your own arms around him, tugging off his mask and running your fingers through his sweaty, tousled hair. Your other hand presses in between his shoulder blades, dwarfed by the massive size of his torso, but still a grounding touch.
It takes him a long time to speak, longer than usual, and when he finally does, it's to whisper against your skin that he wants to marry you, like a sinner at confessional, begging absolution from the Priest of God.
You still underneath him, definitely not expecting that to be what he says, but it's like the dam has burst, and he can't seem to stop. He tells you about how scared he was when he'd heard, a fear he hasn't felt since he was young, unscarred and unknowing of the horrors of humanity. He'd known that you meant a lot to him, but the thought of losing you had shaken him more than he'd thought possible. He whispers that he can't give you much, he knows that, but he wants to give you his name, and a promise that he'll love you as best he can, for as long as he's got on this earth.
Your body is shaking under him, and he starts to pull back, worried he's crossed a line, but you're sobbing, silent and desperate, even as you tug him up and seal your lips against his. He sinks into your kiss, tears he's been holding back finally falling too. You whisper back that yes, yes dammit you want to marry him, and you don't care about him giving you anything other than his love.
In the morning, the two of you go to a jewelry store, and pick out matching bands, simple silver rings with no gemstones or embellishments. You get them engraved, on the inside where the metal rests against your skin, his name on yours and your name on his, to carry each other when you're apart.
Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish
For Soap, I think he buys the ring within the first month of dating. Some (most) might call him eager, maybe childish in his hope, but Soap is an excellent judge of character. He's never once been wrong, his gut instinct always telling him the measure of those he meets, and so when he starts dating you, he knows very quickly that you're the one he's gonna spend the rest of his life with.
People tend to assume he's a fuckboy, likely due to his flirtatious tendencies. He knows what others think of him, and for the most part, it doesn't bother him. However, it takes him far longer than he'd like to convince you that he's actually interested, because of how flirtatious he can be, you think he's just like that with everyone.
Honestly, Price has to pull you aside and tell you to put the poor boy outta his misery by either going out with him, or not. You're very stunned, because it's honestly been torture for you to be around him because you're very into him, but were convinced that he just saw you as a friend. Price just shakes his head and calls you both muppets.
When you're together, it's the happiest the both of you have ever been. Your sense of humour compliments each others, you always have so much fun together, it's honestly the time of your life. You miss him terribly when he's gone, but Soap has a habit of leaving little slips of paper with jokes and puns written on them around the apartment, a little surprise for you to find and to remind you that he's always thinking of you when he's gone.
Soap's proposal happens somewhat spontaneously. He's come home from a long op, and the two of you haven't left the bed in damn near twenty-four hours. He's lounging on the pillows, with you tucked under his arm, ear over his heart and left hand resting on his bare chest. His own hand covers yours, his thumb stroking over the skin of your fourth finger, a habit he's picked up lately.
Finally, he pipes up, voice thick with his Scottish accent, and asks what you'd think about marryin' him.
At first, you think he's joking, because as much as you love him, you'd never really thought he might be the marrying type. He carries the air of a free spirit, one who operates best not tied to anything or anyone. You joke a bit about how he needs a ring at least before he thinks about proposing, only for him to reach over and open the drawer on his nightstand, pulling out a small velvet box and popping it open before your wide and startled eyes.
"Whaddya think, bonnie?" He husks, voice clear and nonchalant even as his eyes betray his nerves. "Think you'd be willin' ta tie yourself ta me for the rest 'o our lives?"
You pluck the gold band from the crushed velvet, slipping it onto your finger even as tears fill your eyes. You stare at it on your hand for a long moment, before you look up to see Soap still watching you, hope blooming desperately in his gaze, even as he tries to reign it in.
"You damn foolish scot," you mutter, cupping his face and bringing him down to kiss him. "There'll never been anyone else."
Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
Ok so maybe this is a hot take but I chose to believe that Gaz is actually already married by the time of COD: MWII. No one knows. Not even Price. He marries his childhood best friend the minute they're both 18, and they've been together even longer.
ANYWAYS
Like I said, childhood best friends, so they were always together, all throughout school, hanging out in the afternoons, sleepovers on weekends, the whole shebang. Your parents and his called it early on that the two of you would end up together, but even they were a little surprised at the speed of which you got married. But, to none of their surprise, your marriage was one of the strongest they'd ever seen.
You knew each other's faults, your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and your favorite things about each other, it only made sense for you to trip over the line between friendship and relationship sometime around when you were maybe 12 years old.
Even before then, when the two of you were maybe 7 or 8, you made a pact that you'd get married as soon as you could. As a promise, Gaz gets you a ring like this, from a cheap coin vending machine in the local grocery store:
It's a running joke in the family, that he decided when he first saw you that he was gonna marry you, although they don't really realize just how true that is.
On the night of graduation, after you've finished celebrating with your families, you and Gaz are holed up in your childhood bedroom. Your 18th birthday is in a week, Gaz's was a month ago. Your wearing the ring he'd given you damn near a decade ago on a chain around your neck, and his eyes fall to where it lays nestled between your breasts, even as he draws a small box from his pocket.
"Figured it was time to upgrade, eh, love?"
The rose gold band sparkles in the lamplight, and there's a huge grin on your face as you take the band from him. There's a large diamond in the center, but not too large as to be gaudy or flashy. Just enough to make a statement, a declaration.
"In a week," Gaz says, voice hush with anticipation. "Lets go to the courthouse, and I'll give you the matching one. What'cha say?"
"The same thing I said when we were eight, Kyle," you murmur, eyes unable to leave the pretty ring on your finger. "Yes."
Colonel Alejandro Vargas
Alejandro is really damn hesitant to propose, mostly because of how at risk any of his family is with his history of fighting the cartel. Anyone with a connection to him is another way to hurt him, and to ask you to go into hiding, cut off most all contact with any outside friends? He's afraid, he doesn't want you to begin to regret being with him, he's seen the toll being in hiding has taken of the marriages of some of his Vaqueros, and it would kill him to lose you.
It takes you a long time to convince him that even if you don't get married, you're not going anywhere. You love him, and damn anyone who tries to come between that, cartel or otherwise.
The final push for Alejandro to propose is similar to Ghost's. He's working when he gets the news that the cartel has attacked the area you live in, and that there are multiple reported civilian deaths, although names aren't confirmed. He's terrified, and Rudy has to physically push him out of the compound to go, to try and get to you.
When he gets there, no one has seen you, and Alejandro can feel his stomach churning, his heart is in his throat. He was such a damn fool, he waited too long, and now he's never going to get to marry you, to call you his wife, to know what it feels like to wear a symbol of your love and devotion every day until he dies.
He hears your voice calling his name, and the pure relief he feels makes him dizzy with it, his knees going weak. He hoarsely calls your name, and your body slams into his, your arms wrapping tightly around him as if you could hold him together by pure will alone.
The rush of police and other Vaqueros around him fade into the background as he sinks into your embrace, whispering prayers and thanks and words of love in Spanish in your ear, kissing the top of your head repeatedly from where you've tucked your face against the base of his neck.
The next day, the two of you go to a small local jewelers, and pick out matching rings. Your next stop is the courthouse, with Rudy as your witness.
Sergeant Major Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parra
Like Gaz, Rudy gets married young. He marries you shortly before he and Alejandro enlist in the army, because you'd pinned him with a glare one day and said if he died and you were going to mourn as his widow, you damn well were going to be his wife first.
Alejandro is thrilled when he hears, because he'd been telling Rudy to marry you for weeks, ever since he'd aired his concerns. (Rudy retaliates viciously when Alejandro is hesitating to propose to his wife).
He proposes to you with the ring his mamá had been given by his father, which she'd given to him when he told her he was going to propose to you. She'd given it to her son with tears in her eyes and very softly told him that if he got married without her there, no one would find his body.
You laughed yourself silly when Rudy told you what his mamá said, although that laughter cut off when you realised which ring he was giving you. You broke down in his mother's arms later, swearing to her that you'd treasure her ring and love Rudy the same way his father had lover her, and she simply cupped your cheek and told you that was all she'd ever ask.
It wasn't a necessarily memorable proposal, Rudy just coming home one day after visiting his mamá and bending the knee, but you'd prefer it to anything else, because it was so quintessentially Rodolfo.
Interestingly, because Rudy is married through his time in the military, he doesn't know at first that it'd be wiser to keep it a secret. When they find out Valería is El Sin Nombre, he's not quite sure what to think, because she definitely knew about you, and who you were to Rudy, but she never acted on it. It's probably just another facet of the twisted mind games she plays, but he's not sure. He tries not to think about it.
#cod#cod bois#proposals#captain john price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#rodolfo rudy parra x reader#captain john price#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#alejandro vargas#rodolfo rudy parra#task force 141#141#cod:mw2
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Assistance
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader
Everyone needs a little help sometimes, even Y/N, the head medic for Task Force 141. And who is Ghost to refuse helping his pretty little nurse?
⚠️ Warnings: female pronouns used, pure filthy smut, p in v, dom!ghost, sub!reader, cursing
Author's note: You can request if you want anything specific or if you want pronouns changed. Love you all! Enjoy!
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Y/N was the last person in the Med Bay, as usual. She was cleaning one of the counters, and thinking about a certain something. Or someone. She gently pressed her thighs together, trying to focus on cleaning and not the dirty thoughts in her head. Sure, Ghost had come in to visit her, and sure, he had grabbed her hips and promised to be back later. But she wasn't that weak... right?
As if on cue, the Med Bay doors slid open and a particular British man walked in, scanning the area for his pretty little nurse. Y/N looked over, her eyes widening slightly. "Riley?" She called, causing his head to snap in Y/N's direction. His pupils dilated at the sight of Y/N. Her tight scrubs, skin-tight in all the right places.
"My my, nurse. You're up late." He muttered, just loud enough for Y/N to hear. Y/N turned to face him. "I have the last shift." She stated matter-of-factly. Ghost chuckled as he noticed her thighs clenched together. "Oh, love. You need me? Hm?" His accent came out thick and rough, like it normally did when he was horny.
Y/Ns eyes widened and her face flushed at his bluntness. And yet, she found herself nodding her head. Ghost strode closer, pinning her against the counter. "Words, my little nurse." He smirked, his voice deep. "Yes, Riley. Been needin' you all day." Y/N murmured, pushing her hips against his. Ghost chuckled again, wrapping his large hands around her hips. He pressed his lips to Y/N's, a soft groan leaving his throat. Y/N trailed her hands up his chest, causing Ghost to let out a little growl. He spun her around, pushing her stomach against the counter. "Bend over, pretty girl." He growled into her ear, and Y/N felt herself being folded over the counter.
Next thing she knew, her bottoms were on the floor and she was bent over the counter, only her panties keeping her clothed. "So wet, little nurse." Ghost hummed, examining her panties with his hands. He pulled them down to her ankles in one swift motion, unbuckling his pants. "You ready, pretty darlin'?" He huffed, his voice rough and deep. Y/N whined and nodded her head, wiggling her hips slightly. Ghost took that as an answer and pressed his tip into her tight cunt. He threw his head back, letting out a groan. Y/N whimpered, her body pressed up against the counter. Ghost pushed more of himself inside Y/N, causing her to gasp. Ghost moaned and bottomed out, his firm grip on her hips tightening. "Oh, love. S' good f' me." He whined, snapping his hips into hers again. Y/N moaned, her eyes rolling back into her head. Ghost's thrusts sped up, his cock buried deep in Y/N's gummy walls. The only sounds that could be heard were moans, praises from Ghost, and skin slapping. "Such a good girl." Ghost growled, thrusting fast as Y/N mewled. Ghost's cock twitched; he was about to cum. "Pretty little nurse, Im gonna cum. C'mon, you too." He moaned, with a little slap to her thigh. "I-Im gonna cum too." Y/N whined, tears in her eyes from the sheer size of Ghost's cock. Ghost gripped her hips as he came, throwing his head back and letting out a string of curses. Y/N mewled, her orgasm hitting her like a freight train.
Once they were both down from their highs and Ghost got Y/N cleaned up, Y/N found herself in one of Ghost's t-shirts. She snuggled up under the covers, tucked into Simon's chest. Y/N fell asleep to Ghost, stroking her hair and hearing the soft rhythm of his heart beating steadily.
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Holy moly.
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#simon#riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost riley#simon ghost#ghost smut#task force 141 smut#141 smut#smut#ghost x reader#ghost x reader smut#simon riley x reader smut
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omg hey just here to shoot a request, idk if you do gaz as well but only soap is ok too. maybe something like soap x reader where the reader is a transfer from the american sector and she's just this super energetic, "AMERICA SCRAAAWWW" kind of person but is also super in learning about cultures and stuff. then the boys take her to this texas themed pub that she just criticizes the shit ton as she's from texas. i think it'll be funny to see a scot x texan lol thxx
God Bless Texas... and Scotland
A/N: I believe my goal here is to make something a little more on the joking/humorous side here... I'm not trying to get into politics or country pride on a deep level. This is just for fun. Nevertheless, thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy the direction I went with this. This is sooo damn cheesy...
Summary: On shore leave, you and Soap get into a conversation about what it was like in your home countries. A couple funny stereotypes and light-hearted argument later, the 141 decide that experiencing both sides of the coin are necessary to settle the score.
T/W's: stereotypes ofc, cursing, friendly banter/teasing, and as always not proofread.
It all started when you came out of your private quarters into the shared living room with an old t-shirt on with the admittedly cliche statement 'God Bless Texas' printed boldly over the front inside of a state-boundary shape. Out of all of the members of the 141, you were undoubtedly the most... shall we say... patriotic. At least in terms of your state pride and your unwavering happiness of having family still living there who were so in support of you and your work. Having family in the first place was something different compared to the rest of the squad, and it made the whole pride of where you came from a lot more difficult to understand.
You'd spent years at this point being around the 141 and learning all kinds of very unique and traditional habits that they carried with them despite oftentimes not having a family to share them with. Most of those, they shared with each other, and after getting comfortable with you was extended as a way to bond with you outside of the missions and other job requirements that you did together. From Soap's requirement of the "First Footing" tradition on New Year's, Captian Price never missing a Soccer World Cup no matter where he is, and Gaz's refusal to have a Christmas dinner without Christmas pudding, there isn't a time when someone isn't explaining their desire to incorporate some country, cultural, or family tradition in one way or another.
So, naturally, Soap was ecstatic when he found out about some little niche place that had opened up an 'American, Texas-Themed' restaurant. He knew it would be totally overdone, as did everyone else, so they all thought it would be something of a light-hearted way to poke fun at your loyalties by taking you there as a "resident expert" that could point them in the right direction and away from everything else. Truly the idea of having at least on full hour of teaisng you with everything they could just sounded like a damn good way to spend an afternoon.
The place was a little hole-in-the-wall pub with a little bit of seating that wasn’t directly at the bar. Dim lighting made it feel pretty inviting, but the obvious country music choices including Texas natives: George Strait, Waylon Jennings, and Willie Nelson made it feel a little cheap. Especially with the taxidermy Longhorn head above the bar and the “cowboy” style of practically everything hanging on the walls. Although it wasn’t quite the most miserable place you’d even been, it certainly felt like a little more than just a healthy appreciation.
“Home away from home, right lass?” Soap’s devilish grin only made the wound sting your pride that much more.
"Ya know... actually, not one bit." You answer a bit awestruck and looking around the place with bated breath and the hope that it wouldn't get much worse than it already was.
To your irritation, it got worse. Much worse.
After getting seated by an -obviously- British woman forced to fake a deep and southern drawl, you were all handed menus that named off the most "popular" foods in the Southern United States that not only made you chuckle out loud with disbelief but actually voice the total inaccuracies of certain dishes that the men sitting around you actually thought were legitimate staple items.
"You actually eat rattlesnakes often?" Gaz thought it was a bit far off since he spent quite a bit of time in his service in South Carolina, but thought he'd clarify with you anyway.
"For Christ's sake, Garrick. No!" You roll your eyes, taking a drink of the iced sweet tea you were actually shocked to see was listed as a drink option.
That in itself was the largest contention point with Ghost who stared at you with an iron-clad will of hatred seeing you pleasantly drinking iced sweet tea like you were enjoying the abomination. To his horror, you were quick to compliment that they'd actually gotten it pretty close to how you made it yourself or people at home did.
"What is a pecan pie?" Captain Price was quick to question the dessert menu before a waitress had even come back around to take main course orders.
His question sounded somewhat confused and downright scandalized at the same time. And to be honest, you really didn't know how to explain that it was simply a pie with corn syrup and brown sugar-based sweet filling, covered with pecans that were baked in a regular pie shell. You attempted to describe the basic ingredients and how it was made to the table of interested men, only to have them all stare in guarded horror... Save for Gaz. He'd actually tried it while in the States and said he'd enjoyed it. Luckily he was on your side for that particular topic.
The men as a whole hilariously didn't order anything that you -or they- considered uniquely "Texan" or "American". Soap insisted that you pick a meal that sounded the most authentic to you and that they would try some of the food off of your plate. Of course, the idea sounded good to them, but you weren't sure you wanted to share a plate of food that could possibly be decently "American" when it would still be months before you could go back home.
You folded quickly and picked a meal that you believed would be safe enough to keep them from being outwardly horrified with you but would still be interesting to compare to the meals you grew up with at home. The most simple and safe option was what they called the 'Home Run Special', most certainly a knock-off of the American chain breakfast restaurant. It came with pancakes, fried eggs, bacon, biscuits, sausage gravy, grits, and hashbrowns.
When the platter came out, you were pleasantly surprised at the look of everything, seeing as it visually had promise and even smelled just about right as well. With one glance around the table, you saw every single man staring at the three-plate meal sitting in front of you and couldn't believe that all of that food was supposedly for one person. That comment alone did make you laugh. It was one thing that you weren't afraid to admit. You could eat a whole lot. And it was a family thing that you never could be shy to not own up to. Eating all of that breakfast to them might've seemed totally unacceptable, yet for you, it looked very accomplishable, given the food tasted good. They each wanted you to give your own personal opinions before they tried anything and watched you intently for any sign of your acceptance or lack thereof.
By the end of the meal, the men had all tried everything and had mixed opinions of what they thought was actually good or not. You believed the biscuits and gravy were totally garbage and vowed that you could make them better, and wouldn't even allow them to taste them for fear of cementing an even more concrete belief that biscuits weren't meant to be savory. They were half-and-half on the bacon, some saying it was really good while others complained it wasn't enough meat for so much grease. You... were quite pleased. Eggs were fine, they all didn't really pay them much mind, while the grits were such a contested topic that you weren't sure if they lost respect for you since you finished the entire serving.
"Although I've enjoyed the majority of the food and I was surprised with it... this isn't anything legitimate." You mutter with a full stomach, looking around the place and beginning to feel a little more homesick than you thought such a tacky pub could produce.
Soap, who was finishing off your pancakes nudged your shoulder a little and smiled. "You'll have to take me home with ya. Then I ken' really find out why ye' think Texas is so damn special."
"You have to take me home with you too Johnny," You take the fork out of his hand and eat one more bite of pancakes. "So I can see if God blessed Scotland, too."
Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated
#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#sergeant#soap#call of duty#modern warfare ii#cod mw2#mwii#soap x reader#soap mactavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish x reader
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Takedown
Part Two of Snowblind
(Simon "Ghost" Riley x Medic "Fix" Reader)
Rating: Teen and Up
Wordcount: 9.1k
Tags: Slow Burn, Mutual pining, Angst, Implied Trauma, Found Family, Team Bonding, Sparring, Wrestling, Takedown maneuvers, Dad Price, Mom Laswell, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics
Warnings: None
A/N: The official part two of Shadow and Bone featuring our beloved Fix! Fix uses she/hers pronouns and is AFAB but is written in 2nd person POV
Summary:
"My turn."
Ghost seems to materialize from thin air. With a roll of his shoulders he straightens from where he was braced against the wall, just to Gaz's right. The shade of the building did nothing to hide him, and yet it still feels like all the world like he wasn't even there. Like a daytime phantom, he simply appears, a fragmentary blink all that's needed to mask his arrival.
You're stunned into silence when he raises his eyes towards you, and there's that familiar prickle of trepidation, a warning murmured below your heartbeat of the danger present in his stare. It flays you open effortlessly, laying bare your secrets and closely hidden truths, rendering you transparent against his masked, piercing gaze.
"Oh, uh, sure LT." Soap is the first to speak, and even he seems a bit disturbed by this, by the almost garish sight of Ghost in the brightness of daytime. "Lemme just-"
"Not you."
You stop breathing.
Taglist (Please reply to this post to be tagged in future updates of this series!)
@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfierriii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @novellas-den @kkinky@myblackwolfs2 @soapskneebrace @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @mvtthewmurdvck @pettyprocrastination @day0walker
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Dry grass on your back. Arms folded as a cushion under your head, the bitter, jaunty breeze of September in Staffordshire brushing against your face like the whisper of an old friend onto your cheeks. It whooshes softly over your ears, ruffling the edge of your T-shirt sleeves and up, away into the fluffy cumulus clouds that puff over the landscape of the English countryside.
You didn't know England could be this beautiful.
It seems like every time the 141 ends stationed back at Beacon Base it's in the rife, cold dead of winter or the soggy, laden dampness of spring. Yet the past two weeks here have been blissfully beautiful, temperate in the way only Autumn is, crisp and braided with the colors of changing seasons. In the late afternoons, in the hour before the sun kisses the horizon, the entire base is painted with a soft, golden light like the god Apollo has bestowed a singular touch on the dying embers of daytime. You drink it in like the nectar of the gods, imbue it with hazy, resplendent glimpses in the repository of your memories.
The team had been grateful the first few days you were here, having returned from the Nepal mission fatigued but successful, thankful for a break. You hardly remembered coming into base in the witching hours of the morning, the world still cloaked in inky darkness. As soon as your legs hit the edge of your bunk you had collapsed into it, gear and all. It wasn't until you woke nearly 13 hours later that you realized someone had mercifully peeled off your vest, boots, helmet, and outer layers while you were asleep.
(When you had asked Gaz, he'd looked over your shoulder worriedly at someone. Yet when you turned, there was nothing there.)
Laswell had warned you all that the hiatus was a temporary one, that you were all on standby as she worked to verify intel on the next mission she directed you all towards. Her promise of only a night had doubled into that of a few days, only for that to lapse into uncertainty as the sizzle of August had faded into September.
It had taken only a few days for the team to get antsy, used to motion, movement as a core, steadying force in their lives. You failed to understand it the first few times you had all been on shore leave, trying to soak in as much peace as you could during your scarce time off-duty to combat the exhaustion carved into your marrow. Now, almost a year into being on the team, you began to see it- the way velocity was a need variable in these mens' lives, how it kept the demons that hid in the back of their thoughts at bay.
Even so, you had all adjusted to life on base, ephemeral though it was. You had each of the 141's schedule mapped out by now, keen eyes observing the silent lives your teammates lived outside of wartime.
Price rose early, before dawn. The only time you ever saw him without his hat was before his first coffee. When you had mentioned to Soap that the man looked like a bedraggled Airedale terrier at first light, the sergeant had nearly spat his drink. Yet that look was combed over by the time he was at his desk, poring over reports with Laswell on the phone. More than once he had enlisted your help with the matter, looking over your shoulder as you traced satellite images under your calloused fingertips, brow scrunched in thought.
After one exceedingly long day, your eyes still swimming with Russian and Arabic as you stared dazedly up at the aging ceiling of the captain's office, Price's hand had landed on your shoulder. His voice was tired but warm as he offered you a smile.
"Good work, Fix."
You had practically strutted back to the team's common area, head held high and smile broad across the planes of your face, darkening in the evening light.
(Unaware of the stare that had traced you from the shadows.)
While Price remained holed in his office all day, Soap and Gaz had been approached by the base commander after the first few days in, enlisting their help training a fresh batch of recruits that had arrived only a week prior to the 141. They both had grumbled about it at first, but you now often found them at the training grounds on the other side of base, barking drills to the younger men and women who regarded them with as much respect as they did fear.
Soap is a natural born leader, you realized; The sight of him overlooking the troops, arms crossed and dressed in tac gear is enough to inspire any soldier. Gaz's inspiration, however, comes not from the way he demands deference and respect the way Soap's strictness did, but from his easier, more hands-on approach to the younger, less experienced soldiers. You often found the sergeant assisting them in their specialist training, hovering over their shoulder at the shooting range or offering a demonstration on weapon safety and management to bright faces and eager eyes.
You couldn't stifle a sense of pride at the two, reminded every time you saw them with the recruits at just how experienced, how reliable they are, these two men you trusted your life to with every mission. Soap, with his cocky but friendly, approachable smile and Gaz with the softer, kinder eyes- those of a friend. They had been wary of you at first, all those long months ago when you had joined the team, regarding you with a cordial distance as you sought to prove yourself to them. It wasn't until your most recent mission, since Nepal- where you had taken down a dozen men with your sniper rifle despite being alone, injured and half snow-blind- that they had truly opened up to you. Since then they had welcomed you into the fold, if their teasing and amicable banter was any indication to go by.
You watched them from the infirmary, where you dedicated the majority of your hours, tracing their broad backs from the hospital windows at the training field just beyond. When your hands weren't busy inventorying your field kit or striving to keep your skills sharp as the team's designated medic, you found them outside, smiles as warm as the afternoon sun that shone down on you three. More often than not you found them waiting for you at the end of your shift, chatting and bantering in the lobby until you made yourself known, strolling easily with them in the golden hour painted by the metamorphosis of Fall.
There was an easiness now that wasn't there before, as Gaz enlisted your help cooking a group meal (His mother's recipe, you later found out) as Soap and Price bickered over soccer matches just beyond the kitchen, as they both griped at you for refusing to use the term 'football', as Soap asked you to spot him with his weight lifting, making a point to flex playfully at you until you conceded as gave a shy pat to his bicep. The evenings between the five of you are quieter, relaxed in a way you're unfamiliar with.
It seems like the world was always doing that, putting you in places you least expect.
Just like it had done in Nepal, with your frigid, shivering form curled into the warm, protective embrace of your Lieutenant.
Neither you nor Ghost had discussed what happened, had dared to mention the soft, fragile words exchanged between you on that clear, starry night as frost had sifted down from the trees above the outpost.
"You see my mistakes."
"I see you. Just you."
Yet after the team had returned to England Ghost had made himself scarce, absent within the daytime regimens of your teammates. You think he might be nocturnal, the way he only appears after dark, waiting until the sun dips low below the horizon to ooze from the shadows, eyes blank, haunted. He hovers in the corners of the rooms you're in, silent, vigilant, slouched with a bone-deep fatigue that no amount of rest seems to cure.
It's a bit startling, truth be told. This calm, this stillness in him is beyond the scope of what you're familiar with. On missions Ghost is the sharp, cutting slice of a blade, concentrated, soaked in blood, piercing with his fatalistic aim and hungry, driven gaze. When he moves it's like watching a predator stalk prey, rippling muscle and broad, unfaltering steps. His eyes glint in the darkness like he can see there, can discern targets from the distant, trembling thump of their heartbeats alone. At your front he's an unstoppable force, yielding no ground no matter the shower of bullets that rain down on him. At your back he's an immovable object, a wall to pin yourself to when the enemy forces you there, ready to strike down encroaching hostiles with his adamantine, skeletal grip.
Now, outside the theater of battle, there's a distance there in Ghost's eyes, decaying there like necrotic flesh. It's something that's been there since the beginning, that's been engraved black in his bones long before you even knew he existed. You see it in his eyes as the lights of the muted television flicker across his mask, playing advertisements he doesn't seem to see. If the other members of the 141 need inertia as their own mental gravity, Ghost craves the ever-existing tides of the ocean to drive away the specters in his thoughts.
You know that unnamed emotion. Know it too well.
Dusky pink sky. The sound of a trumpet, the flurry of figures and clothes and voices blurring into morning fog. When the world shifts it's your hands on the ropes, calloused, sweaty palms digging in for purchase. As the sun rises your weapon thrums under your fingertips, and the voice of the instructor seems louder than the rapid fire that jolts you backwards until you're scrambling for balance- tipping into the dark of evening when the alien shadows of night vision color your gaze. It still feels too bright, too bright, until-
The memory flashes like lightning, and the resulting thunder has your heart hammering in your chest at the shiver that runs through you. It feels endless, infinite, stretching like lengths of gauze on a shallow slice of a wound. Yet there's a familiar heaviness there, bitter and grounding like the crunch of gravel underneath combat boots. There's a comfort in the mindless triumph of combat, of training and needed movement that settles everything else like a murmured, macabre berceuse. It's dark, it's haunting, it kills demons not with the scepter of divine radiance, but in a crepuscule so deep that their shadows are indiscernible from the lack of light in your eyes.
It's hard to imagine now that you lived like that for years, whittling down yourself until there was no hurt, no pain, no lingering words of disdain from familiar voices puncturing your ears. Nothing. Only bones.
And then.
Then there had been Laswell.
Ethiopia, you think it was. Sent for your field requirements for your combat medic training, the air stifling, dusty, caked in a scent that smelled innately of foreign soil. Laswell had been overseeing a mission there, helping gather intel. She hardly slept for days, existing on cooling coffee and leftovers from the impromptu mess hall. Eventually she'd stumbled into the medic tent, had asked for painkillers, an adrenaline, something to keep her awake. Yet then she'd looked up, looked into your eyes without light and hesitated.
A conversation followed, one fragmented over the course of weeks, bleached by the sun and chilled by the nighttime wind. Steaming mugs sitting together, over a desk piled with reports, voices muted with fatigue and sparkling with the rare bite of laughter from her. Evenings spent together, her voice like a needed balm to the cracked sinews of you. Eyes focused, sharp but warm, and you had ached for it, desperate for the regard of this older woman who felt like the things you wanted from the one you called mother. You wonder if Laswell saw that too, with her ever searching eyes and scalding stare. Perhaps she did, perhaps she saw the hollow inside you just as she saw what you tried to fill it with- a raw, unflinching determination that weighed on you so heavily it forced you to crack, to endure and crystallize like blood diamonds.
"Find me after you get back to the states." She told you, voice raised over the sound of the chopper that would take her back to base, and then to home. Her eyes had glinted for a moment in the dry, raw heat, tracing your face with an insight you couldn't comprehend, a prophecy that glittered at the edges and made you blink from the brightness.
So, you did. American soil under your feet, you had found her exactly where she said she'd be, once again basking in the warm flicker of her gaze, the hand on your shoulder that of a friend.
"I have a proposal for you."
It felt like decades ago now, when you had sat alone in the back of a black-hawk, carted off to a base you weren't allowed to know the name of, the earth again shifting endlessly under you.
It was weeks into your training before you understood why you were there. The brutality of it threatened to crack you, the endless and violent force which required your entire concentration and nothing less. The squad around you seemed to stare past each other, dazed by the ceaseless waves of intel, of briefings, medic practice, language courses, nighttime ops, bomb disarmaments, air raid drills, parachute practices, terrain training-
All for them. For the 141.
It was you, in the end. One out of a dozen, a dozen out of a thousand, a thousand out of a million. You. Only you. Designed, bred, honed like a weapon of old, deadly ossein bleached white by nothing other than an oath, a duty. You lived these men's lives before they even knew you existed, had traced each of their steps with your smaller ones, looking up and to the future where they marched onwards.
Now it was their voices, soft and firm, streaked with laughter and teasing that had filled the void inside of you where you had carved everything else away. Slowly, like phases of the waxing moon, you became full again.
Yet there's a doubt there, one present inside just you. Like earl grey steeped for too long, it curls acrid and bitter against the back of your tongue. You swallow it down, forcing it lower and lower even as the aftertaste clings to you, flavors the edges of your words. A fear, an abyss you are constantly trying to avoid tipping into, one that threatens to swallow you and all your achievements in a single, mortifying instant. You walk the tightrope between confidence and fear, and try not to look downwards into the chasm below, where the wind howls with inadequacies and alienation.
If the team notices they don't say. You see it though, see the way their eyes linger over your expression as if they can see the pause there, can hear the voices that whisper sinister prophecies of failure to you even in sleep. You're not sure which to believe between the two divinations- of Laswell's fledgling hope in you, or of the cataclysm which seems to be constantly dwarfing the horizon in a gaunt, pale wash of color.
"Fix!"
You startle, and your callsign sounds for all the world like a gunshot that rouses you from a ruminating slumber, thrusting you back into the crisp air of the Staffordshire countryside.
"Sir!" You bark on instinct as Price's voice directs itself at you, shooting to your feet with your shoulders straightening and muscles coiled in readiness.
Yet instead of the displeased, furrowed brow of your captain all you see is the three men before you freeze, turn halfway from the training area in surprise at your yelp. You see Soap's eyebrows raise in a silent question of your yipped response, but the pause gives Gaz the opportunity he needs to kick the Scotsman's legs from under him. Instantly, the brief look of surprise on Johnny's face morphs into shock as he tilts, mouth opening as the shorter sergeant wraps a leg around him, arms straining as he forces his brother to the ground.
"Getting distracted, Johnny?" Gaz asks breathlessly as Soap struggles under him, biting out a curse tinted with stupefaction at his opponent's surprising burst of strength.
Whatever Price was going to say to you dies on his lips as he barks a laugh, arms crossed and supervising the scuffed section of terrain the team has designated as their sparring mat.
"Gaz is right, Soap. Should be paying more attention to your opponent and not your audience."
Soap doesn't respond, he can't. Not with Gaz's arms securing him in a headlock and his legs forced together so he can't free himself. Briefly, his arms flail out beside him, stirring brown dust into the breeze. Yet he seems to realize the futility of the effort, because you watch his eyes close, see his jaw grit as he grunts, taps twice on the shorter man in a signal of surrender.
It's only once he's released that he sucks in air with a gasp that's a little too dramatic given the circumstances. Yet it only draws a warmth flickering inside you, a smile tickling your lips as you take in Soap's cocky grin and Gaz's glinting eyes, both of them oozing a camaraderie and mischief that occurs only between brothers of the same oath.
"A point to me." Gaz huffs, winded, and when he stands it's to offer Soap a hand, attempting to lift the sergeant to his feet beside him.
Soap goes for the hand, but you see the flicker of playfulness there that sparks behind his gaze. Before you can warn Gaz, Soap's hand shoots forward, grappling Gaz by his forearms and dragging him off balance and into the dirt once more.
You watch as they scuffle, hearing Price's bemused chuff of laughter steps away from you. You know usually he'd issue a strictness between his team, enforcing a set of boundaries designed to keep the sharpness of their skills from dulling. Yet here, in the golden afternoon of fall, there's an ambience that feels lighter, lifting the spirits of the men and you.
It feels a bit like watching the boys from your youth wrestle, all smiles and gangly limbs as they test the boundaries of their strength. Both Soap and Gaz are grinning, the wrinkles of their smiles almost broad enough to obscure the flash of focus in their gazes. Yet there's no adolescent awkwardness there, not with their broad, straining forms and deep, resounding grunts as they battle for supremacy.
"Had enough?" Soap asks between gasps as he catches Gaz between his legs, calves pressing down hard on his chest. Gaz only grunts, thrashes, trying to buck his weight up and disturb the hold Soap has on him.
"Alright, that's enough, both of you." Price interrupts with a wave of his hand, and just like that the two men separate, chests heaving and muscles still coiled. "Gaz, a point, but you best make sure your opponent is down before you gloat."
"Aye, he's right mate." Soap crows, knocking dust away from his shirt. Yet all he gets in response is a nudging elbow in the ribs, and for a moment the two of the jostle, grinning and grappling.
"Fix, you're up." Price nods at you, and you blink, arch your eyebrows at the captain in a silent question, pausing with uncertainty. Yet Price merely nods at you, eyes flicking over to the sparring area meaningfully. "Go on then."
So, you do, standing from your perch on the sloped grassy area beside the dirt pit and cautiously entering the circle. Trepidation, a flutter of courage bounces through you, escaping as an exhaled breath as you steady yourself.
Yet when you look to Gaz, it's Soap who's pushing in front of him with a lopsided smile, extending one brawny arm in front of his comrade.
"Mind if I take this one, cap?" He asks Price, and despite your little murmur of apprehension Price merely shrugs, nods at the Scotsman in a silent assent. Your heart races a little higher in your chest, legs widening as you try to ground yourself, eyes flicking over Soap's larger form and trying to pinpoint weaknesses.
Soap is built like a brick wall, rigid, strong. There's not an ounce of fat on him. The sleeves of his T-shirt cling to his biceps. You can see the veins under his brawny arms- designed for wrangling opponents far larger than yourself. It's not that you think you can't defeat him, smaller as you are, this man who's taken down dozens with his bare hands, it's just a matter of summoning the wit, the endurance to fend him off long enough to do so.
"Easy, Fix." Soap warns, and your eyes dart up to catch his. He's seen your gaze, caught sight of your eyes glinting with determination and a near fatalistic focus. "I'm one of the good guys, yeah?"
You think you hear Gaz scoff behind you, the sound disbelieving and warm all at once. Soap's eyes flicker over to him, feigning hurt.
You launch forwards at that exact moment, using Soap's lapse in attention to your advantage. Soap reacts a moment too late, trying to sidestep you as you barrel at him and try to knock him in his center. Yet that only gives you the opportunity you're looking for, sweeping under his lifted arm and grabbing it in an attempt to lift it behind him, force him to his knees.
Unfortunately, Soap seems to see exactly where you're going, and instead sidesteps around you, securing one, long, leg behind and between yours. It's a move you should have expected, given his size, but by the time you try and twist to correct it's too late. It takes the Scotsman hardly any effort to scoot his leg to the side, and suddenly you're losing balance, teetering backwards. Yet you refuse to relinquish your hold on him, and Soap chokes as you shoot out an arm, wrapping it around his throat and taking him down with you.
The impact of the harsh dirt ground on your back is nothing compared to the weight of the sergeant atop you, the back of his head against your collarbone as you strain to contain him. Yet Johnny is a force, a raw mass of rippling muscle as he pries your headlock enough for him to flip over and shake you off.
On your back, hands free and Soap sat up between your legs you try and scoot back, gain ground on which to recover. When he turns, Soap's eyes are gleaming, and he reaches for you, one massive hand wrapping around you calf and scooting you closer to him. Even when you try to kick him he simply bats aside your attempts, dirt scuffing around you both as he secures his hands around your hips.
A loud "Oof!" leaves you as the Scotsman flips you, settles his weight across your lower back, effectively immobilizing you. He grapples with your arms for a moment, as you scramble and writhe under him, but eventually Johnny manages to catch both hands behind you, your face pressed into the dirt and his immense weight weighing down on your back.
"Nice try, hen." Soap tuts down at you, breath caught in his chest. His hands clasp on both your wrists, and you know you could get them free if you wanted to, but even then it's an exercise in futility. "Better luck next time."
You sigh, limbs going limp under him in surrender and face scrunching in dismay.
"Curse you and your stupidly large body." You groan as he releases you, your hands pushing you up out of the dirt to a stand once more. Soap only chuckles, the sound like warm summer sunshine as a single dusty hand claps you across the shoulder.
"It's not about size." Price responds, summoning your gaze to him once more. His arms are crossed, his gaze leveled at you strictly, eyes narrowed. "It's about form, making sure you can outsmart your opponent."
You feel the chafe of dismissal run through you, tighten across your shoulders. It stings, this reprimand of his, even if you know it's only for your benefit. There's something about his words that knocks against something hollowed, deep inside you where the voices of the past threaten to spill through.
"Of course, captain." You manage, voice tight even as you meet his gaze head on, make sure he doesn't see the bitterness masked behind your stare.
If Price sees he doesn't say, instead nodding to the sergeant next to you in a wordless gesture. "Again."
You nod stiffly, shaking the tension from your shoulders and the dirt from your clothes, turning back to Soap, eyes focused once more. He settles into his stance, and he seems looser somehow, ready for you.
"He's bigger than you, Fix." Price calls. "You've got the advantage of speed and center of gravity. Use it wisely."
You nod absently, trying to gauge Johnny's movements, watching the Scotsman bounce on the balls of his feet. It's a difficult choice, trying to find that target that will put him off balance and allow you enough space to recoup if needed. You think if you can have some distance, land a few strikes to give you an opening...
"C'mon now Fix, show me what ya got." Johnny taunts playfully, fingers waggling at you.
Smug bastard.
You feint to start, watching how Soap favors his right leg as he reacts. You can feel his tension in the air, feel it ripple through and bolster you with a steely, calculating confidence.
He's just another obstacle, another hurdle. You haven't fallen from that tightrope thus far, and you won't start now.
At last, you launch forwards, ducking out of the way of Soap's outstretched reach and placing a well-earned kick to his upper leg that has him grunt, briefly buckle down-
Oh shit.
Now at the perfect height, Soap locks his arms around your middle, hauling you to him. You try and struggle, kicking apart his legs in an attempt to disturb his balance, one hand trying to push up at his jaw-
The world tilts, Johnny's hands on you shift, and you shriek as suddenly you're being hauled up. Your feet kick uselessly in the air as Soap lifts your shrieking form higher, his raucous laughter loud in your ears. With a heft, you're suddenly over one broad shoulder, his hands balancing you precariously as you squirm.
"S-Soap!" You squeal, face warming and unable to contain the abrupt gasp of hysterical delight that rises inside you. "Johnny! You-!"
"The cap'n told you to watch your balance!" Soap cackles over your protests. "How's gravity now, eh?!"
You beat at his back with your fists, but even then you can't contain the sudden burst of laughter that's being squeezed from your chest. When you try to kick, Soap merely shifts an arm down, locking the back of your thighs.
"You little shit!" You giggle, trying to raise yourself off his shoulder, only for him to twist where he stands, sending the world flying into a haze of color around you. "Put me down or I'll-!"
"There's no escape!" Soap crows in triumph, and you laugh truly this time, the warmth of it bubbling up your chest and vanquishing the solemnity there in a breezy gasp of air. "I have you now!"
"Alright, that's enough." Price interjects, but you can hear the smile on his voice, and when Soap spins again to face him you're left with Gaz, who grins broadly at your form splayed across his mate's shoulders despite the disbelieving shake of his head. "Put the medic down and back away slowly."
"Aye cap'n." Soap affirms, and the world shifts as you slide down, your shirt catching on his vest for a moment long enough to make it rise a few inches up your stomach. Once your feet are on solid ground once more you fiddle with it, shooting Soap a look of pure mischief as you playfully shove at him.
"You're a right bastard, you are." You jeer at him, but there's no true malice behind the insult.
"Oho! Looks like our bonnie medic has picked up some British slang, hasn't she?" Soap grins wickedly back at you, pretending to rub a bruise left by your touch.
"Shut up."
"She'll take you down with words alone, mate." Gaz quips off to the side, a grin stretched across his face. "Better watch your step."
You turn to him, still smiling, feeling that bravado wash over you now in the wake of Soap's prank.
"You want some too, sergeant?" You shoot back, and Gaz feigns surrender, tossing up his hands and taking a step back against the wall he's braced on- only to freeze.
You see him at the same time Gaz senses him, shoulders going rigid at the figure, the mass behind him, leaning in the shadow casted by the aged, brick building. The air seems to suck into silence, drowning into a ringing nothingness like the aftershock of flashbang that was far too close.
"My turn."
Ghost seems to materialize from thin air. With a roll of his shoulders he straightens from where he was braced against the wall, just to Gaz's right. The shade of the building did nothing to hide him, and yet it still feels like all the world like he wasn't even there. Like a daytime phantom, he simply appears, a fragmentary blink all that's needed to mask his arrival.
You're stunned into silence when he raises his eyes towards you, and there's that familiar prickle of trepidation, a warning murmured below your heartbeat of the danger present in his stare. It flays you open effortlessly, laying bare your secrets and closely hidden truths, rendering you transparent against his masked, piercing gaze.
"Oh, uh, sure LT." Soap is the first to speak, and even he seems a bit disturbed by this, by the almost garish sight of Ghost in the brightness of daytime. "Lemme just-"
"Not you."
You stop breathing.
Ghost's eyes are locked on you. Hell, they never left you, trained on your form since the moment he announced his arrival. You think if he steps closer, into the training are he might hear your heartbeat, reach out a hand to feel it thrum under his fingertips-
Your pulse flutters against his fingers like a trapped bird, wings spread and beating the frozen air around you. He's never been this close before. He's hardly ever touched you- much less with his bare hands. The sensation of it threatens to throw you from that precipice where you balance precariously, falling once more into that asymmetry you fail to understand. You can only pray that your rapid, strumming heartbeat doesn't betray you, doesn't let him sense the thoughts you're holding silent within your heart.
You swallow, but all you taste is dust.
"H-hang on now." Soap intervenes, stepping up beside you. He's a weight at your back, keeping you steady, grounded against the gale inside you. The wind whips higher, and it seems to carry the scent of your uncertainty, the carpal, raw taste of it filling the back of your mouth.
He's huge. Larger than Soap. Immense and looming. Ghost occupies enough space in your mind it rivals your own doubts, blending at the seams with the dark, inky bleed of him into your form. The weight of him, even at this distance, threatens to bear down on your shoulders, and you feel that pressure, that muscled strain compress you until there's almost nothing left.
Only bones.
"It's fine, Soap." Your voice is surprisingly steady when you speak, lift an arm to gently halt the Scotsman behind you. "I can do it."
It's a lie. You're not sure if you can at all. It's not Ghost's size, his stature that concerns you. No, rather it's you, the way the lieutenant before you seems to summon those linger doubts in you- the urgent, insurmountable need to prove yourself. You can't explain it, can't fully understand why it's Ghost of all people that needs to see this, needs to see how you fail to crack, that no amount of pressure here will force you to fail.
Then again, perhaps you do know. After all, you've always known it was him.
You trace the marrow white paint of Ghost's mask up to his eyes, watching as they slide from you to Price, waiting for his assent. You hear Price inhale deeply, eyes flickering between the two of you before he at last sighs, gestures Ghost into the ring.
When you try to step back, Soap catches your arm.
"You don't have to do this." He tells you, and the tone of his voice makes you pause, frown at the odd tint of concern there.
"Yeah, I do." You tell him instead, and jerk your arm from his touch, brushing past him to give Ghost the space he needs to prepare. When you glance at the sergeant there's an odd pinch to his face you don't recognize. It feels oddly like doubt, a sourness that doesn't believe in you. It chafes against the inside of you, brittle and pale.
When you turn to face Ghost a few paces away, he's stretching. It almost catches you by surprise, the sight of his hulking frame as he rolls his shoulders, pops his neck with an audible crack. Again, you're reminded of the breadth of him, this man who's shielded you more times than you can count by now, can take down a man larger than you with nothing but his bare hands.
Your mouth dries.
Even so, you nod at Price when you settle into your stance, preparing yourself for his assault. The captain returns it, lets his stare linger over your unsteady hands before his voice rings out into the afternoon sun:
"Begin!"
You tense, preparing yourself, but even then you aren't ready for the sheer, massive strides Ghost takes towards you, closing the distance so rapidly your mind reels trying to catch up. You sidestep him a moment too late, trying to get a leg under his frame and use it to upset his balance, send him stumbling.
A hand seizes your shoulder. The world spins.
The gasp that escapes from your chest upon impact with the ground floats upwards into the eggshell blue sky.
Just like that.
You blink once, twice, trying to understand exactly how Ghost managed to flip you so easily, barely even touching you before you're flat on your back staring up at the clouds. Gaz hisses a grimace somewhere beyond you, and you hardly hear it, thoughts spinning.
"Up."
That puffy crisp September sky is blotted out as Ghost hovers above you, towering over your prone form as your breath stills in your chest. You stare at him dumbly for a moment, still trying to understand how he moved fast enough to make your head spin.
He doesn't offer you a hand, letting you sit up on your own, dusty with dirt and heart rattling in your chest. When you stand he's already paced away from you, wordlessly waiting for you to resume your stance.
"Give him hell, Fix!" Soap calls from the side, but even he doesn't sound entirely convinced.
You ignore him, trying to clear your thoughts, trying to focus on exactly how Ghost managed to flip you. Maybe his arm was around your middle- or was it your shoulder, you can't tell, he-
"Don't make me wait, sergeant." Ghost tells you, and the low scrape of his voice is enough to startle you, feeling like bone meal grinding against the recesses of your mind.
You tense, observing, watching, seeking weaknesses in his stance. When you launch forwards again, you move fast, ducking under Ghost's outstretched arm as he reaches for you. It's enough to give you an opening as you reach forward, throwing an arm out to his middle and aiming a fist with all your strength. It's not enough to send him stumbling backwards, but you know if you unbalance him you can get one of his legs, force him to his knees-
Ghost deflects your strike with ease, however, and before you can retreat to recoup that same arm twists your outstretched hand deftly. You're spun, boots skidding in the dirt. Yet this time Ghost doesn't put you down in the ground. Instead, he hauls you backwards until you're pressed against his front, and a heavy arm settles under your throat in a vice-like grip, rising up enough to threaten your airflow.
"Better." Is all he tells you as you struggle, and the motherfucker isn't even out of breath.
When you aim an elbow back into his stomach he merely grunts at the impact, and after a brief second the world spins wildly out of control as Ghost flips you over his hip and into the dirt once more.
You think you may have skid a few inches past where you landed, the impact harsh and unforgiving against your form. When you open your eyes you're on your side, staring at his boots as he again looms over you.
"Get up." He tells you, and there's not a single ounce of hesitation there, his tone harsh and unforgiving. It bites harder than the bruises forming on your flesh, sinking deeper past the sinews of you into the place where you harbor your own self-doubt. Ghost doesn't give you any recompense, demanding your immediate restitution even as you brace on your elbows, try and catch your breath.
"If you stayed down this long you'd be dead." He tells you plainly, and when you grit your teeth you feel your jaw threaten to pop. Frustration, humiliation clots under your skin, racing along your nerve endings and threatening to set your skin aflame. It boils inside of you, this shame of being defeated so easily, of not being able to stand your own, of him seemingly mocking you for your lack of strength.
"E-easy LT." Soap tries from your other side, trying uncertainly to intervene. "She's just catching her breath, she-"
"She's getting caught in her head, Johnny." Ghost replies, and the tone of his voice has shifted now- irritated, impatient. You grimace against it where he can't see, with your brow bent over your arms as you push yourself upwards. Yet the motion isn't fast enough for Ghost, who's gloved grip settles on your bicep and hauls you to a stand.
When you try and shake him off, however, Ghost doesn't budge. You turn to him, ready to snap a complaint bitten with anger, but the pale paint of his mask looms over you instead.
"You're only seeing me." He tells you, voice dipping lower, quieter. A growl. "Not an enemy. You're seeing someone bigger and stronger than you and it's messing with your head."
You blink at him for a moment, trying to process his hissed accusation. For a moment it feels as if he's bragging, lauding over the fact that you aren't a towering six foot six and built from unbreakable bone and mass. Yet beyond that is the harsh, unrepentant bite of his words, digging like thorns into the smog of despondency that clouds your thoughts.
He releases you before you can object, turning on his heel and striding away to the other side of the dirt pit, leaving you suppressing a shiver of fury. The sharpness of it digs harder than a combat knife, buries between your shoulders as they tighten and flex, trying vainly to push it down further into the depths of you. It imbues into your marrow, seeping like icy water and freezing, furthering the fractures that are already there.
"Again."
You breathe, steady yourself, turn to him. Behind you Gaz and Soap shift nervously, their boots scuffing against the grass as they exchange a look.
You're faster this time, as if that same righteous bleed into your bones has gifted you a speed you aren't entirely aware of- focused only on the massive looming form of your lieutenant in front of you. Yet when he blink he's not there- the after effect of him wavering before your eyes and you swear you see his eyes glint.
Just like that, you feel your legs out from under you. There's not even a breath in your lungs to yelp before you're landing on your side- a second too slow to land on your stomach. When Ghost reaches for you, however, you manage to catch his arm between your legs, pressing and holding, immobilizing it. Your victory is short lived, however, when Ghost twists and suddenly your whole body shifts with you onto your stomach. The hand that had held his arm, trying to haul it backwards is seized, and after a momentary scuffle it ends with Ghost pressing his weight into the small of your back, knee braced between yours.
Grunting, you try and push up, try and dislodge him from atop you, kneeling above your prone form. It's not use, and the only reward you get from your LT is a tightening, warning grip on your forearm, pushing almost painfully into your spine. Face pressed into the dirt, thrashing, you bite down on a yell of frustration. When you turn your head, glare venomously over your shoulder, Ghost regards you with an unwavering, unblinking stare.
"Tap out." He tells you coldly, but you refuse, still squirming and trying to buck him off you.
"I said." Ghost repeats, and the grip on your wrist is almost enough to bruise as he leans further over you, pressing more weight into your back. "Tap. out."
The "Fuck you." sits heavy on your tongue, bitter and acrid with venom. When you swallow the taste lingers in your throat. Yet you close your eyes in defeat, using your remaining free hand to tap the ground twice in surrender. Instantly Ghost is gone from you, weight and hands vanishing, but you can't deny the momentary touch of disappointment that flickers in your belly at his figure vanishing from atop you.
Traitorous. Unacceptable.
Dimly, your mind conjures the sensation of him, of the planes of his body curled around you, blunted at the edges by his gear and jacket in the darkness. The warmth of him seeps through, blanketing you, drawing the freeze from your bones. Now that same figure towers over you, casting you in his shadow- one you think you'll always dwell in, unable to outshine the sun.
You stand without his help this time, face smeared with dirt. Fists curled at your sides, heart thrumming too fast in your chest, you force yourself to breathe. The air feels dusty, putrid, cracked in your throat- rotting with frustration and bitter self-loathing. Price says something, but you can't hear him over the blood rushing in your ears, the clench of your joints popping under the pressure.
Ghost seems to suck the light out of the air at the other end of the pit, arms crossed as he silently waits for you to right yourself. His eyes, tinged black at the edges, bore into you. They carve deeper downwards, flaying you open and exposing your heart, your lungs, the spilling threads of you that reek of weakness.
You think he might see it, might see the thing you're keeping curled within you- a fragile tender thing made of glass you've kept safe all this time.
His voice, soft, just for you, murmurs against the midnight.
"I see you. Just you."
Oh.
"You're only seeing me." He told you.
Not an enemy. Him.
Ghost. Because you could never see him as anything else. Not when it's him.
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.
Sometimes you have to break bones for them to mend correctly.
"Fix!"
You jolt, turning to Price. Arms crossed, one shaggy eyebrow arched towards you, he regards you with scrutiny.
"You done?" Is all he asks, and he seems to see it too- the telltale twinkle of knowledge in his eyes at what his lieutenant is trying to accomplish.
"No sir." You breathe, and Price grins.
"Give him hell then, sergeant." He nods towards your opponent. You follow his gaze, and this time Ghost is focused entirely on you, eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
You can do it.
Ghost settles into his stance, one arm extended slightly in front of the other, his tattooed forearm rippling with muscle. He's big, bigger than you, and that thought alone is enough to threaten you into a tailspin of doubt like before. You know now that if you indulge it, allow it to take hold it guarantees defeat. So, you push it down, refuse to see it, summoning a phantom in its place, one of your own design. it wavers before you, whispering sinister prophecies of failure, howling like the wind in the abyss of the impossibly high tightrope you tread upon.
When you launch forward Ghost tenses, ready for your attack. He throws out an arm to block your attack, but you merely twist around it, throwing it up and giving you the opening you need. It takes all your strength as you ignore his other hand settling on your shoulder. You shift, balance, and then bring your foot against his leg with vicious force. It's enough to make him stumble, shift his weight and grunt at the impact. His distraction allows you to free yourself, land another hit against his arm and throw it wide.
There.
He reaches for you, but the motion is slow, stunted by his size. You slide around him instead, ducking under his arm and instead kicking again to the back of his knee. It's enough, and Ghost buckles not completely, but the few inches you need to reach forward, wrap your arms around his neck and pull.
You both go teetering back into the dirt, the air whooshing from your lungs upon impact. Ghost doesn't wait for the dust to settle before he's struggling, trying to twist to his side and dislodge you. You don't let him, grunting as you force your forearm under his chin and secure it with your other arm. His hands reach up, but you raise your legs on either side of him. Twisting, you secure them around his front, clenching down with a cracked yell even as he thrashes under you. With one of his arms now trapped, Ghost grunts, tries once more to twist. His boots scuff in the dirt, stirring clouds of beige dust into the crisp air.
It takes all your strength to contain him, and even then you feel your grip slipping. Breath caught in your chest you strain against him, back arching off the ground and grunting low and deep at his form against yours. You know it'll take only a momentary lapse in concentration for Ghost to seize the opportunity and free himself. You don't intend to give him that much.
Gaz and Soap cheer from across the clearing, whooping encouragements as you strain to keep Ghost locked between your arms and legs. Their silence has faded to hollering praise you don't hear as you concentrate, use all the force in your body to maintain your victory. Blood rushes in your ears- a churning tributary of red pulsing under your skin, sharp with adrenaline. Like the river Styx it seems to burn you, scald you to the touch even as you emerge dripping with power and purpose. A god-like strength inherited only for this moment.
A tap, then another on your calf.
He concedes.
It takes you a moment to realize the gesture for what it is, so surprised are you at your own victory. It takes Ghost tapping an insistent third time for you to release him with a gasp, flopping back into the dirt and letting your weakened limbs collapse at your sides. Starved of air, your chest inflates rapidly, head tossed back and staring dazedly up at the blue sky above. The world spins, and at last you realize there’s noise beyond the war drum of your heartbeat in your ears.
"That'a fucking girl Fix!" Soap yells from somewhere beyond you, voice carrying loud and clear. You can hear Gaz clapping beside him- and even without looking you can imagine the wide spread of a smile plastered on his lips.
Ghost sits up from between your legs, but you can't find it in you to follow just yet- exhausted to the core. Your heartbeat throbs in your ears like a wound, your arms and legs shake with exertion. Yet the heaviness there is not of defeat, acrid and disappointing. No, this feels like relief, like triumph.
You did it.
A shadow falls over you, and when you blink it's Ghost's white mask that filters through your thoughts.
"Doesn't count as a win if you can't stand." He tells you, but there's no venom there. Instead, it sounds lighter, and it must be the dizziness because it almost sounds playful.
Still, you accept his hand when he offers it. He pulls you sharply to your feet, and you teeter for a moment before his hand lands on your shoulder, steadying you.
The boys are all grinning at you, pride blooming across their faces. It's enough to make you freeze, stiffen with surprise at the blatant delight they have at your small victory. The warmth of self-consciousness blossoms across your chest, crawling up your nape. You press a hand there nervously, averting your eyes with a small, shy smile.
"If you can take down Ghost, you can take down anyone." Gaz tells you, and his eyes are sparkling mischievously, the corners of his gaze wrinkled with a smile.
"Could take me down any day, Fix." Soap adds, and when he winks you roll your eyes at his suggestion.
"Stay down, Soap." You tell him, but you're unable to contain the smile there, tugging insistently at the corner of your lips.
"Good work, sergeant." Price tells you and when you turn he nods at you, satisfaction written across his expression. It lifts you, warms you and raises you higher on your toes. His pride bleeds into you, makes you straighten and raise your head a touch higher to meet his gaze.
"Thank you sir."
Price nods just once, and looks as if he's going to speak again, except-
"Captain!"
You all turn at the sound, and it's a recruit who's voice catches your attention. He jogs out from behind the shadow of the building, hair mussed and cheeks flushed with exertion. When he stops just short of your group he doubles over, panting and trying to catch his breath. it takes him only a moment- straightening before price can correct him, standing at attention.
"Captain." He greets. "You're needed at the commander's office. Kate Laswell has your briefing ready."
Just like that, the mood shifts. Instantly you're all moving, responding, gathering the supplies scattered around the training area as Price barks orders.
"You heard the man. Get sorted, I want you all ready for briefing in five minutes, understood?"
There's a chorus of "Yes Sir!"s that goes up from all of you, hard and unflinching, ever ready for the tasks set out ahead of you.
"Good. Get moving." Price issues, before he's taking long strides to follow the private, form coiled and stalking with the authority of a commander, a leader.
You yourself move to follow Soap and Gaz, watching as they excitedly push and jostle each other like friends, grins still spread across their faces.
Yet there's a hand on your shoulder, and you pause to turn towards the source, lips parted in surprise. Ghost hovers just behind you, caught in the shadow of the brick building, the angle slanted across his mask.
Yet then there's silence, and you see his eyes flicker behind the mask. It's brief, just a flash, but you see a hesitancy there, a contemplation you know he'll never voice. He squints, and in that instant you wish you could see him the way he seems to see you, gazing into you like looking into a glass prism, seeing the lights that reflects outwards. Yet in him it's only ever shadows, smoke obscuring the things you wish you could observe behind his coal dark stare, graze across with the tips of your fingers.
"You did well." He tells you. Yet he doesn't hold your gaze, his touch vanishing from you in the scarce heartbeat that follows. His boots crunch dirt as he eases past you, broad dark form vanishing in the direction where the others have gone.
You're left alone behind him, watching as he disappears. For a moment you feel it once more, see the four of them vanish before you into a cloud of snow, atop the mountain of impossible expectations you have for yourself. Yet stronger now is the fragile, crystal heart of you, the one where you keep your wildest hopes and secrets, the home of you where his voice lies in tender, sleeping wait.
You follow him.
----
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#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon 'ghost' riley#simon 'ghost' riley x reader#call of duty#mw2#cod mw22#my writing#my fic#reader insert#Series: shadow and bone#fic: shadow and bone
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