#simon riley/you
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bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —
words: 2.9k
rating: e
warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any!
notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.
he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.
"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.
"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.
actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.
he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.
six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.
he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.
curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.
he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.
"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."
and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.
"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"
the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.
he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.
they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.
"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."
something shifts after that.
he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.
he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.
nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.
"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.
"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.
he starts sleeping in your bed.
he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.
he starts taking the balaclava off at night.
a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.
"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.
"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.
his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.
the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.
he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.
"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.
"say please," he rumbles.
"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.
you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.
he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.
but you? he feels feral with need.
"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.
you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.
"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.
he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.
"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.
you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.
the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.
"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."
he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.
"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.
"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.
for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.
"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."
and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.
you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.
"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.
"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.
"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.
you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.
the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.
no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.
but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.
"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.
"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.
he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.
you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.
simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.
he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.
"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.
he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.
time bleeds together.
his contract renews on the twelfth month.
he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.
you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.
he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.
ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.
you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.
his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.
"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."
eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.
he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.
there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.
he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.
he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.
you've never felt more secure. more protected.
until —
he doesn't know how it slipped past him.
he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.
he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.
you look one second too late.
simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.
"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.
you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.
simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.
"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.
"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.
"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.
you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.
"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.
he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.
fuck.
at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.
nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.
while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.
the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.
price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.
you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.
twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.
"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.
a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.
he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.
twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.
you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.
it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.
he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.
you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.
there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.
riley.
#ink by bambi#simon riley/reader#simon riley x reader#ghost/reader#ghost x reader#simon riley/you#simon riley x you#modern warfare imagine#modern warfare fanfic#simon riley imagine#simon riley smut#mondern warfare smut
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For Your Own Good
Another fanfic written at night on my phone because I didn't want to sleep away the idea. Enjoy the products of my insomnia. Remember to comment and reblog, they are so so important!
Contains: D/s dynamics, kink negotiation, safe, sane and consensual, Dom Simon, sub reader, spanking, praise kink, fingering, P in V, fluff, aftercare.
1.6K words
In trying to avoid worrying Simon, you break a rule and he has to deal with it.
"You need anything, Love?"
Simon always texted you before he left work to see if he needed to pick anything up from the store. Your aching, sprained ankle said yes but you knew him, if you told him about it, he make a detour to the big pharmacy in the other direction of your house and return home with half of it. Sure, the first aid kit was stocked, but Simon would insist on picking up better pain meds and fresh wrap.
"No, honey, I'm good."
You reasoned your reply wasn't a lie, you'd be fine with some rest and ice, and it wasn't that bad, but part of you was worried that you should have said something.
When the door swung open, the ice pack was still on your elevated leg, and he took one look at you and sighed. "What happened?"
He was already at your side, kneeling by you so he could lift the ice pack up to look at the bruising. "Misstep into a hole in the grass, I didn't see it."
He was gentle as he assessed the damage, pressing and moving and touching until he had made up his mind. "Does it hurt?"
If you had said yes, he would have worried, so you lied, and your no was met with a less than gentle squeeze. "Bullshit."
He marched into the laundry and returned with the first aid kit in a huff. "You wanna tell me why you didn't ask me to stop by the store and get you stuff to fix this?"
That tone wasn't good, it was time for damage control. "It's nothing a little ice and time won't help. I didn't want to inconvenience you."
The look he gave you told you the battle was lost. "We have been over this four times y/n, it's my job to look after you." A finger pointed at your necklace drove it home. "That means none of your needs are an inconvenience."
He took a deep breath and placed the ice back over your ankle. "I'm going to get some better supplies and pick up some better meds so you're not tossing and turning all night when that really starts to hurt. After that, well, talk about how we're going to handle this problem of yours once you're all fixed up."
He pressed his lips to your forehead and held your face in his hands. "I'll be back soon, alright? If it really starts to hurt, you better call me."
You nodded. "I will. I love you."
He smiled softly and grabbed your hand for a moment. "I love you too."
*****
He was back home within the hour and back at your side the second he was in the door. "How is it?"
"It's…" You weren't going to get away with telling him it was fine and you would only make it worse for yourself if you did. "It's hurting a bit."
He was gentle as the first fall of rain in spring as he wiped the damp away from the melting ice pack and wrapped your ankle, his focus so tight that you were sure nothing would pull him away. When he was done, he held his hand out for you to stand up, watching carefully for a sign that you were hiding that it still hurt. "Better?"
You nodded. "Much, thank you."
He picked up the TV remote and took you into his arms as you sat down to watch the afternoon news, and you leaned into his embrace as he started to speak. "You know I'm going to have to punish you for what happened."
You sighed. "I know. I broke rule."
He pressed his lips to your temple as his thumb moved back and forth on your thigh. "That you did, love. I'm not mad, I don't think I could ever get angry at you, I just don't know how to get you to understand that looking after you isn't a bother to me."
You took a deep breath. "I know, but I'm not the only stubborn one in that regard, Simon."
He exhaled sharply. "Don't push your luck, love, that's why we have the rule that we have to speak up when something's wrong so the other person can help. Once your ankle is healed, we'll talk about your punishment, and I don't want this to happen again."
You nodded. "It won't."
****
The wait was two weeks, one for your ankle to heal and the other for Simon to feel like he wasn't going to hurt it again. It was a formal affair; he had cooked dinner and insisted you ate plenty, then treated you to a nice dessert. Then came the negotiation, sitting opposite each other at the table as you went over what was about to happen, Simon trying to reassure you that you could always say no and he'd think of something different.
Once you were both happy, he led you to the bedroom with a hand on your lower back before sitting on the end of the bed with his leg splayed. He watched as you undressed, removing each piece of clothing and placing them down neatly folded so you could redress once the night was over, leaving you in nothing by the necklace of one of his dog tags that signified your collar.
He lifted his hands from where they were rested on his thigh so you could lay, bent over in his lap, and one of his hands ran up and down your back while the other made its way to your backside. "Are you ready, love?"
He didn't want you to count, this was far more about dealing with a rule being broken than anything else. "Yes, I am."
The hand on your ass pressed a little firmer before his gruff voice filled the room. "Ok then." Each hit was the same: heavy, even pressure, he handed two solid smacks, then moved to the next cheek. You knew he was halfway done when he paused to rub your skin. When the hit started again, he bent slightly, reaching down to grab your hand and lift it onto the bed so he could hold it as his other hand reached its full intensity.
It was over when the first tear fell, betrayed by a heaving breath and a stutter. His hand had stilled, resting on your skin to calm the blood rushing to your flesh before moving to the other cheek and doing the same. You could feel his erection pressing into your leg and his hand slowly sliding from your backside to your core, letting you know the rest of the night was ready to start.
"I'm so proud of you, love, you took that so well." He chuckled when he found you slick, his chest rumbling with affection as his fingers slid through your slit. "My good girl, I think you deserve a thank you for how well you did."
Your legs twitched as he made contact with your clit, and you sighed as he started to work in small, focused circles. "Thank you."
He smiled and slid two of his thick fingers inside you as his thumb replaced his fingertips on your clit. "You don't need to thank me, love, I'm enjoying myself." You believed him, considering that each time you shifted on his lap and brushed his cock his breath hitched.
He focused on your G-spot, his calloused fingers drawing pleasure from your body with practised ease. It didn't take long for you to reach the edge, and your request for permission was cut off by Simon with his steady pace and deep voice. "You don't need to ask, lovely, just let go for me."
He worked you through it, waiting until you were trying to shift away from him before removing his fingers. You heard sucking sounds and twitched your head to see him with his fingers in his mouth. He shot you a charming smile and moaned. "Like candy."
He brought you up onto his lap, being mindful of your heated skin. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, and he moaned into your mouth as you reached down to palm his cock through his sweatpants. You stroked him a few times before shoving his pants down just far enough to pull him out and nipped his lower lips as you held him so you could slide down steadily until you were fully seated and his jaw was clenching with restraint.
You started to rock in unison, and there was an unordered jumble of limbs to get him as naked as you. He pulled you into his chest, and you relaxed in his arms as he took over the pace and poured sweet nothings into your ear as he angled his hips to brush your G-spot with each stroke. One of his massive hands left your back to run your clit, and his teeth touched your neck as he once again worked you towards orgasm.
"Come on, Lovely, on last one for me." He swallowed your moans as you came and then followed behind you with a feral grunt and his teeth in your shoulder. He let you catch your breath, one hand rubbing up and down your back while the other stroked your cheek and once he was satisfied, the world shifted as he moved you both so you were lying on your sides.
He pulled you into his arms and spoke softly against your forehead. "You did so well for me." You muttered, and he chucked warmly. "You rest, I'll clean you up in a little bit. You need anything from me?"
You shook your head. "No. I love you."
He pulled you in closer, half revelling in holding you half because the cold was starting to seep in. "I love you too y/n."
Fin
@chaos-4baby @candy616
#simon riley/you#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod mw2#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon riley/reader#call of duty#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#call of duty smut
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Alone
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female!Reader
Summary: Graves turns on you and your troop. Soap gets shot outside the compound and Ghost orders you to go with him, talking the two of you through the Shadow infested city to his designated rendezvous.
Readers callsign is “Dust.”
Essentially a walkthrough of the mission "Alone" from MW2, except now reader is there.
My Ghost blog @adustyghost
Can also be found on AO3 under azs_azz.
Warnings: Blood, gore, war, smut, swearing, injury.
Word Count: 15,654 😳
Notes: If you only want to read the smut skip to the third break.
ALONE
LAS ALMAS, MEXICO
03 NOV 2022 000
_____
You’re about to nod off in the backseat of the blacked out car you’re riding in with your team.
Heavy rain rolls down the window you’re resting your head against, and your eyes droop shut as they follow a drop sliding down the glass and out of sight. The soothing patter of the water hitting the roof of the vehicle is a lullaby and the gentle rocking of the car as Ghost drives only relaxes you further. The presence of your team – Colonel Vargas, Sergeant Soap, and Lieutenant Ghost – is a comforting presence, much like the gun cradled in your grasp.
That is, until the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop.
You jolt upright in confusion, blinking a few times to gather your bearings. There’s men in all black tactical gear gesturing for you and the two cars in front of yours to halt. Shadows, you recognize immediately. You share a glance with Soap, who’s sat next to you in the back seat. Your brows are furrowed and you don’t understand why you’re stopping, what’s going on. He shrugs slightly, looks just as tired and stumped as you are, following Vargas’ lead as he pushes himself out of the passenger door.
You meet Ghosts' dark eyes through the rearview mirror for a moment that feels much longer than it actually is. His stare is blank but you know him better than that, had seen that look directed at you more times than you could count. It's one that reads be careful and stay alert.
“What’s this?” Vargas questions before you’ve even had a chance to slam the car door shut behind you. He gestures to the Shadows around, flanking you and your team from all sides as he advances on Commander Graves, who slides easily out of the vehicle in front of yours.
“This is the immediate future. Step away from the gate,” Graves replies as you pause behind Ghost, peeking around his shoulder to watch. You note the soldier that shuffles behind you and your stomach twists in a knot. You already have a bad feeling about whatever is about to transpire. You clutch the weapon tighter to your chest, noticing as Ghost assesses the same man from the corner of his eye as well, stepping slightly to the side so you can squeeze in front of him for a better view.
He’d rather have you where he can see you, anyway.
“What?” Soap asks what you’re all thinking, his heavy lilt ringing roughly through the night.
“You heard me,” Graves responds dismissively, not even sparing the sergeant a look.
Vargas’ retort comes quickly, fuelled with fire as he gestures to the buildings around, “You’re crazy, this is my base!”
“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility and I admire it–” the commander takes it all in, admiring the view of Vargas’ compound. You don’t like his tone one bit, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention as he continues, “So, I’m taking it.”
His words slice through the sound of falling rain like one of Ghosts throwing knives.
“You’ve all been relieved. Thank you for your service.”
“No, no, no. I don’t take orders from you,” Colonel Vargas states gruffly. Factually.
“Didn’t Valeria say that?” Graves bites back, and the twang of his accent makes you itch. You shift on your feet, finger twitching towards the trigger of your gun. The Colonel tosses a look over his shoulder to Soap that says, ‘Can you fucking believe this guy?’ before turning back to Graves with a dark chuckle. “Now that makes me wonder what else I don’t know about your affiliation with a drug-lord.”
You watch as Vargas steps forward, a determined look on his face. Soap is quick to react, striding with him and grabbing the Colonel’s shoulder in warning. You yield a pace closer before realizing that it must look like a threat.
“What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo…”
“You’re out of line, Graves.”
“Don’t do that,” The commander waves a finger at the both of them like he’s scolding petulant children. “Don’t do that. No one needs to get hurt here.”
It sounds like a clear warning if you’ve ever heard one.
Apparently Ghost is thinking the same.
“Are you threatening us?” The low rumble of his vocals sends shivers up your spine.
His presence behind you is both looming and reassuring, always looking out for you. You wish you could step back into his warmth, his towering figure would surely shield you from the rain. You could picture it now, just as you had so many times before things became real between the two of you, knowing just how comfortable he is, the perfect place to sleep.
“Soldier, I don’t make threats,” Graves is quick to reply to the massive man looking down at him over your shoulder. The commander’s gaze drifts back to the two members of your team before him, chests puffed out and looking for a fight. “I make guarantees. So let’s not do this.”
“I’m calling Shepherd.” Soap twists on his heel, putting space between him and the man he very well wishes he could slam his fists into right now.
“General Shepherd sends his regards,” Graves calls after him, voice filled with mirth. “He told me y’all wouldn’t take this well.”
Ghost responds for Soap, rain trickling down the front of his mask. It doesn’t affect his eye black in the slightest. “He knows about this?”
“He’s put me in command of this operation from here on out, so y’all need to stand down. It’s time to let the pros finish this,” Graves explains in that irksome accent of his.
You share a look with Soap, then Ghost as he speaks. You can read them like the back of your hand with the amount of time you’ve all spent together, and it’s clear that none of you trust where this is leading.
You inhale, hold, and exhale slowly, preparing yourself for whatever’s about to come.
“And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation? It’s not. I’ve got my orders and now you have yours.” None of your teammates like the way that he’s pointing his finger at the Colonel.
“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón?” Vargas spits, chestnut eyes blazing as he continues yelling, “My men are inside!”
“I’m afraid not. Your men have been…” Graves trails off, licking his teeth as he thinks of the best word to describe what he’s done to the rest of his team, “Detained.”
Colonel Vargas lunges for the commander but the man expects it, side-stepping him with ease, shoving him into the vehicle at his side. One of the soldiers standing poised behind him is quick to jump into the action, catching Vargas’ hands in his own and zip tying them together tightly while he’s still off balance.
“Graves, what the fuck?!” Soap shouts, moving forward only to be met with the commander and remaining shadow raising their weapons at him.
Sergeant MacTavish backtracks swiftly, grabbing the pongo directly behind him with ease. It catches the Shadow by surprise; he's manhandled by the Scot into a human shield. You raise your own weapon as one of the officers behind Graves fires a few shots at your comrade.
Ghost doesn’t hesitate, elbowing the guard behind him. He reaches for the knife strapped to his thigh with ease, shoving the blade into the exposed neck of another, all the way down to the hilt.
How such a large man moves with the stealth of a predator you haven’t any idea, but now certainly isn’t the time to wonder as Ghost pivots on his heel, throwing the knife with skilled precision at the man he’d just shoved off of his feet with his elbow. The blade finds home in the enemy’s chest and you finish him off with a bullet to the head.
You crouch low, sliding behind the vehicle you’d gotten out of for more space and better cover.
“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You hear Vargas struggling to escape his captors, trying his damndest to choke out the officer with his tied wrists.
Peering around the back of the van you watch with wide eyes as Graves slams the butt of his gun into the side of Vargas’ skull. The colonel falls limp at his feet but the traitor wastes no time, pivoting on his heel to shoot just as Soap opens fire.
His bullet hits its mark and you hear Soaps shout of pain as he falls backwards, the officer dead weight on top of him.
“Soap,” you call, jumping out from your spot, taking a rogue shot at Graves. You miss, as he’s already ducking between the two cars, looking for Ghost.
Like his namesake, he appears out of nowhere, falling to his hands and knees to avoid being seen by the enemy. The thought of the six foot four man on his knees would be arousing if you were in a different situation, but here and now, in danger like this, it’s worrisome. The bright tail lights of the car flush his mask crimson, just like the blood you’re trying to stop from seeping out of Soap's wounded shoulder.
“Go you two, get out of there!” The lieutenant orders, dark eyes filled with what you think is concern. You open your mouth to respond, the urge to tell him to come with you is breaking, but you don’t get the chance because he’s shouting again, “Go!”
A bullet whizzes straight past your head and you duck as Soap shoves the body off of him in a burst of adrenaline, following through on his orders. There’s more Shadows spilling out of the buildings into the active war zone, the rapid fire of rounds being shot stings your ears as the sergeant grabs you by the shoulders of your vest, hauling you over the barricade on the side of the road and down the muddied hill.
“Get them, now,” you hear Graves yell after you, and through your tumble you see two shadows step into the light from the compound, guns raised and aimed directly at you.
You land on top of Soap with a grunt as you slide down the slick hill together, his hands wrapped firmly around your waist as you shoot somewhat sporadically. Your fall is anything but smooth, but at least you’re not the one on the bottom. One of your shots lands, the Shadow dropping quickly.
You miss the soldier next to him, heart thundering in your chest as he fires back at you.
“Fuck,” you roll off of Soap once you’ve come to a slippery stop at the bottom of the hill, still trying to gun down the officer at the top. It’s too dark to see him, the moon is nowhere in sight with all of the cloud coverage from the rain and you wonder for a fleeting moment if he’ll follow.
Soap takes a shot in the dark, climbing to his feet and pulling you up by your vest again. You lose your footing immediately, the mud thick and slimy under your boots, coating your drenched clothes. The sergeant grunts as he straightens you, then shoves you forward into the looming trees beyond.
You take no chances, holding your pistol tightly in your hands, raised and at the ready as Soap follows hot on your tail, weaving in and out the trees. You hear Graves’ voice getting quieter as you move, presumably looking for Ghost, whom you know can take care of himself but still it leaves a sick feeling in your stomach to know he’s out there alone now with soldiers looking to kill him.
“Find ‘em!” Commander Graves’ shout is startling, even though you know you and Soap are moving getting further away. With the thick rain your tracks will be covered well, and you hear the tires of the vans screeching as the Shadows pull away in search of you and the rest of your team.
You shove a low hanging branch out of your way.
You sure as hell won’t make it easy for them.
_____
You and Soap have been trekking through the forest for who knows how long, switching between jogging and walking when his breathing starts to labor, gritting his teeth against the pain flaring in his shoulder.
He’d kept quiet for the most part, answering your questions with grunts or groans through his clenched jaw, and shooting you a sharp glare when you kept checking on him over your shoulder.
“‘M fine,” he tried to reassure you, and you might’ve believed him if it weren’t for the red blood soaking his gray shirt.
He hadn’t allowed you to pause even for a moment to help with his injury. Stubborn Scot. The Shadows could be anywhere and there isn’t any time, the two of you need to get as far away as possible, as fast as you can.
Finding Ghost along the way wouldn’t be too bad of an idea either.
Something stings in your chest when you think of him. Your Lieutenant, who you’ve been secretly having relations with, telling you so easily to leave him. He was that stubborn? Thought he was better off on his own, did he?
The screams of women and children have your heart clenching tightly in your chest as you and Sopa hide against the side of a dirty building to catch your breath. You’d made it to the city without much trouble, but Graves and his army of Shadows had beaten you here, littering the streets like wild beasts, waiting for you to come out and play. You can hear the calls of them as they work, orders to scout every building in sight, forcing themselves into homes and stores, killing anything and everything that gets in their way.
You try to catch a glimpse of Soap's wounded shoulder while his eyes are squeezed shut, head resting against the dirty brick of the building behind you. You’re on the wrong side of him, the bullet had struck his right shoulder. If you lean out too far you’d most likely be spotted by a Shadow.
The rain’s still dropping down in sheets, washing away the dark blood, a constant trickle from his injury. You aren’t sure how much blood he might've lost by now, but by the way he wobbles on his feet even with the support of the wall behind him, he needs care immediately.
Opening your mouth to speak, your breath catches in your throat just as Soap raises a finger to his own pale lips, silently telling you to keep quiet. A gunshot echoes through the streets and the cries of a nearby civilian cease completely.
You follow his lead, flicking on your radio. You jolt as the loud voices of Shadows filter through the static in your ear, stating their whereabouts and where they’re requesting reinforcements.
Switching to your team's channel, Soap’s strained voice echoes in your receiver as he speaks, “This is Bravo 7–1, in the blind. How copy?”
Utter dread coils in your stomach when you receive no response and you continue for him, a tinge of desperation in your voice.
“Ghost, this is 7–1, do you copy?”
Radio silence.
“Fuck…Where are you Ghost?” Soap grunts, squeezing his eyes shut as another flash of pain shoots up his aching arm. Fucker got him good, that’s for sure.
His head lolls towards you. You watch him swallow harshly against the agony of his injury, nodding to you once, signaling that he’s ready to move.
The sergeant pushes up from the wall, stumbling slightly before he catches himself against the bricks, shoving your help off lightly. His steps falter as he moves from the cover of the building out into the street, and his head is spinning, doesn’t know which way is up or down, left or right. You curse as he collapses in the middle of the bloody street.
“Fucking hell, Soap,” you groan, shoving your arms below his armpits to heave him up to his feet, or at the very least drag him to back cover. He’s fallen into a pool of maroon and you spot the two bodies propped up against the wall nearby. The persistent drizzle has washed their blood into the open road, and you can’t tell which was from the man in your arms or if it was already there.
He’s heavy, and you curse Ghost again for sending the two of you off, knowing that Soap is injured. He’d have no problem lifting him, could probably toss him over his shoulder and get the three of you out of this very predicament with ease, with how skilled he is.
Finally, your missing comrades' voice rumbles through the radios and you breathe a slight sigh of relief at the familiar voice, “Soap, Dust–This is Ghost. How copy?”
You don’t respond right away, still helping MacTavish get his bearings as his eyes flutter open, slurring a confused ‘what?’
Ghost calls through again, “Johnny? Dust?”
You ignore the slight burn in your chest when he mentions Soap’s real name but not yours. He knows it too. Had used it on multiple occasions, only ever when you were being intimate with one another, a gruff whisper against your skin, when he’d been moaning beneath you or when his cock was deep down your throat and he was praising you for a job well done.
Your cheeks burn as you release Soap, ready to catch him should his legs give out. He’s looking a bit like Bambi but he’s standing upright and that’s a start.
“Johnny. How copy?” Ghost calls for a third time, and your comrade finally has his footing right. You clutch the handle of your pistol tightly.
“Solid,” you reply for him, watching intently as he takes a few deep breaths, blinking hard to straighten the spinning streets.
“Thought we lost you.”
It’s as monotonous as ever, Ghost. Not even a slight difference to his tone to note if he’s even relieved to hear the both of you are okay.
You and Soap share a glance at the sounds of Shadows approaching, immediately moving down the street on high alert. The bastards could be anywhere, you knew, keeping a sharp eye on the streets while praying that the sergeant next to you doesn’t collapse again.
“You injured?”
“I’m not a medic,” Soap pants, voice a bit shaky as he let you take the lead in directions. You stalk down the street as quickly as you think he can go, eyes flicking up and down and around the corners with trained precision, weapons at the ready.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
You halt in your tracks at the sound of Graves’ voice creeping down your spine. Soap nearly runs into you, a teardrop rolling down into the crease between his eyebrows as you listen intently, the commander spouting orders to his troops.
“Where are you?” Soap’s voice goes hard as he catches sight of a group of Shadows just down the street. You’ll have to go a different way, and he nudges you to get moving again.
“There’s a church,” Ghost says, and you wrack your brain for the building he’s speaking of, “I’m heading to it. Let’s RV there.”
You scramble backwards as an enemy van turns up the street, its blaring headlights nearly blinding you. Following Soap, you quickly retreat, turning down the next nearest alley.
“You’ll need to improvise to survive,” Ghost continues, and there’s a part of you that thinks he might actually like all of this, being hunted down by compromised soldiers, and in the rain no less. You just wished he liked you as much as you like him, you think bitterly.
No, you’re not letting it go just yet.
“Line him up next to his amigos,” you hear Graves’ annoying voice above the pattering rain.
“Graves and Shadow are on a killing spree,” you grit, ducking around another building. You catch sight of a group of Shadows, threatening someone over something that’s stifled by a rumble of thunder.
But the gunshot that follows is clear as day.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Soap whispers, and you nod as he motions you to follow. You have to bite your tongue to refrain from screaming out to him how stupid he’s being right now, as he creeps behind the yellow taxi sitting in the middle of the road, Shadows looming about as he works his way towards the open doors of the building across the street.
Apparently Soap knows the way to the church.
You curse him in your head instead, making sure that none of the Shadows are paying any attention as you follow silently.
Your clothes stick to your skin, heavy and sodden with rain. You’re freezing too, fingers stiff in your gloves where they’re glued on your weapon, arms nearly shaking from the chill.
You wonder how Soap is holding up with all of this and the wound in his shoulder.
You refrain from asking, trailing him into the building.
“No joy,” Soap grunts into the comms as he grabs the handle to head inside. It doesn’t budge. You share a glance before breaking off, immediately searching for another way out. “Door’s locked.”
He tails you throughout the garage, scanning over the abandoned room with precision. Pots upon pots of plants sit against the wall, some sporting cherry red flowers that you might’ve once thought would look nice in a bouquet should you ever get married.
That dream had burnt out quickly.
You find another door as you round the lone car. A sleek, white, expensive looking thing that you wished had a full tank of gas and the keys in the ignition, raring to go. Too bad your life was never quite that simple.
“Look for supplies, things you can make tools with. Welcome to guerrilla warfare…” Ghost trails off and you can’t help the soft snort that escapes your throat at his words.
Comforting.
“Creepin’ Jesus,” Soap breathes as you push through the door. The sight you're met with makes you grimace and avert your eyes. The walls are splattered with an array of bullet holes and blood, the man on the floor tied up and unmoving.
“Poor bastard,” you comment, making sure the room is clear as Soap steals the binding from the body.
“Found a rope.”
“That’s a start. Keep looking,” your lieutenant encourages.
The two of you don’t find much and you cringe as Soap rips off a fan blade from a rusty floor unit. The squeals of the metal grating against each other as he pulls are loud and you hiss at him to quiet down.
He reports his findings to your teammate somewhere across the city who responds easily, “Tie off the blade with the rope and pry open a door.”
You’re thankful Ghost is at least on the comms, like he hadn’t abandoned the both of you completely. His extensive knowledge of the irregular helps tremendously in situations like these, but this isn’t a teaching moment, it’s survival. His voice is as reassuring as it is commanding, each sentence an unspoken order not to let your guard down and not to get hurt.
“Sounds like you’ve done this before,” you muse, watching as Soap does exactly as Ghost instructed.
“Years of practice,” he purrs back, and you wonder if he’s smirking beneath his mask.
Soap wraps the bottom of the fanblade with ease, grunting as he shoves it between the door, pulling at the wound in his shoulder.
You’re about to offer a helping hand when the wood splits and the door swings open.
“Busted the fan blade,” he curses, tossing it to the ground. It’s a hallway, bathed in the soft light emitting from the lone lamp on the entryway table. You spot a pair of well used sneakers lying beneath the surface, keeping your curious eyes away from the abandoned mug and framed photos.
“Get you through the door?” Ghost asks, and you let it wash away the intruding thought creeping to the forefront of your mind as you accompany Soap deeper into the house.
“Affirmative.”
“Good. Stay on the hunt…There’ll be more where that came from.”
Right. Stay focused, stay on task, and you’ll make it back to Ghost.
It’s hard to ignore the screams of women and children, the menacing shouts and threats coming from the mouths of those who are searching to kill, the sharp gunshots ripping through the stormy streets.
You thought you’d get used to it when you were a rookie, all of the noise, but after years in the service you know that you never will.
Soap finds a shard of metal in the bathroom and you nod encouragingly when he shows it to you.
The pair of you creep through the house as quietly as possible. Your rain filled boots squelch against the floors, causing you to cringe. When you push through another doorway that leads you to the kitchen, the voices become louder.
The front door has been busted in, and the dim light from the streetlamps shines through the gaping hole. You pull Soap into a crouch behind the table, shuffling your way to the edge to try and catch sight of what's happening in the streets right outside of the home.
It’s Graves and his soldiers again. They’re goddamned everywhere. There’s a man bound and kneeling in the wet street in front of them as the commander speaks.
“Cops helpin’ cartels. Let’s show ‘em how we handle corruption, yeah?”
The man on the ground protests, threatens the Shadows because he knows he’s going to die either way. He promises that El Sin Nombre will kill them for this but Graves only replies in that way of his, taunting the man before he kicks him to the ground in amusement. The Shadow by his side immediately hauls him back to his knees.
Graves pulls out a flare, strikes it and you quint against the bright red for a moment, eyes adjusting right as the Shadow tosses it into the building across the street.
The structure erupts in flames.
The man in the street screams, cursing Graves out, who commands his soldier to take the hostile where the rest of them are being held. You exchange a look with Soap, noting that piece of information much like you have.
Neither of you understand it and your comrade points towards the lit staircase, a sign telling you to start moving.
You hear Graves call out while you ascend the carpeted stairs.
“Alright, these narcos are warlords…and the people here will do anything to help them. So no pussying around, okay? If they’re harboring Hassan, I want him killed and flushed out! And keep your head on a swivel for these Brits…Take ‘em dead or alive…you know my preference.”
You swallow harshly at his words though he’d made it clear he wanted you and the rest of your troop dead back at the compound.
“Creepin bloody Jesus,” Soap whispers to you as you reach the landing.
Another dead body.
Soap finds a headlamp in the laundry room and you catch sight of a roll of duct tape, passing it over to him as he clicks his radio back on to speak.
“Found a headlamp. Not too far from its…” his gaze flashes towards the body leant up against an overturned piece of furniture, “Previous owner.”
“Good,” Ghost praises through the comms. You block out the rest of his sentence, zoning in on that one word, wishing he was kissing that comment into your skin right about now instead of halfway across town. Alone.
Hopefully soon enough.
“Careful with it,” your lieutenant warns, and the warm feeling drains from your chest. “Can light your way but attract attention.”
Soap only grunts in agreement as the two of you search the rest of the floor, taking anything that could be turned into a weapon.
“What’s the latest?”
“Mercs are killing everything in their path,” you answer, finding another roll of tape in a tiny blue cabinet. You stuff it into your vest.
“War crimes,” Ghost replies.
“Makes me want to commit a few war crimes of my own,” Soap comments, tossing you a wry grin that looks more like a grimace. His shirt is stained red with blood and you hope that he’ll make it to the rendezvous before collapsing again, knowing that he’ll refuse your help should you try and offer again.
“Tyranny. It won’t stand.”
“Think we’ll get the green light to go after these guys?” the sergeant asks, a bloodthirsty lilt to his thick accent.
“No more green lights, Johnny, Dust. We’re on our own.”
Soaps hand stills on the doorknob leading to the next room, looking down at you. His gray eyes are filled with questions, a glimmer of betrayal lines his iris’.
“What about Alejandro?”
“Alejandro you can trust. But he’s in Graves’ custody. If he’s even alive…”
You break the stare first, shuddering at the thought. You reach for the spare fan blade and rope when the door doesn’t budge. You make quick work of it, knowing that Soap deserves a break from using his injured arm. You need to get him to the church quickly and quietly.
The door swings open on creaky hinges and the two of you spill inside, scanning the room for Shadows.
You can’t see a thing, and you leave the searching to Soap, who has his headlight on. He points at the things he thinks can be used for weaponry and you scoop them up for later.
“After this shitshow, Alejandro won’t trust us,” you murmur into your mic after mulling it over for a moment.
Hopefully you can trust Ghost.
“We’ll see. Just make sure you can trust yourself. Start there.”
“Good advice, Lt.,” Soap says as you pry open another cabinet. Nothing. “I wanna be like you when I grow up.”
You roll your eyes, continuing the search.
“You want to be better than me, Johnny,” Ghost tells the both of you and it chips away at your heart a little.
You all had your hardships, but coming from the man who never takes off the mask seemed to mean something more. You couldn’t help but wonder what was beneath it, as he’d hadn’t taken it off for you, no matter how badly you wanted him to.
“Got my work cut out then,” Soap grunts, taking the lead.
“That you do.”
A loud crash nearly gives you a heart attack. You jump, flinching away from the noise but end up stumbling into Soap’s injured arm.
“Hell’s fucking bells,” he hisses and you apologize profusely, the head lamp swiveling towards the sound.
There’s a dog in a cage, snarling and growling as it stares you down.
Movement from downstairs draws your attention. A Shadow says, “What’s going on up there?”
And another. “I’m going to go check it out.”
You and Soap hide quickly, tucking down behind the bed. He flips off the head lamp, submerging the two of you in total darkness.
Through the void you hear, “It’s just the dog from the bedroom.”
“I don’t see anything. I’ll stick around just in case,” another responds.
Just your luck.
You can feel Soap shifting next to you and follow, fingers brushing against his pant leg as he crawls towards the open door.
Glancing over your shoulder you see a flashlight sweeping through the room you were just in and your heart pounds even louder in your chest at the sight of how close the Shadow is to finding the both of you.
You pray that he can’t hear the beating drum in your chest.
You make it without being followed and Soap is immediately on the radio again, updating Ghost of your whereabouts.
“Did you see the caged dog?”
“Big geezer,” the lieutenant is quick to respond. You huff a laugh at the detail, then comparing him to the animal. He’d be like your very own guard dog, should your relationship go any deeper than only the sex you’ve been having. The amusement turns to ash in your mouth as he continues. “If he barks, shoot him and repo quickly. Don’t get compromised.”
“You are stone cold, Simon,” you say, voice flat in a way that he knows you’re unamused by the situation at hand.
“What has two legs and bleeds?” he ignores you in favor of posing a joke.
You’d heard Soap and him plenty of times on the comms before, telling each other lousy jokes to distract from the heaviness of your duty. It didn’t help much, all of their jokes are utterly horrible.
“Don’t tell us,” Soap answers, leading you out to a small balcony.
Peering over the edge, you make sure that the street is clear before assessing the fall. It’s not a terribly high jump down to the street below, but you both know that this is the only way to get out of the house undetected.
“Half a dog,” Riley replies as you swing a leg over the side of the railing. It does nothing to help you prepare for the fall.
“I asked you not to tell us,” Soap grunts, shimmying down as far as he can before letting go and slipping to the cobblestone streets below.
You wince at his landing but proceed to follow once he’s shuffled out of the way, covering you. You can hear him struggling to take air into his lungs.
The rails are slick with rain and the ground comes quicker than expected. You land on your feet, hard, shins stinging with pain.
Soap is panting like the dog upstairs as you work your way down the street. You grumble to yourself as he leads you to yet another set of stairs. Is he ready for another fall like that already?
Half of you is convinced he doesn’t even know which way the church is after all.
“Give me a sit rep,” Ghost asks, wanting the whereabouts of your location.
“Outside. Gated alley,” you note.
“Church is on the north side of the city,” he explains.
You snag the candle you pass, tucking it away safely for future use as you follow Soap through the slick streets, still trickling with rain.
“I’ve set up a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there and you just might make it.”
How reassuring.
There’s Shadows yelling in the street again and it’s growing louder with every step you take. You’re getting closer, and you slow to a crawling pace, listening intently.
There’s more soldiers than the two of you can handle, shouting at another cop. It isn’t hard to figure out who the gunshots you hear are made for.
“Graves is rounding up cops,” Soap says to you and Ghost on the radio.
“He’s judge, jury, and executioner now,” comes the lieutenant's gruff response.
You follow Soap through the open streets, a hunting ground for the Shadows. For now, it seems like you were exactly that, keeping silent and to the darkened corners of the buildings, headed in the direction of the church.
“A bottle,” the sergeant whispers to you, handing it over when you catch sight of the Shadow nearby.
“Good for a distraction,” you reply with a smirk.
The soldier is on his own comms, speaking with his troop. You throw the bottle as far as you can and it shatters in the distance, drawing the Shadow’s attention further away from where you and Soap are crouched behind a bench.
To your luck the soldier follows, leaving the two of you to sneak into a nearby store.
There’s a few more items that can be used as makeshift weapons inside; more wax and a single mousetrap.
“There’s got to be a way to use this,” Soap says as he holds it up, examining the trap that's dwarfed in his large hand. You shrug in response.
“Surprisingly useful as a trigger,” Ghost offers the idea as you make to leave through the backdoor.
It seems to click in Soap’s mind while you keep your eyes peeled on the streets around.
“To set something off.”
“Exactly, Johnny. Not an airstrike, but it’ll do.”
The next building provides even more gifts for the two of you. Even more wax, and upon entering a room off of the front entry you find chemicals, reporting it to Ghost.
“Tie them up with some wax and you’ve got a smoke bomb,” he sounds proud almost. “A toxic distraction.”
“Sick,” Soap responds, doing as instructed, “I like it.”
“Guarantee you they won’t,” you mutter, following him up the street.
There’s three Shadows arguing about the Irish and kilts as you creep closer. The ignorant sons of bitches don’t even see the smoke bomb coming as it slams on the ground before them. It sprays with effectiveness, the soldiers choking on the fumes as you and Soap slither by undetected.
“Enemies here,” one of them shouts into their comm, but you and your comrade are already moving on.
Another fucking balcony.
Goddamnit Soap, you curse, sliding over the railing first this time. The streets are flooded with water, breaking your fall, and you check your surroundings as Soap follows, grunting softly as he lands behind you.
“It’s pishin’ it doon out here,” he comments, rain sleeting down his face. His mohawk is flat now, dark hair plastered to the sides of his shaved head. You’d make fun of him if you weren’t fearing for your life right now.
“Speak English,” Ghost's voice comes through the static, always one to be entertained.
“It’s raining fucking hard!”
“Then say so.”
“I did,” Soap grumbles as he trails your six.
The streets are slick as you climb uphill and you nearly lose your footing a few times as you make your way to what seems to be another house with a pretty painted green door. It’s something you could imagine yourself doing to your home, if you had one, a vibrantly colored front entry. Could be welcoming.
“Rain’s good, it’ll cover your tracks.”
“Covers theirs too,” you tack on, ever the realist. It’s an effort to unclench your jaw to speak, and your teeth chitter together loudly from the cold that’s settled deep into your bones.
“Let’s worry about you two, Dust.”
“So you do like us?” Soap tries to joke, tossing you a crooked smile.
“I like you alive,” Ghost says as you push the painted door open slowly.
You back off of the steps immediately when you catch sight of the rope tied low at the door, bumping Soap off of the porch.
“Oh shit,” he exclaims when he peers around you and sees the tripwire.
He beckons you to follow as he rounds the side of the house, then to the back. He looks up and down the street and then to you before you both squint through the window. With a small nod you let him know you’ve got his back and he smashes the window open with the butt of his gun, climbing inside for the weapon sitting on its own stand, rigged up to shoot at anyone who enters.
“Moving inside,” he confirms into the radio.
Ghosts’ response is immediate, “Check. Take what you need to keep them off of you.”
You place your hands on the windowsill and push yourself up. Your arms nearly fail, leaden with exhaustion, betrayal, and the heavy weight of your rain-soaked gear. Soap offers you a helping hand and you feel bad for a moment because he’s injured and you’re supposed to be looking out for him, not the other way around.
“Sweet,” he admires the weapon for a moment before he disarms the trap.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“Now we’re in business. Ghost,” Soap calls through the comms.
“Soap.”
“Found a tripwire rigged to a shotgun. Disarmed it. Took the gun.”
Maybe it’s for his own peace of mind, walking himself through everything he does with Ghost. He’s injured and the two of you are alone in a Shadow infested city, trying your damnedest to keep quiet as you make your way to the rendezvous.
Maybe he feels as hurt about the situation as you do, you think, but it’s Soap, so you doubt it.
You look about the room, scanning the shelves for anything useful, nearly a second nature by now.
“Ghost,” something shiny catches your eye and you pick it up. It’s a blade, “You missing a knife?”
“Several.”
“I think I found one,” you inspect the weapon, shoving it into your pocket as you quickly follow Soap who’s already halfway up the staircase.
“Some of the dead Shadows are my handiwork.”
“You came through here?” Soap asks, gray eyes meeting yours for a second before he continues clearing each room.
“On my way to the church,” Ghost explains, voice like gravel across the radio.
“And you left us?” You grit, picking up the chemicals Soap points at with the barrel of the gun.
“I’m used to working alone.”
Your mouth turns sour at his words. Of course the infamous Ghost works alone, doesn’t care that his injured team is left surrounded by Shadows. Was that why he pushed you to go with Soap back at the compound? Were you that much of a liability to him?
Soap places a hand on your shoulder and your head snaps up to look at him. His eyes are soft like he knows exactly what you’re thinking and he shakes his head softly, telling you not to worry about it right now.
“So much for no man left behind,” he says in your defense.
“Just get yourselves to the church. Trying to keep you two alive and get you here in one piece. One of us needs to survive to tell the tale.”
And that’s that.
You shove the intruding thoughts from your mind, focusing on searching through the disheveled rooms. Your fingers itch to switch off your radio but you can’t. Instead, you find some metal that could be useful and you play with it for something to do.
“Taken a shine to us then?” Soap pushes into another room.
“Not in the slightest,” Ghost replies drily, then, “Still got a lot of ground to cover. Open hearts and minds with it, Johnny.”
Open hearts my ass. You snort at the sentiment.
The lieutenant continues, “Johnny, Dust…Graves is burning the midnight oil trying to find us. Why?”
“Graves is following orders,” Soap says as he tosses over some binding he’s found before plucking another mousetrap up from the cabinet he’s digging around in. You all know it’s not that simple.
“No matter what, this is an unprecedented amount of fuckery,” you comment. The venom dripping from your voice is obvious. “We need to get to the bottom of it.”
“Accurate and deadly fire tends to resolve these things. Right now we’re not safe here.”
“Right now we’re not safe anywhere, Lt.,” Soap’s response nearly runs right over the end of Ghosts. You’re quick to reach for your lieutenant's abandoned blade when you catch sight of two uniformed men-shaped silhouettes on the wall. You grab Soap by the arm, pointing to the sight. He raises his weapon, ready to shoot as he rounds the corner.
It’s only a game. Light shines from a fallen lamp, washing over the figures of the kids wrestling toy, elongating their shadows on the wall to make it look like real men.
You sigh a breath of relief as Soap huffs a laugh.
It’s cut off abruptly as you hear Shadows outside again, loud and obnoxious.
“Son of a goddamn devil,” you groan quietly, following Soap as he retreats back through the house.
Something crashes against the door just as he reaches to open it and you flinch at the loud sound.
You and Soap share a glance and you shake your head no, you’ll have to find another way. But there isn’t one, you realize. The Shadows are littering the streets outside and if they find you…well, you know exactly how Graves would prefer you be delivered to him.
Soap takes a steadying breath before he pulls open the door.
There’s an injured man on the other side who falls through, directly into your path. He’s gasping for air, blood all over his body, reaching out to you for help. You and Soap stare, frozen in place in the hall as he starts dragging himself closer to you before falling limp at your feet.
Soap steps over him carefully when he doesn’t move again. You don’t hesitate to follow, though you do take a single look back over your shoulder to make sure he’s dead.
You could pass it off as trying to see what weapons the man has on him, but it’s clear that there are none and you follow your partner into the mudroom.
There’s stacks of hard–shelled cases but upon further investigation you find that they’re locked. When you mention it to Soap he passes you the gun, reaching for the fan blade and rope that’s seemed to prove the both of you well so far.
He pries the lock off and you cringe as the metal falls to the ground with a loud clang. You stand facing away from him, weapon up and pointed at the door, prepared should you need to use it.
“Seek and you shall find,” he compliments himself and you peer over his shoulder to see what he’s talking about. Explosives. Nice. Soap pockets them up with glee, a shit–eating grin on his face and a wink your way. You’ll definitely be using those later.
“Whatchya got?” Ghost asks, curious himself.
“Black powder,” you praise the man next to you, ducking through the door into an abandoned restaurant.
“Nice. This could get interesting,” he says, and you wonder if he’s sad he’s missing out on all of this fun.
“We’re in the coffee shop,” Soap notes, looking around.
“Get us a tea,” Ghost says and you do snort in laughter this time.
“Fucking Brits,” Soap curses. Instead of taking the stairs this time he opts for jumping down through the broken railing to the floor below.
You roll your eyes but follow suit anyway.
When you look up you see Soap rushing to turn his head lamp off. There’s a group of Shadows directly outside the door. You can see the light from their guns shining through the slats of the cage pulled down between you.
“They’ve got no one, they won’t get far,” a male voice replies after the other orders a soldier to check out the warehouse.
“They’re 141…still dangerous,” you hear one of the Shadows say, and you smile softly.
“Picked up some tea,” Soap says to Ghost, spotting a box of the drink abandoned on the counter.
He stuffs it in his gear and your smile widens.
“Very useful.”
“If I have to wrap a gift?” Soap asks him and you know he’s not actually talking about a gift.
“So to speak, hold on to it,” Ghost orders. “Dust, Johnny, town’s full of tunnels. One leads out across from the church. Be advised, the tunnel is flooded. Prepare for a cold swim.”
Fuck, you grind your teeth together, as if I’m not already frozen enough.
“Can’t wait,” Soap responds thoughtlessly, gathering a few more things he deems useful on your way out the door, muttering, “I can work with that.”
Light shines through the window and you duck immediately, hiding behind the wall. You’re on one side of the busted window with your gun raised while Soap sits on the other, staring at you with wide eyes. He digs around for the other bottle he’d strapped in the side pocket of his vest and scans the room, searching for other signs of exit.
There’s an opening at the far edge of the room but you can’t get there without walking past the window the Shadow is standing right in front of. Soap tosses the glass bottle that way instead and you hear it shatter on the street.
It draws the attention of the Shadow immediately, the two of you slinking out the backdoor into the rainy streets once more.
You stick close to the spots of the road that aren’t bathed in light, quickly maneuvering your way across the cobblestones, an open hunting ground for you and your team.
You snag a few glass bottles you find on a table you pass. They’re as good of distractions as you’re going to get and they’ve proven useful thus far, so you hand one to Soap and tuck the other away.
Rounding the corner, he’s quick to grab you, hauling you behind a dumpster. He nods up the alley and a light immediately shines your way as a dog starts howling up the road.
You can see the heavy rise and fall of Soap's chest as his mind reels for solutions, thinking the both of you are completely done for. You pass him the gun as the soldier nears, remembering that you have one of Ghosts knives.
When the enemy moves into your line of vision you pounce, shoving up from your spot with the force of a bull, lodging the blade into the soft flesh of his throat. He gurgles as he falls to the ground, blood filling his airway before going limp.
You take his gun, nodding to Soap to keep moving.
You make it to the bar with no run-ins. The streets grow darker as the two of you maneuver throughout the city to your destination, the lights burnt or shot out all around.
“Lt., we’re at the bar,” Soap says over the radio.
“Do you like tequila?”
“Could use one right about now,” you mutter, collecting a roll of duct tape left on the table. There seems to be quite a few throughout your search, used to detain the cops and civilians no doubt.
You shudder at the thought.
Ghost’s response is breathy. He sounds thirsty. “I’d murder for a whiskey.”
“You mean Scotch?” Soap responds, voice muffled from inside of the cleaning closet, but audible over the static in your ear.
“I drink bourbon.”
“Like a good ol’ boy,” You know Soap’s grin is wolfish.
“I love Kentucky,” Ghost admits. You know he does, remembering very clearly all of the times he’s kissed across your skin, mask halfway pulled up his face to reveal his perfect pink lips, the taste of heady alcohol on his tongue.
“You’re out of your mind, Lt.” you tack on, wondering if he’s reminiscing along with you.
“That’s for sure.”
His warm growl goes straight to your core.
You and Soap keep on moving through the city as stealthily as you can. There’s Shadows everywhere, it’s like they’re multiplying and you nearly get caught more than once. You use the bottles you’d picked up as distractions and when you’re out Soap makes another smoke bomb, tossing it towards the enemy while the both of you sprint past, aiming towards the rushing water of the flooded tunnels Ghost had told you about.
You don’t waste a single second, flinging yourself over the rail as a shot rings out and plunging into the freezing waters below. It’s a shock to your system, but Soap is grabbing you and you help, kicking your way through the dirty, icy water.
You try not to choke on the liquid that’s trying to force its way into your lungs, and it’s difficult to keep your breathing quiet once you break the surface, slapping a hand over your nose and mouth to stifle the sound of you gasping.
“Ghost, we found the tunnel,” Soap alerts your superior. He notices a Shadow down the way, stood on top of a half–drowned car, looking like he’s fishing for something. “Ghost. We’ve got Shadows wearing body armor.”
“You’ll have to get in close and find the gaps,” Ghost instructs like it’s the easiest thing ever.
This is just another walk in the park for him, isn’t it?
“Stay here, I’ll take him down,” Soap turns to you, whispering as the Shadow jumps into the water. “No matter what, don't shoot. And make it to the church if you can, Dust.”
He doesn’t leave you time to protest, submerging himself in the murky water as he swims away from you and towards the enemy. You press back into the wall as the red laser from the Shadow’s gun sweeps the tunnels.
He doesn’t even see Soap coming. There’s a grunt that echoes through the cavern and a splash of a body being thrown away, his voice comes ringing down to you, “Dust, let’s go.”
You wade through the water behind him. It weighs heavy on your gear and the current makes it difficult to keep your footing but somehow you manage.
Someone must’ve heard the struggle because you hear a soldier point you out. You and Soap duck under the water as a shot is fired, swimming as fast as you can towards the Shadow.
Your eyes sting as the dirty water flushes over them but you force yourself to keep moving, following the bright red light leading you directly to the enemy.
Using the knife still clutched in your hand you creep up on him, sticking it into his leg. The man yelps and you knock him off balance, he goes splashing into the water with you. One more quick jab to the man’s throat and he goes limp in your grasp.
When you come up for air you see Soap release the body of an enemy he’d drowned himself.
“Let’s keep moving,” you tell him, taking the lead.
Soap keeps his gun loaded and ready while you take down another enemy with your amazing knife skills.
It’s a miracle when you spot the staircase, wading through the water faster with your partner hot on your heels. You swing your gun around from where it’s nestled at your back, making sure it’s ready for its inevitable use.
It takes more effort than you’re willing to admit as you climb the stairs, but you release a sigh of relief when you spot the glowing lights of the church not far off in the distance.
It’s about fucking time.
You wonder if Ghost can see the both of you or if he’s telepathic because his voice cuts through the comms, “Can you see the church?”
“Aye,” Soap responds, climbing up on top of an abandoned car. You pray it doesn’t have an alarm.
He swings a leg over the fence nearby, looking back at you. “You comin’ or what, Dust?”
Grumbling, you clamber behind him, letting him help you over the wrought iron fence and into the alley. You feel slightly bad when he tries to bite back the grunt of pain he so desperately wants to let out as his muscles pull at his wound, but it’s slightly numb from the icy waters and he’s thankful for now. Won’t be when it’s time to disinfect it.
“Think we found a way through, Lt.”
“Shadows are everywhere,” Ghost’s response is gruff, a clear warning for you both to stay focused and pay attention. “I’ll hold them off until we RV in front of the church and secure a vehicle for exfil.”
You send a silent thank you as Soap picks something else up.
“I found some oil.” The smiles you share are wicked.
“Oil, bottle, and some rope for a wick. Time for a cocktail,” Ghost praises.
“Roger that,” you confirm.
“Give them hell, you two. We’re almost there.”
Soap wastes no time prying open the locked door keeping you from the street you need to be on and the building you’re currently in. It’s a struggle for a moment, but when it gives way there’s a Shadow on the other side, ready to strike.
You curse as he shoves the butt of his gun into Soap’s head. It’s all happening too quick for you to react. Your comrade stumbles under the harsh impact, tripping backwards and taking you down with him.
You struggle to get your gun out from where it’s pinned between the two of you but you can’t. Your heart races as the Shadow jumps on the comms to request backup.
“Kill em,” you hear Graves’ shouting over the radio. His order echoes through the streets, he must be close.
The Shadow stares down at the both of you, Soap desperately trying to get his bearings while you still struggle for your gun. You abandon it, reaching around the man on top or your for his own, when a single shot brings the enemy before you to the ground.
You shoot him with Soap’s gun when he tries to sit up and you’re quick to notice two more Shadows sprinting your way.
Before you even get the chance they’re shot dead in the street.
Ghost.
“Holy hell, Ghost, was that you?” Soap asks, shoving himself to his feet with a quick apology and a hand held out to you. You nod in response, hunching down as a bullet embeds into the wall nearby.
They know you’re here now, no need to be quiet about it.
You raise your gun, aiming for a Shadow up the street.
“Who else? Now go,” Ghost orders.
“Gimme a bloody break,” Soap groans, shooting down another enemy soldier. You hide behind a car as you reload quickly.
“Ghost, how copy?”
“Johnny, Dust, got company in the church,” you hear struggling over the comm as you follow Soap back out into the street, covering him, “And they’re not here for forgiveness. Get to the steps. I’ll be there.”
“Copy Lt.,” you pant, racing up the wet streets and weaving through buildings, keeping a watchful eye out for Shadows.
You’re so close, can see the empty road leading up to the church, but you also hear the Shadows speaking to each other, calling out over their radios about you and the rest of your companions. You follow Soap stealthily up the pathway. Once you’ve rounded the fountain, you both make a break for the church.
The gate’s locked.
You look around nervously. Standing at the top of the stairs puts you in an open position. If the Shadows have any snipers of their own you’re good as dead.
Ghost better hurry.
Soap takes a shot, a Shadow falling away as you spot him emerging from the building in a flat out run.
“Ghost,” Soap calls and you turn just in time to see your superior launching himself up and over the gate with the skill of a trained gymnast.
You knew he was quite dexterous but damn, if that didn’t make your insides tingle.
“We need a vehicle, on me!” Ghost orders, racing down the steps. You and Soap flank his sides, following obediently.
“Stay sharp, they know we’re here and they know it’s us. They’ll send more.”
“Contact! Dead ahead,” Soap calls, letting loose a shot up the street.
“I see ‘em. Watch the alley!”
You immediately turn towards the alley, fully trusting that your two comrades will cover you.
You shoot the Shadow down with ease but two more seem to take his place.
“Dust, Johnny, stay close,” Ghost commands, ducking out from behind the car the three of you are taking cover behind. “Heads up for a vehicle we can take.”
It’s a warz one. Shots soar past your head from all angles and it’s hard to keep up when there’s so many Shadows around and only three of you. Even with your training, Soap is still injured and Ghost moves like a man who doesn’t have two of his sergeants tailing him.
“Soap, Dust,” Ghost calls from up the street, “Pickup truck ahead. Lights on.”
“See it,” you confirm, making your way towards the vehicle.
“I’ll drive, get in.”
Soap rips open the passenger door, the second he makes it to the vehicle. You’re right behind him, sliding into the middle of the bench with ease. It’s tight, Ghost pressed up next to you while Soap squeezes himself inside on your right.
“Alright you two, you made it,” your lieutenant praises.
Soap leans forward, a half–smile lifting his pink lips.
“We made it, Lt.”
Gunshots bust the back window open. Ghost’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, shoving you down in front of him so you don’t get hit as he and Soap turn in their seats.
Soap shoots as Ghost throws the van into reverse. You have your own gun at the ready now, his touch still burns at the nape of your neck as he tosses an arm over the back of the seat, hitting the gas.
“Hold fast,” he calls, as the car jolts backwards.
The two shadows barely have time to react, their bodies rolling beneath the tires with a sick crunch.
“That’s one way of doing it,” Soap comments, and the two men stare at each other over the top of your head before Ghost shoves the car into drive.
“Get back,” you shout, raising your gun, pulling the trigger as soon as Ghost has leaned back enough for you to get a clear shot at the enemy outside his window.
“Thanks,” Ghost says, dark eyes glittering in the night, drinking you in.
“Drive, we’ll cover us,” Soap grits, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as fires off another round.
_____
You must’ve fallen asleep sometime after you’d exited the city, the dark, open road ahead of you and nothing but the steady breathing of the men you were sandwiched between lulling you into a dreamless sleep.
Ghost strokes your cheek lightly from where your head is resting on his shoulder, but it’s Soap who wakes you, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him.
He glares at Soap through the only window that hadn’t been shot out but the sergeant is already stepping away from the vehicle, gun raised as he checks the surroundings of the place Ghost had brought you.
And he loves the way you look up at him, all doe eyed and docile, blinking the exhaustion away.
Until your gaze hardens when you realize that you’re still upset with him.
You tear your eyes away from his, cheeks going hot as you realize you’d fallen asleep. Ghost watches as you slide across the worn leather seat Soap had just abandoned to the passenger side and slip out into the night.
He sighs gruffly, shutting the van off.
It’s going to be a long night.
Soap smirks at him when he exits, pushing off from where was leaning against the hood of the vehicle. Ghost tries to catch your eye but you’re kicking at the rocks beneath your boots, hands tucked comfortably around your weapon.
“Where are we?” Soap asks, walking alongside his comrade towards the barn in front of you.
“Alejandro’s safehouse. He gave me the location just in case.”
You share a look with the sergeant that Ghost doesn’t miss. A silent question asking if you knew about this. The slight shake of your head and the firm set of your lips tells him that you didn’t.
You let Johnny take this one as you trail behind them tiredly. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“It was need to know.”
“What if I needed to know?”
“Shh.”
The steps leading up to the barn are trapped, Ghost finds out.
“Pressure plate,” Soap admires the handiwork of the Colonel and Ghost confirms with a nod.
“Alejandro rigged it.”
“Smart bastard.”
You look around for another way of entry, gaze locking on an open window nearby.
“There,” you point, not waiting for them as you make your way over.
They give you a boost and you’re quick with your weapon, dropping to the floor and scanning the room for signs of life.
A red light appears in the middle of your chest and your heart goes still.
“Don’t move,” Ghost is next to climb through, throwing a knife with aimed precision. It sticks in the decaying post as the person makes a hasty retreat. Soap enters quickly, pulling himself inside, gun raised with the intent to kill.
“Who’s there?” A familiar voice calls.
“Rodolfo?” Soap questions, lowering his weapon and you follow suit.
“Soap? Dust? Ghost? You’re alive,” you see the man’s head peek around from his hiding spot, surprise written clearly on his face.
“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, plucking his knife from the wall.
“Good to see you, amigos.”
“Same, friend.”
“Nice throw,” Rodolfo compliments, “Where were you guys?”
“On the run,” Ghost speaks for all of you. The moonlight filters in through the open window, making him look even more menacing as he towers over the rest of you, his skull mask dirty and dull, would be absolutely terrifying if you didn’t know him.
“We were on the run,” Soap gestures to the both of you, “Ghost waited for us.”
“Of course, no?” Rodolfo asks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
If only he knew how easily Ghost had pushed the both of you away.
“No,” Soap says, right as Ghost speaks.
“Yes,” He gives Johnny a hard stare before swiveling his head towards you. You don’t want to look at him but you do, noticing the sudden intense emotion in his dark eyes that not even the mask can hide. “We’re a team. All of us.”
It actually sounds like he means it.
“This happened on my watch and I’ll need help to fix it. No one fights alone.”
You shake your head, the opposite way Soap is. Now he wants to work as a team? When he’d so easily ordered you to run when he could’ve come with? Where was this mentality earlier?
Rodollfo says that there’s an apartment in the basement and he’ll take the first watch.
Soap offers to help but you’re reprimanding him sternly, telling him that he needs someone to look at the wound in his shoulder and that he needs to rest.
The lighting reminds you of a hospital basement, white and dim, flickering in time with the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance.
The first aid kit you find is stocked. Not surprising since it’s a safe house, after all.
You dig through it while Soap rids himself of his gear, vest sliding to the ground with a heavy thud, his soaked t-shirt following it with a slap. He groans at the feeling, tucking his hands under his arms to try and warm back into them as you set up your supplies.
“It’s freezing buckets down here,” he mutters, hissing when you poke your tweezers into his wound without warning, “Fuckin’ hell.”
You don’t respond right away, trying to focus on the task at hand. Your hands shake slightly, fingers completely numb as you dig around for bullet fragments.
“How long are you going to be mad at Lt.?” he grits when your tools brush against the inflamed muscle.
You don’t even sparer him a glance, tweezers catching on metal. You pinch down and grit your teeth as you tug it out, feeling sorry for the sergeant when he swallows a whimper. He’s a trooper, you’ll give him that, bulging arms frozen tightly across his chest, staying as still as he can while you work.
It doesn’t stop his mouth from moving, unfortunately.
“I’m not mad at him,” you reply eventually, showing him the fragment you’d pulled from the wound. You nod your head at the piece, impressed, while Soap grimaces.
It clunks loudly into the metal tin, the sound reverberating in the tiny room. You can hear the heavy thumps above as Ghost walks around, presumably talking through plans to save Vargas while you play medic.
“Duuuust,” he drags the syllable as he tuts knowingly.
You sigh, glancing up at him once more before returning to the task at hand. You don’t want to do this now, don’t want to speak to anyone really. All you want to do is get out of your sopping wet clothes and warm up under a blanket, if you can find one.
But Soap continues on, grunting, and you let him because it’s probably distracting him from the pain of you digging around his injury. There’s only one piece left and then you’ll leave him to disinfect and regroup.
“He’s just trying to protect us youngins,” it’s a joke but doesn’t sound like one when he hisses in pain.
You roll your eyes, biting back, “If I needed protecting I wouldn’t have signed up for the military.”
“Fair point,” he responds gruffly, “I think he’s got a soft spot for ya or something, you know?”
Your nose prickles at the sentiment, but you’re quick to clench your jaw, gritting your teeth as the final fragment sticks to the muscle a bit, “No. I don’t.”
“Oh, come off it Dust–”
“If I had to choose I’d say that he likes you a lot more than me, Soap.”
You’re annoyed now, just want to curl up and let the exhaustion of the day pull you under. Your tweezers snag on the final shard and you tug it out with maybe a little too much force, if the growl the sergeant lets out is any clue.
You toss the tool and metal into the container you’d been collecting them in. It clangs loudly, nearly tumbling over the edge of the sink.
“There,” you nearly spit out, turning on the water and scrubbing his blood from your hands. The water is ice cold and it makes the muscles in your jaw ache.
“Dust,” he tries, but you’re already spinning on your heel.
“Disinfect it and wrap it so it doesn’t get infected. You’re welcome.”
You trudge out of the bathroom with purpose and Soap lets you. Stalking down the small hall you find a single room with a bed, but the real prize is the dresser across from it. You breathe a sigh of relief, finding the first drawer full of thick socks.
Your current garb sticks to your skin uncomfortably, thighs chafing together from your wet pants and the cool air does nothing to keep you from shivering.
The new clothes are most likely Vargas’, which means they’re too big for you, but it doesn’t even matter because they’re free of blood and fucking dry.
You peel out of your shopping wet clothes, teeth chattering in the cool air as you slide an abandoned t-shirt over your head. Ghost won’t like seeing you in another man's clothes, especially one that he knows well, but you couldn’t give a fuck less.
Doubling up on socks, you slide into soft joggers and a clean t-shirt that smells like mothballs. There’s even a sweatshirt, to your luck, and you pull it over your head with ease. The sleeves reach over your hands so you roll up the sleeves as you bundle your wet clothes to take them to the bathroom, setting them out to dry.
Soaps abandoned the bathroom by the time you’ve returned, thankfully. You quickly relieve yourself and wish that the water you’re using to wash your hands was anything but arctic.
You’ve just pulled down the sleeves of the cozy sweatshirt, trying your best to give some warmth to your frozen digits when there’s a soft knock at the door. You're surprised to see Ghost on the other side of it, didn’t think you’d be seeing much of him at all if there was a plan to be made to save your brothers in arms.
He watches the muscle in your jaw tick as he stares down at you. You look cleaner than you did when the both of you had arrived, his heart stuttering in his chest when he saw you covered in all that blood.
A quick assessment shows that you’re not injured, at least where he can see.
Ghost opens his mouth to say something but you’re shoving your way past him before he can get a word out. The lieutenant you knew before you’d had the pleasure of tasting him would’ve just asked if you were done in there, but this man…well, you didn’t care about what he had to say.
He catches you around the arm as you take the first step up towards the barn again, spinning you around and pinning you flush against the wall with his own massive body.
You struggle against him, shoving at him as you grit, “Get the fuck off of me! You’re soaking wet!”
He blinks. So the only reason you didn’t want him pressed up against you is because he’s wet from the rain. He can work with that.
Ghost steps away enough for you to slip out from your spot, but he keeps his arm out, keeping you from moving further up the staircase.
You cross your arms over your chest and he doesn’t miss the way that you move your hands up and down your biceps, trying to get your blood moving.
“Are you going to move?” you ask, glaring up at him. Even with the extra added height of the first step he still towers over you.
Some of his eye black has washed away in the rain, making him look even more of a human, and you realize in that moment that you don’t know anything about him. You know his name, had been warned against using it, you know what his lips feel like against yours, how they feel dragging down your naked body but you don’t even know what he looks like.
“Rodolfo is taking first watch and Johnny’s keeping him company for a bit.”
More like he ordered the sergeant to stay away.
His words warm your blood a little.
You nod once with finality, spinning on your heel and making for the single bedroom, your body screaming at you to collapse onto the comfortable looking bed.
Ghost is a silent entity behind you, stopping you from shutting the door with his boot.
You glare up at him, “What are you doing?”
“You’re shivering.”
And yeah, your arms are still shaking and you can’t feel your toes, your fingers are numb from where they’re struggling to shut the door, lips painted a purple tinge, but you’ll be damned if you let him in so easily.
“Been through worse,” you grit. Like you not wanting all of us to stick together on the mission, goes unsaid, hanging in the air between you.
His nearly black eyes flicker as he picks up on what you’re not saying, and he speaks again, gravelly voice softer this time, “I know.”
You know he’s giving you a choice. He’ll leave you alone if you want him to, turn right back around with no questions asked and whatever it is between the two of you will be strained until you crack, the stubborn asshole, or you can save yourself the time and solve it now so that at least you might get a warm body pressed up against yours for the night.
It does sound awfully nice.
“Go get cleaned up,” you relent. Ghost waits a few seconds, searching your eyes to see if this is something that you really want.
He seems to finally find his answer when your gaze doesn’t leave his, slowly turning away from you to make his way back up the hall.
Sighing, you leave the door open a crack, crawling up onto the bed with a sigh. You barely have the energy to tuck yourself into the covers but the softness of the blanket is so inviting you force yourself, eyes slipping shut to rest while you wait for Ghost to return.
You’re halfway to slipping into full on sleep by the time he arrives, cracking your eyes open to catch sight of him lifting the covers to slide in next to you.
He’s clad only in his briefs and a shirt that looks like it’s nearly two sizes too small, leaving little to the imagination as it stretches across his muscular chest.
The balaclava is ever present.
“Where are your pants?” you question, propping yourself up on an elbow. If you stay lying down there’s no way you won’t fall asleep and the two of you need to talk.
“None of ‘em fit,” he responds gruffly and you can’t help but to laugh.
For a fleeting moment you picture him in the throes of battle in nothing but his briefs, his powerful thighs choking out an enemy soldier.
You swallow harshly before stating dumbly, “But you put a shirt on.”
“I wasn’t sure how you wanted me.”
His admission lies thick in the air, heavy between the two of you, laden with nerves.
You’re the first to move and he reacts as quickly as a cat, opening his arms up and pulling you into his body as you start to shuffle over. You hum, relishing in the warmth of his body as he holds you close.
“I want you with me,” you admit softly, playing with the hem of his shirt. You can feel his muscles contorting as your frozen fingers brush the sensitive skin above his waistband, but he doesn’t complain.
“I know,” he murmurs against your forehead.
You’re both silent for a moment, breathing each other in. He smells like metal and gunpowder, not even the rain can wash it away.
“Why?” you croak, forcing the tightness in your throat to subside. Maybe you can pass your hurt off for exhaustion instead.
If Ghost picks up on it he says nothing about it.
“Johnny needed help.”
He exhales and it sounds shaky as he brushes the hair from your face and presses his clothed forehead against yours, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Johnny needed help and I knew I could keep their attention away from the two of you. I knew that if you could both get away, somewhere safe, that everything I’m doing would’ve been worth it. Even if it meant–”
Your hand snakes down, twinning your fingers tightly through his.
Even if it meant that he wouldn’t survive.
This wasn’t about him working better alone at all, it was about saving his comrades, his friends. Ghost had been willing to give up his life in exchange for yours and Soaps.
“Well I need you alive, Simon,” you breathe harshly, and his eyes pop open at the forcefulness of your tone. His name, you’d used his name. Not just a plea for him to let you orgasm or a sigh of it afterwards, you were actually using his name to scold him.
You let out a soft, wet laugh, “I’m pretty sure Soap needs you too.”
He grunts, amused, “That bastard’s had enough of me.”
“I haven’t.”
Your words send warmth shooting through his body. He couldn’t look away from you if he tried, utterly entrapped by the way your voice lowers, the slight smirk on your perfectly pink lips as your fingers dips underneath his shirt, dragging it upwards.
You can feel him growing hard against you and your core aches, crying out for him. You rub your nose against his before pressing your lips against his.
It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing the mask, a fresh one, not dampened with rain or blood or dirt. Surprisingly you can smell the faintest tinge of his laundry detergent and it’s endearing in the best way, makes you weak, cunt clenching as your body reacts, rubbing up against him.
One of Ghost's hands skims down your sides beneath your shirt, thumbing roughly across your pert nipple and he swallows the noise you make. He rolls, pinning you beneath his muscular body, grinding down into like a man who’s just returned home to his wife.
“Mf, Ghost,” you sigh, shoving his shirt up under his armpits, a sign telling him that you want it off.
You can feel the curve of his lips through his mask.
You wonder if it’s a struggle to get off as it is on but Ghosts pressing up to his knees, dark eyes glimmering with feral lust and amusement in the lowlights of the room, before he grabs the shirt at the collar and splits it down the middle.
If you weren’t wet before you sure as fuck are now.
It looks like he’s tearing a paper with how easily the fabric breaks, the cotton falling away from his chest much like your legs are opening for him to settle between, glorious rippling muscles on full display.
His dog tags shine where they rest in the center of his chest, catching your eye for a second before you let yourself drink in his bulging muscles.
Ghost doesn’t waste any time, helping you sit up to remove your own shirt before he’s dipping down for another kiss, pressing you back down into the bed.
The metal of his dog tags are like ice against your hot skin and you whimper in pleasure at the feeling, praying that his name will be indented into your skin from how tightly the two of you are molded together.
He drags his masked face down your body and you feel like a Goddess being worshiped by her loyal acolyte. The wetness of his mouth through the fabric leaves a trail down your skin, the cold air licking it in the best way.
He teases your breasts, massaging one with his hand and the other with his mouth, rolling your nipple between his teeth and brushing his tongue over it.
The feeling of the ribbed fabric over your sensitive skin has you burying your fingers into the fabric of his mask and arching up off of the bed.
Your touch scalds him in the best way and he can’t help but to buck down against you with a groan.
He continues down your body, positioning himself between your legs, looking up at you with lust fuelled eyes.
You can feel his heavy pants against your cunt, even through the layers of fabric still separating the both of you. You keen at the warmth of his breath, utterly aching for him to do something.
“Ghost,” you cry when you’ve had enough, writhing in the sheets, “Please.”
He noses at your folds, watching with hungrily as your back bends off of the bed in pleasure, hips bucking against his mouth on instinct. His large warm hands pin your hips down as he buries his masked face into your cunt, savoring the moan he earns in reward.
Ghost considers for a moment never washing his fucking mask ever again. Your wetness seeps through his balaclava and he grunts in appreciation. You smell fucking incredible, taste even better and he loves the way your sensitive body squirms against the fabric, keening and whimpering for more.
“If you’re going to keep the mask on,” you breathe when he pauses to slide your panties down your legs. Finally. The cold air is starling but he’s back on you just as fast, feeling the flick of his tongue through the thin veil between his mouth and your bare sex. “At least let me ride your face.”
“As much as I’d love that, sweetheart, I don’t quite fancy being waterboarded by your tight little cunt.” Your protest is cut off by a finger dipping into you, dissolving into a sigh of pleasure.
It slides in easily, cunt soaked with your arousal as he works his finger in, out, then immediately slipping back in with two, reveling in the sounds you make as he moves. He watches intently, cock strained against the fabric of his underpants as you write, grinding down on his thick fingers.
Ghost takes extra care of you, pumping in while he finally starts touching you with the other, rubbing tight circles to your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm, that hot feeling coiling in your gut.
You moan when his fingers brush over that sensitive spot inside of you and you clench your legs together instinctively but he’s already there, keeping them spread with his own meaty thighs and quickening his movements.
“Simon,” you cry, hands fisting the sheets as he works you towards your pleasure, “Please. Please.”
“Please what?” he grunts, can’t look away from your perfect cunt, taking his fingers so greedily. “C’mon Dusty girl, gotta use your words.”
You press your head back into the pillow, mouth slack in ecstasy. The sight makes his cock twitch, makes him want to shove it right between your perfectly ‘o’ shaped lips, feel the tightness of your throat wrapped around him.
“Please don’t stop,” you cry out, letting yourself fall into utter bliss.
He doesn’t stop, working you through your orgasm until you’re relaxing into the bed and twitching from the sensitivity, eyes shut and chest heaving.
Your eyes shoot open when you hear the slurp of him sucking your taste off of him but he’s already pulling the mask back down over his chin.
You ache with disappointment.
The only time Ghost gives you to get your bearings straight is when he stands, towering over you like a true predator. His eye black is smeared half-heartedly away from where he’d been rubbing at his tired eyes, clearing them from the exhaustion and rain.
You can’t help but wonder if he’s smirking under that mask, if he’s licking his lips as he carefully watches your reaction while he slides out of his underwear, staring you down just as hungrily, like if he takes those dark, brooding eyes off of you you’ll somehow disappear.
You’re frozen beneath his gaze, eyes sliding down his muscular body as he drops the undergarment to the ground and his cock springs up, thick and hard and perfect in every way. You swallow at the sight of it. You’d seen his cock so many times before but you always seemed to be shocked at the sheer size of it.
Your heart races in your chest as he climbs back up onto the bed, sitting back on his heels as he stares down at you. He gives his cock a rough tug, smearing the bead of precum at the head with a calloused thumb, a question glimmering in those deep, darkened eyes.
“Yes,” you breathe, and Ghost doesn’t waste a single moment longer. His hands drag down your thighs, massaging the soft skin before he hooks his fingers and drags you closer to him.
Your yelp dissolves into something utterly primal as he presses the tip of his head right to your wet heat. He groans at the slight resistance he feels and you can’t help but gasp when he finally pushes through, the head of his cock swallowed by your greedy cunt.
It seems never ending, the drag of his cock as he pushes in, in, in. The air presses from your lungs with each inch he moves forward, so full but somehow he’s still going.
“You okay?” He’s trying to mask the strain in his voice like he does when he’s been injured and doesn’t want anyone to know. The feeling of you wrapped tightly around him is next level, and the fact that you’re in a hideaway house in the middle of a mission ebbs from his mind when your muscles tighten around his cock.
“Better than,” you reply, wrapping your legs around his taut waist when he’s fully inside you.
You share groans, his rough tone mixing with your higher pitch in the most delicious way and Ghost can’t help himself, he needs to taste the moans he’s pulling from you so he pulls up his mask just above his mouth and kisses you.
The hot and heavy kiss has you ripping open your eyes, blinking past the lust to admire the man on top of you as he begins to move, kissing down the creamy skin on the column of your throat, careful not to leave any marks.
It’s maddening, not being able to see his whole face, but in the best way. You ache to peel him out of the last piece of clothing between you, the final barrier before this could truly mean something more than just sex.
“Don’t leave me again,” you mewl, fingers clawing down his back for purchase. You can feel the delicious flex of his muscles as he moves, snapping his hips against yours with fervor. You don’t care how desperate you sound when his cock feels this fucking good inside of you.
He sweeps his tongue over yours, a solid weight in your mouth, “Never.”
His hands skim down your body, everywhere he can; the soft skin at your thighs, right where his hips are meeting yours, across your stomach and up to your breast, grabbing a handful before he latches onto your other one, tongue skillfully swirling around your pebbled nipple.
Ghost is thrumming with arousal and the rapid beating of your heart and your loud moans only adds to it, enjoying how the noises you make wash over him like the rain, reveling in the fact of how fantastic he’s making you feel.
His grips on your hips are bruising. You can feel every single one of his fingers biting into your skin and you know that you will be mottled with purplish yellow spots in the morning.
“C’mon, Simon,” you sigh, blissed out on the way that his cock is splitting you in two.
He picks up his pace, shifting and you yelp as he jackknives into you at a better angle. His breath is hot against your lips as you share panting breaths, a tease of your lips against his until your fingers fist into the back of his mask and you pull him down, meet him halfway.
“Patience, Dust,” he growls lowly and it goes straight to your cunt. Ghost groans as you tighten around him and you’re surprised at how well he’s holding himself together because you are a puddle beneath him.
He presses a finger to your lips and you suck on it greedily, looking up at him through lowered lashes to see him watching intently, doesn’t even blink as you work, his lips bitten red and gleaming in the light from the lamp.
He’s utterly delicious.
His wet finger trails down your neck, chest, where he circles around your nipple. The cool air of the room bites at your wet skin and it makes you shiver, trying to pull him closer to feel his warmth.
You gasp as his wet finger trails further south, a tease against your clit. You arch up into him, clawing at his shoulders, leaving crescents in its wake.
“Please,” you whine again, doing your best to grind against his cock as he ruts his hips into yours harshly. Your eyes roll back into your head as his calloused finger presses harder into the swollen bud.
The louder you are the faster he moves, hips snapping against yours as he plays with your clit.
You admire the way his broad chest heaves for breath, muscles rippling and shining with sweat. All you want to do is lean up and lap at his skin, feel those pectorals and abs across your tongue as you taste him.
Your thighs quake at the merciless pace Ghost’s setting and you’re seeing stars, so full and drunk on his cock, the fiery feeling burning in your gut as he helps you towards a second orgasm.
He lowers himself onto his elbows when you reach out, his hand trapped between the two of you still flicking against your clit with purpose. You grasp onto any part of him, moaning beautifully against his mouth. He gives you all that he can, his fingers, his cock, his mouth, something intimate and vulnerable from the soldier.
The kiss is sloppy, all tongue and teeth and barely any lips because you both need to breathe.
“Come on, Dusty,” he pants into your mouth, swiping his finger fast, his hips harder, causing you to cry out in euphoria “Give it to me.”
“Yes sir,” you grit. And you do. You give him everything he’s asking for, letting yourself succumb to your orgasm.
Ghost continues rubbing you as you ride out your orgasm, clenching tight around his cock. The sounds you make and the feeling of your cunt hugging his cock has him spilling into you, groaning deeply into your neck.
Your skin is still on fire when he finishes, limbs going heavy, but it’s okay because you’ve got him, will always have him, if he wants you, hands caressing the back of his head as he buries his face into the juncture of your throat and shoulder, sucking a single mark into the soft skin there.
It’s perfect, everything about this moment is flawless when he pulls back, rolling onto his back, taking you with him. Your hearts pound where they’re pressed up against each other, and the rise and fall of his chest mixed with the sensations of your second orgasm have you nearly falling asleep against him.
You prop your head up on his chest so you don’t fall asleep. Ghost watches silently as you mark out the features of his face through his mask. He tenses when your fingers hook around the fabric that’s scrunched up, exposing his mouth. You study him for a moment, pressing your lips against his one more time before dragging it back down over his mouth.
It stings a little when he relaxes under you, tracing lazy circles into your lower back.
“Sleep,” he grumbles eventually, pulling the blankets over the two of you but keeping you nestled into his chest. You don’t have it in you to protest, the comforting warmth of his skin calming you completely, eyes drooping shut at his soft command.
“I’ll take your watch.”
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley/you#ghost/you#cod#call of duty#mw2#mordern warfare 2#soap#johnny soap mactavish#alone#mission alone#simon ghost riley imagine#mw2 fanfiction#simon riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley smut
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TikTokers are such pussies when it comes to ships. “B-but they’re not canon 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😖😖” honey back in my day we shipped characters from entirely different medias uphill both ways in the snow
#“how would you feel- they’re not real people#ghostsoap#soapghost#call of duty mw2#call of duty#ghost cod#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley
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You're out walking yours and Simon's dog, Riley, one afternoon when some guy you've never met all but saunters up to you.
He tries to chat you up, laying the flirtation on so thick it congeals into sleaze. You shut him down bluntly at every turn, but unfortunately, he's... determined.
Riley growls as he takes a step closer, the retired military dog pushing himself in front of you with hackles raised and teeth bared.
And still, the stranger doesn't get the hint. He merely huffs out an amused laugh as he looks from Riley to you.
"Didn't realize you had a guard dog -"
Suddenly, his gaze wanders past you. The cocky grin on his face drains away in an instant as he pales.
Like he's seen a Ghost.
"She's got two, mate."
#guard dog simon my beloved#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost scribbles
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mmmm i have these thoughts about being sorta kinda drunk and hanging out with simon. you're so touchy when you're tipsy, and you're giggly, and you're sitting on the couch next to him, hugging his big arm and pressing little kisses into his shoulder. he doesn't react much, just keeps his eyes trained on the tv as he sips his whiskey; he's so indifferent to your affection, but he never pushes you away, lets you kiss him and touch him and whine and coo, and he never tells you to go away or leave him alone.
you nuzzle your face against his masked cheek, kissing along the cotton fabric there. you're so warm from the alcohol, a little dizzy, and now you're babbling, but he doesn't seem annoyed.
"love you so much, simon," you whine, and he just pats your thigh gently.
"can't ever live without you," you coo, and he squeezes your knee in acknowledgement.
"i'd do anything for you," you whisper into his ear, and he just grunts, pushing his mask up as he takes another long sip of his drink, and you tilt your head to the side, watching him, your pretty, pretty man.
"would you do anything for me?" you ask softly, leaning in close. he licks his scarred lips, but he doesn't look at you yet. "w-would...would you kill for me, simon?"
and then he finally looks at you, dark eyes meeting yours, and you squeak when he wraps that big hand around your waist and tugs you against him.
he smirks, tilting his head to the side. "'v already killed for ya, luv," he says lowly, and this is simon, and simon doesn't lie, and you know by the look in his eyes he doesn't mean this happened at work, either.
suddenly, you feel sober. but his hand tightens, and it lowers, and you swallow when he grabs a handful of your ass and forces your mouth against his.
"now be a good girl. 'n sit down."
#mmmmmm#i love them dark and broody and deadly#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon thoughts#dark!simon
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18+ MDNI
Simon fucking you in a headlock
You've been obsessed with his arms since day one.
And you finally asked him to do what you wanted for a while.
He made sure that you were comfortable, asking multiple times if you were ok.
And you breathed out 'yes' eagerly each time.
And now here you are as he fucks into your sopping pussy while having you in a headlock, thick veiny arm wrapped around your neck.
The burly mass of muscles puts enough pressure to make you dizzy, increasing the already intense pleasure of his fat cock splitting your weeping cunt open.
His other hand reaches around your body and lands on your sensitive puffy clit, rough fingers circling and pinching it while his wide hips slap against your rear with each ferocious plunge into you.
"You gonna be a good girl and cum f'me?" he grunts into your ear as he feels the ever increasing pressure of your pulsating pussy on his cock.
And you can only hum in response, the razing pleasure too much to bear, too much to let you form any coherent words.
You hold on to his strong arm wrapped around you, nails digging into his bicep and forearm, surely leaving crescent marks on his skin.
The delightful mix of sweet sensations, the aching drag of his thick cock along your sensitive walls repeatedly with the dizzying pleasure of his arm around your neck,
while his swollen red tip viciously attacks your gummy cervix and his calloused fingertips rub against your puffy clit send you to a state of pure engulfing euphoria.
And streams of your juices and cream gush out of you as you let out hiccupped moans, blended with his low growl of sheer pleasure as he fills up your welcoming womb with his seed.
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost riley#ghost simon riley#ghost cod#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#cod fanfic#cod x reader#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#mw2#cod modern warfare
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You stir awake, sighing as you roll over to face your sleeping husband. You sit up, fixing your stretchy shirt over your very swollen belly. You pat Simon’s side. “Si? Si! Si!”
He groans as he wakes up, rolling over and shoving his head into his pillow. “Go back t’ sleep.”
“I want a big mac.”
He groans louder.
“Please, Si? I’m super hungry. And bubby keeps kicking.”
He sighs, “Look ‘t the time, lovie.”
You almost tear up.
When he notices the frown on your face, he sighs again, getting up. “Which one is the closest?”
You smile, almost jumping with joy as you lean up to press a million kisses to his cheek. “The one on 42nd.”
He leans down, kissing your belly and your lips before heading off to get dressed.
He returns 20 minutes later, a bag and 2 drinks in hand. You practically moan at the smell as he hands you the bag.
“I love you,” you moan as you take a bite of your burger. He chuckles, eating his own. “Bubby loves you too. He’s kicking every time I take a bite.”
“Bet ‘e does.” Simon kisses your belly as you stuff a few fries in your mouth. “Lovie?”
“Yeah?” you ask with a mouth full.
“Do ya think he’ll like me?”
“For the millionth time, my love, you are nothing like your father. You’re far too kind and too amazing and too sweet. He’s going to love you. Just like I do.”
He chuckles, “Love you too.”
He leans down, kissing your belly.
“Both of ya annoying little buggers. Always fuckin’ hungry.”
#ghost call of duty#ghost imagine#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley cod#ghost simon riley#ghost cod#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley fluff#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon#simon riley imagine#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#cod ghost#ghost mw2
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best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —
words: 2.2k
rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni.
warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is
notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.
one thing you love about simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. strong, steadfast, there when you need him. even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.
not that you’ll tell him that.
you hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.
except for simon.
which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. you don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.
losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. you've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.
but losing simon? you don't think you'd ever get over that.
it's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold your tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.
your call log is all simon.
some appointments here and there, but simon everywhere else.
fuck.
you hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.
you don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.
he answers before the third ring.
"i'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. you take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired.
“no, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. you’re only half-convinced.
"i'm sorry," you begin again. your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. you're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "i didn't know who else to call, and i lost my tram pass, and i don't have an umbrella, and — "
“dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. you ache.
"i can just walk home, i-i'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone.
“darling,” he says, a little stern. not angry, never angry. trying to focus you. “what’s wrong?”
“u-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "i waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "messaged him too, y'know. but he just. didn't show."
you think you hear simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick.
“where are you?”
there's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. you manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking.
“twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “sit there and be good and patient and i’ll pick you up, yeah?”
"okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.
thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. you make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.
you can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
he says your name gently. you take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. he's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. assessing you, worrying.
"i'm sorry," you croak out. you can't help it. it's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. he doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.
"love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. his eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "you know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.
you can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. he hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.
"this is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. you were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.
"yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "you really think i'd let you stay home alone?"
his eyes are so fucking bright. it startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.
"i..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. his eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "i was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.
"as if i don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. you scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.
"go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.
you hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.
"go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.
his flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.
well.
you might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. it's a you're a bit clumsy thing. simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.
his bedroom is familiar as well. which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.
you take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. you’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.
as you pad back out to the living room, simon’s already on the couch. your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. but you’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.
his balaclava is off. the last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv already ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.
“knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.
“am i that predictable?” you mumble, a small ‘thank you’ as he hands you a bowl.
he doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.
the silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.
“were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.
you blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. you can’t read his eyes. something hot twists in your gut.
“i-i don’t know, simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “maybe?”
he doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “depends how the date went, i suppose. doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. his gaze hasn’t changed. “why?”
his jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “you deserve better ‘n that.”
a confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “i know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.
he seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. you feel sick.
dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. you bite at your nail, just for something to do.
“don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”
your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. relationships aren’t easy. being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.
you never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. you don’t deserve that kind of attention. after a while, they’ll get tired. you’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.
it’s easier to be by yourself. the only person you have to worry about bothering is you.
“love.” he tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. how hasn’t he tired of you yet?
a hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.
“what’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”
you swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.
“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “no one would want me anyways.”
“‘n why would you say that?”
frustration burns the back of your throat. isn’t it obvious? you can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. how can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? how could he think anyone else would put up with it?
“you wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. you crumble back into the couch.
“make me understand.”
heat flashes at the nape of your neck. he takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. your name sounds so soft in his voice.
“how aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. you look at him. hesitant. scared.
the silence is loud. his frown deepens. it takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.
“you know i’d do anything for you, yeah?”
your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.
“because you do the same for me,” he continues. you doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.
his touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. he slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips where the waistband of his boxers start.
you slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. firm and broad and safe.
“you apologize so much. you worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. one hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.
“you’re allowed to ask for help.”
you shake your head, a “no” caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.
“oh, love.” he cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “you have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”
he lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. but his cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. you’re so tired.
his lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. you’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.
#ink by bambi#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley/reader#simon riley/you#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley hurt/comfort#simon riley fluff#ghost fluff#ghost imagine#modern warfare imagine
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A Possessive Display Part 2
This took me ages and ages, but I have to go where my muse takes me.
Part 1
Contains: Smut, Dom Simon/sub reader, oral sex (f receiving) fingering, P in V, aftercare.
1.1K words
Simon works through his feelings
You made your way to the bedroom with locked lips, pealing each other clothes off as you went until you were falling on your back onto the bed naked as Simon climbed on top of you. He ran his hand from your hip to your face before he took your chin between his fingers. "Eyes on me or this stops."
You smiled softly and lifted your hand to brush his lower lip with your thumb. "Ok then Lieutenant."
He nipped your thumb and grinned. "Now you're really in for it."
It was hard to hold back a laugh as the room swelled with the effervesce of long-held affection, the tone of dominance Simon was trying to set ushered away and leaving lightness in its place. "Oh, I'm terrified."
He slotted himself between your legs and kissed you as he ground his stiff cock into your slit, swallowing your gasps like a man eating his last meal. When he pulled away, the warm brown of his eyes was consumed by the inky black of his pupils.
"Do you like to make things hard for me?" He kissed you again before you could use his words against him, but you rolled your hips upwards nevertheless as his lips left yours so he could kiss his way down your neck. "My statement still stands, Lovely. You better not close those pretty eyes of yours, I want to see them watching me."
His lips brushed your hip as he waited for your answer. "Of course, my love, anything you want."
You twisted around to push up the pillows so you could watch him comfortably as he slowed moved to your centre, and he ran his hands from your hips to your legs as he lifted them over his shoulders. The angle was a little strange, and he smirked up his eyes, drifting upwards as he started running his fingertips from the inside of your knee, up your inner thigh, and right to your mound. "I want to put a mirror up there."
"Ok, darlin. We can go mirror shopping tomorrow." His lips retraced the path of his fingers until he was spreading you open with his thumbs.
He licked his lips like a hungry wolf, then licked you from entrance to clit before wrapping his lips around you. The sight was obscene, the lust in Simon's eye burning holes into your flesh as he touched you. He was so aggressively attentive to your needs that there was no reason to correct his technique, and part of you cursed that his keen observation skills meant he could play you like a delicate piano.
You felt his calloused index finger circle your entrance and watched as the firm muscles of his arm coil as he slid two fingers inside you. Your eyes fluttered closed, and his mouth lifted off you as his fingers stilled halfway in. "Love, eyes on me please."
You took a breath and met his eyes, and he returned to touching you like nothing had happened, his rough fingertips brushing your G-spot as he worked you closer to the edge. You understood why he wanted this; the proof that he was enjoying himself just as much as you were was almost painfully arousing, and the only thing you could do was give in and watch.
He scissored his fingers open and moaned as you responded with a clench. His thumb replaced his mouth, and he watched with ardent attention as you came around his fingers. He looked close to drooling, his lower lip nipped between his teeth as he worked you through the last of it.
He pulled back and wiped his face with a sweep of his massive hand before kissing his way up your body to your lips. He lifted your legs over his waist and settled between your legs as he grabbed his cock and notched it at your entrance. His thumb and forefinger were back holding your chin, and he held your gaze as he slowly slid inside you.
The drag meant you felt every inch of him, all the way, until his tip nudged your cervix, and he came to a stop. "You good, Lovie?"
"Yes. Move please." He smiled and rocked his hips, his eyes on yours the whole time as he shifted his weight into his elbow so he could press his chest to yours. His free hand left your face, and he slid it down your body, watching your expression change as his fingers found your clit. His pace was slow at first, ramping up steadily until he had hit his stride.
You were once again fighting to keep your eyes open, and mercifully, he kissed you as he shifted the angle on his hips so he could brush your G-spot with every stroke. You rocked your hips to meet his movements, and he moved his lips from yours to your neck to take your flesh between his teeth so he could worry a mark into your skin.
He pulled away, his face filled with intensity as he spoke. "You're mine, and the next fucker that looks at your sideways is getting his ass beat. Understand?" You knew that tone, it was the same one he used when he berated your boss for removing security from the parking lot. It wasn't jealous; it was protective, like a wild animal guarding his mate.
You nodded, suddenly painfully desperate to feel his lips on yours again and once again, he read you like an open book because he was taking you in a kiss as his fingers sped up on your clit. He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, and you sunk your teeth into his lower lip as you came around him.
His hips stuttered, and his pace faulted, and you felt him pulse inside you as he collapsed on top of you. You took a moment to collect your breath, wrapping your arms around his body to hold him to you. His lips found your skin again, and he pressed kisses across your face, first your cheeks, then your forehead, over each eye and finally the tip of your nose.
He rolled off you but took you with him into his arms, smiling as he pulled you into his chest. "You doing good Love?"
"I'm great." He rubbed his hand up and down your back until your breath slowed before getting up to get a cloth to clean you up. He had a gentle smile on his face the whole time, clearly enjoying the act of taking care of you. When he was satisfied he crawled back into bed and took your back into his arms, burying his nose in your sweat damp hair and taking a breath. "I love you y/n."
You sighed as sleepiness finally came over you. "I love you too." You nestled yourself into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you as you drifted off to sleep; the last thing floating into your consciousness was the warmth of Simon's body around yours.
Fin
@candy616 @chaos-4baby
#call of duty mw3#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#cod mw3#cod mw2#cod modern warfare#mw2#mw3#simon riley/you#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon riley/reader#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut
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simon and könig being unable to stop bickering for a second, even when they’re balls deep inside of you. they’ve got you in an Eiffel Tower, könig’s cock filling your glossy pussy while simon stuffs your mouth. it took ages of convincing for them to even consider this position, but eventually they decided to put their discrepancies aside for the sake of you, their precious, spoiled little thing. it didn’t last very long though…
“jackhammer much, mate? you’ve got her choking on me over here.” simon points out, his heavy hand stroking your hair soothingly. könig’s using your hips as leverage, bucking into you at a rabid pace, each of his thrusts lurching your body forward and forcing you to take more of simon’s dick down your poor throat. “what happened to treatin’ the princess with care?”
“it’s okay, she likes it. isn’t that right, maus?”
your cheeks warm up as you hum around simon’s dick noncommittally. nothing gets passed the l.t though, and suddenly he’s gripping you by your hair, pulling your mouth off his cock.
“wait, you let him fuck your face?” he asks, sounding genuinely offended.
you wipe the line of spit that trails from your swollen lips all the way to his still hard dick, hovering just out of reach. you huff. “he’s more sadistic than you…” you say sheepishly in response, voice staccato from könig’s thrusts.
“you tellin’ me i’m the soft sex guy? the aftercare fuck?”
“‘s alright, mate.” könig reaches over your naked body to pat his comrade on the shoulder. “youve got boyfriend dick. happens to the best of us.”
#sum slight idk i might love them#simon x reader x könig#konig cod#konig x reader#cod smut#konig call of duty#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#könig smut#könig x reader#konig smut#konig x you#könig cod
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pillow princess!reader who decides that they want to try being on top for once and anchors their small hands on ghost's chest, bouncing sloppily on his cock and whimpering at his praise. “that’s it. good girl, just like that.” pillow princess!reader who pants in small, short puffs, cheeks flushing red and legs cramping. pillow princess!reader whose movements start to get slower just when they're on the brink of cumming. “ i c-can't, m’tired, si.” bf!simon who rumbles deep in his chest at your whiney complaint, "ah, fuckin' hell." bf!simon who grabs the fat of your hips and fucks up into you, hard and fast, gravelly voice mocking. "look at you, can't even fuckin' ride me properly." bf!simon who simpers at your scrunched up face and bleary eyes, mouth open to let out pitiful sobs. "m' sorry, d-daddy--mmn!" he chuckles softly, "'s alright, pet. " ˙ᵕ˙
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ - 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓂𝑒! ⁽ nsfw ⁾
#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost smut#simon riley smut#cod smut#tf141#task force 141#simon riley x small!reader#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#ghost call of duty#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x you smut#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x reader smut#simon ghost riley smut#ghost cod smut#simon riley smut blurb#FERAL FOR HIM#deunmiu dessie
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#ghost smut#call of duty#cod mw2#cod#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x reader
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Simon Riley who gets your initials tattooed over his heart, but not in the conventional way.
The idea of getting your full name spooks him, cause what if he gets captured and some enemy agent sees? It's just too much of a risk for him. But initials are safer. Twice as much if they're hidden behind roman numerals.
So he reveals his new ink one day, during a quiet moment a few weeks after he gets it once it's healed up. He explains what the roman numerals are (they correspond to letters of the alphabet: A would be I, B is II, and so on) and what they mean, and you spend so long marveling at Simon's dedication that it takes you a minute to notice something... strange.
"There's no number for my last name."
He takes your hand, puts it over the numbers, and puts his forehead on yours.
"That's cause I'm hopin' you'll let me put the number 18 there, love."
#the 18th letter of the alphabet is R#for. anyone curious 👀#10000% the type to get one of those wedding ring tattoos too. you know he is.#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost scribbles
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18+ MDNI
imagine you're just chilling with simon on the couch watching trash tv while his hands rest on your waist
but one hand starts to drift lower and lower into your panties and his rough fingers begin to lazily toy with your clit, pinching and circling the sensitive bud
and his other hand trails higher under your shirt, playing with your boobs, kneading the soft flesh
you're just so warm and soft he can't help it :(
all the while his lips are pressed to your ear, cooing praises like "You're so pretty, baby... so soft... such a good girl f'me... jus' sittin' back and lettin' me play with you."
and now you're all worked up and whimpering, leaning closer into his touch
your pretty pussy all wet with your slick, begging to be filled up :(
and he rewards you by inserting two thick fingers into your weeping cunt
"Simon!" you gasp as he rolls and twists his calloused fingers against your sensitive sticky walls
he scissors his fingers inside you, making your sopping pussy squelch
your cheeks start to heat up at the sound
but soon the combination of his hand on your breasts, rough fingers rolling your perky pretty nipples between them and the pumping of his fingers inside your tight wet pussy makes your brain all foggy
and you're too far gone to care as your slick walls start to tighten around his fingers
"let go, baby. cum f'me." he murmurs while picking up the pace
and the all-consuming wave of your orgasm washes over you with a loud moan as your milky white cream coats his fingers
and he licks them clean off your juices
then brings his fingers to your lips and you lick the mix of your cum and his saliva off his fingers
i need him so bad it's not a joke anymore :(
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#cod x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost riley#ghost simon riley#cod fanfic#ghost cod#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#call of duty#cod mw2#cod#mw2#cod modern warfare
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