izzyezalea

[izzyezalea]

Til the Last Round - Part 2

Word Count - 2,401

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem Reader

Final Part of 'Til the Last Round' - Part 1

The flat was too quiet. You’d left the telly on, low, background noise you didn’t register. Some war doc, ironically. Footage of desert sand and boots, gunfire dubbed over slow motion. It didn’t touch you. Nothing really did anymore.

Six months. That’s how long it’d been since the file landed on your desk like a weight. Official stamp. Short list. Four names. His at the bottom. No remains. No closure.

You were back behind a desk now. Pushing paper, giving updates to people with tired eyes who still had hope. You envied them. Loathed them, a bit. Hope was a luxury. Yours died with him.

You still wore the dog tag he gave you. One of his spares. It hung cold against your skin every day. Your little secret. Didn’t talk about him. Didn’t let yourself think too hard. Not when it hurt that bad. You’d done your crying in silence, behind locked doors, in the middle of the night when the flat felt too big and the bed too empty.

Sometimes, you’d swear you heard him. Heavy boots in the hall. A creak on the stairs. Stupid, really. But grief plays tricks.

Tonight was one of those nights. Thunder rolled in over the buildings. Proper storm. You lit a candle when the lights flickered. Sat on the couch. Pulled your knees to your chest. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move.

Then came the knock. Soft. Two taps. Not the postman. Not your neighbours. Something in your gut twisted. You stayed frozen for a beat too long, heart thudding. Then, another knock. One-two.

You stood slow. Walked to the door. Hand on the handle.

“Who is it?” you called, voice hoarse.

No answer.

You opened the door.

And stopped breathing.

There he was. Soaked from the rain, hoodie up, face mostly shadow, but you'd know him anywhere. The stance. The eyes. The weight of him in the doorway like a ghost. Literally.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you breathed. “No. No no—”

“It’s me,” he said, voice low. Gruff.

You backed up. Shaking. “No. You’re— I saw the file. They said you were—”

“Fake,” he said, stepping inside. Door clicking shut behind him. “They had to. For the mission.”

You stared. Couldn’t speak. He pulled the hood back. Same face. Same scar near his temple. Hair a bit longer. Eyes bloodshot and tired but alive. Real. Not a dream. Not a trick of grief.

“Say something,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, lips parting. “You fucking bastard.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You hit him. Chest, shoulder, then arms wrapping round him, fists pounding weakly until your knees gave out. He caught you. Held you. Strong and warm and solid and real. You sobbed into his chest. Loud. Ugly.

“Why,” you choked. “Why didn’t you—why didn’t they tell me?”

“Because you’d look,” he murmured. “And I needed to disappear.”

You pulled back, looking up at him. “You died. I buried you in my head.”

“I know.”

“They burned your file into the system. KIA. No body. No closure. What the fuck, Simon?”

He sighed, eyes pinched. “Deep op. Disavowed. No records. I wasn’t allowed to contact anyone. Not even Laswell. Only Price knew.”

You stared at him like you were seeing a ghost again. “And you just… let me think you were dead?”

“I had to,” he said, voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” you snapped. “You chose not to tell me. You let me break.”

He flinched. You stepped away, arms crossed, shaking. “Do you know what that did to me?”

His silence was answer enough.

“I stopped living, Simon. I was waiting. Like a fuckin’ idiot. Thought maybe you weren’t really gone. Thought maybe one day you'd walk through the door like nothing happened.”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry.”

You looked at him. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.” He ran a hand through his hair, drenched strands sticking up. “I wanted to tell you. Every day. But they were watching. Had eyes on everything. If I contacted you, it would’ve put you in danger.”

You swallowed hard. “So you let me mourn you instead.”

“It was the only way to keep you safe.”

You stared at him. Torn. Wanted to punch him again. Wanted to kiss him. So you did the only thing you could.

“You’re a prick,” you muttered, grabbing his shirt, dragging him down.

Your lips met his. Not soft. Not gentle. Desperate. He kissed you back like he’d been starving. Hands gripping your waist. Pulling you in. Not letting go.

This time it wasn’t goodbye. It was finally.

You pulled apart just enough to rest your forehead against his. Breathing in the rain and the sweat and the ache between you.

“I thought I was going mad,” you whispered.

“You and me both.”

“I hated you.”

“I hated myself more.”

Silence settled again. Not the cold kind. The warm, heavy kind that came with truth.

“How long you back for?” you asked.

He hesitated.

You pulled back, suspicious. “Simon…”

“I’m done,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Mission’s over. Ghost is off the grid. For good.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I’m out,” he repeated. “Told Price I was finished. Too many ghosts, not enough man left. I’m not going back.”

“You serious?”

He nodded. “Only thing I’m sure of.”

Your knees nearly gave out again. “So what now?”

“That’s up to you,” he said quietly. “You want me gone—I’ll go. No questions. No fight. But if there’s a part of you that still—”

You kissed him again. Harder. Longer.

When you pulled back, you whispered against his lips, “Don’t ever fuckin’ leave me again.”

“Not a chance.”

You held him tight, fingers digging into his coat. Felt the rise and fall of his chest. The steady beat of his heart under your palm.

Alive. Here. Yours.

After a long silence, you pulled back just enough to speak. “You owe me a proper explanation.”

“I know.”

“And a shower.”

He half-smiled. “You offering?” You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

He followed you into the flat. Shut the door behind him. For once, you didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

He was here. And this time, he was staying.

-----

Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to send me requests <3

Tags - @mymilkshakebear

[izzyezalea]

141 Masterlist

- Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader -

Smoke and Blood - Friends to Lovers - Fem Reader

Amid war and wreckage, you and Ghost fight to survive—but somewhere between gunfire and glances, something deeper begins to burn. A gritty, friends-to-lovers slow burn with heart, heat, and just enough blood.

Three Minutes - Lovers in War - Fem Reader

Trapped, wounded, and wired to explode—you’ve got three minutes to live. But Ghost isn’t about to let you go that easy. A tense, emotional rescue turns into a raw confession of love in the heart of war.

Til the Last Round - Part 1 - Lovers in War - Fem Reader

Til the Last Round - Part 2 - Lovers in War - Fem Reader

A heartbreakingly intimate moment between Ghost and the woman he can’t protect from the cost of loving him. Angst-heavy, emotional, and raw.

Homecoming - Civilian Lover - Fem Reader

A tender reunion wrapped in quiet moments and unspoken love. Ghost returns from deployment, and the wait is finally over. Soft, heartfelt fluff focused on love, home, and healing.

In the Dark - Unspoken Feelings - Fem Medic Reader

A tense mission forces you to protect Ghost, sparking deep feelings neither expected.

Rescue Mission - Unspoken Feelings - Fem Reader

Captured and trapped behind enemy lines, you rely on Ghost to come for you. As he risks everything to rescue you, the line between duty and something more personal blurs in the heat of the moment.

Welcome Home, Love - Husband & Wife - Fem Civilian Pregnant Reader

Simon Riley returns from a long mission to his pregnant partner, bringing warmth and love back to their quiet cottage. Together, they prepare for the next chapter of their lives — one filled with hope, tenderness, and new beginnings.

- John Price x Reader -

The Last Goodbye - Friends to More - Fem Reader

On the eve of a deadly mission, Price finally says what’s been left unsaid. A quiet, aching moment between almost-lovers in a world that doesn’t wait.

- Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Reader -

Closer than ever - Friends to Lovers - Fem Reader

Trapped and wounded, you and Kyle—longtime friends and comrades—face the harsh reality of war and the truth of your feelings. In a grim moment, years of unspoken love finally come to light.

[izzyezalea]

Closer than ever

Gaz x Female Reader fanfic - Friends to lovers one shot - Word count is just under 3.9k.

The room stank of damp and blood.

The plaster on the walls was cracked, old floral wallpaper peeling down in strips. Might’ve been a bedroom once—years back, when this block still had life in it—but now it was empty. Busted mattress in the corner, broken dresser, dust hanging in the air like it was holding its breath with the two of you.

You pressed your back to the cold wall, trying not to wince when your shoulder brushed it. Jacket soaked through on one side. Blood. Not yours—at least not all of it—but the sting was there, sharp and hot.

Across from you, Kyle sat slumped, rifle in his lap, eyes on the door. He hadn’t said much since you’d ducked into the building. The two of you had peeled off from the rest of the team during the firefight—Makarov’s lot came in harder than expected, boxed you in before you could regroup. You’d barely made it out of that alley.

Now you were trapped in some half-collapsed shithole waiting for the cavalry.

“How long you reckon they’ll be?” you whispered.

Kyle looked over, a bit of blood caked in his eyebrow. Still handsome, the twat. Even half covered in grime.

“Dunno. Soap said fifteen. That was twenty ago.”

You nodded. Didn't say it out loud, but you both knew the truth—fifteen minutes on comms usually meant don’t die in the meantime.

“Should’ve brought biscuits,” you muttered, trying to keep the mood light. “Would’ve made this shite situation bearable.”

Kyle huffed a laugh through his nose. “Yeah? And you’d have nicked all the good ones before I got a look in.”

“Damn right I would’ve.”

It went quiet again. A creak from the floorboards above had both of you freezing, Kyle’s hand twitching on his rifle, finger resting just outside the trigger guard.

Then silence.

You let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Still hate this part,” you said.

“What part?”

“The waiting. Always feels worse than the firefight.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Least when bullets are flyin’ you’ve got somethin’ to do.”

“Exactly.”

You both went quiet again. Closer than usual, legs nearly touching, and you were acutely aware of how small the room was. Could hear the slight rasp in his breathing, the way his thumb tapped rhythmically against the stock of his weapon.

You’d known him for years—since basic. Trained together. Got assigned to similar ops by coincidence, then by choice. You were inseparable after that. Always had each other’s backs. Always understood each other without much being said.

And now here you were.

Bleeding, hiding, cornered by a madman’s foot soldiers.

Great timing.

Kyle shifted a little, lowering the rifle to lean it beside him. “You ever think about all this? Like—how we ended up here?”

“In this room?”

He gave you a flat look. “No, idiot. Like—this job. The life. All of it.”

You shrugged. “Sometimes. Not much point though. We’re here now, ain’t we?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter. “Suppose we are.”

You glanced at him. “You alright?”

He looked tired. Bone-deep. But there was something else—something behind the eyes. You knew that look. You’d seen it on missions before, right before he made a call that stuck with him.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he said. “About all the stuff we’ve seen. The people we’ve lost. All the near-misses.”

“Don’t do that now,” you said gently. “Not when we’re still in one.”

He looked at you properly then. Really looked. And your chest tightened.

“Kinda feels like if I don’t say this now, I won’t get the chance again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

Kyle rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, smearing a bit of blood across his jaw without realising. He dropped his voice even lower.

“We’ve known each other a long time, yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “Since the beginning.”

“And I’ve always had your back.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve had mine.”

“Of course.”

He swallowed. Looked down. Then back up.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since you stole my last cigarette on that training op in Wales.”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He kept going, voice soft, hoarse.

“Didn’t realise it at the time. Thought it was just—you know. The bond. Comrades and all that. But then it didn’t go away. Even when we got posted different places. Even when we fought. Even when I thought maybe you’d never feel the same.”

You stared at him.

He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling now. “Couldn’t go another op without sayin’ it. Just in case.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you slid your hand over to his. Laced your fingers through his.

He looked down, then back at you, cautious. Hopeful.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” you said, heart pounding.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Should’ve said something ages ago.”

His brow furrowed. “Wait—what?”

You leaned in just a little, enough to close the space.

“I’ve loved you for years, Kyle Garrick. Thought I was being dead obvious about it.”

He blinked, then grinned. Actually grinned.

“Well, that’s a bloody relief,” he said, squeezing your hand.

You both laughed—quiet, breathless. The kind that bubbles out even in the worst situations.

“I proper thought I’d gone mad, confessing in a piss-soaked room while the enemy’s circlin’,” he said.

“Well, when you put it like that, it’s pretty romantic.”

He snorted. “Bet you say that to all the blokes who get you shot at.”

“Only the handsome ones.”

He nudged your shoulder gently, careful of your wound. You leaned your head against his. It was a simple thing, but felt like a whole shift in the earth beneath you.

Outside, the sound of boots echoed faintly. Voices.

You both froze again.

This time, you recognised them.

Soap’s thick Scottish bark. Kate’s clipped orders.

Kyle squeezed your hand once, quick and tight.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you they’d come.”

The door creaked open, and Soap’s grinning face appeared round the corner.

“Well, well, look who’s cuddled up like it’s story time.”

You flipped him off. Kyle just smirked.

Kate appeared behind him, eyes scanning the room. “You two alright?”

“We’re alright,” Kyle said. “More or less.”

Price stepped in after, looking between you and Kyle, then down at your joined hands. One eyebrow lifted, but he said nothing. Just gave you both a nod.

“Time to get outta this dump.”

As they cleared the way, Kyle helped you up, one arm slung carefully round your waist.

“Still owe me a proper confession,” you whispered.

He leaned in, voice warm against your ear.

“Promise I’ll say it again when we’re not waitin’ to die.”

You smiled.

“Looking forward to it.”

---------

Hope you enjoyed, stay tuned! 🫶🏻

[izzyezalea]

Welcome Home, Love

Simon Riley x Pregnant Civilian FReader

Word count: ~2,460 one-shot

The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the cottage, wafting in from the little herb patch out front, windows cracked just wide enough to let the breeze in but keep the flies out. The kettle whistled from the stove, and you shuffled over to silence it, one hand pressed to your lower back where the ache had settled hours ago.

Your bump led the way as you moved, round and firm under your oversized jumper. Eight months along now. Close enough to feel the weight of it in every step, every breath—but not quite close enough for comfort.

You glanced out the kitchen window for the third time in five minutes, eyes scanning the lane that wound through the trees, past the stream, and up to your door.

Still no sign of him.

Simon Riley had been away longer than usual this time. Missions always ran over, and he was never allowed to say when exactly he'd be back. You understood it—really, you did. But understanding didn’t make the silence any easier. It didn’t make the long nights in the empty bed feel less cold. Or the letters feel any closer than they were.

You picked up the latest one from the counter, already folded and worn from how often you'd read it.

“Can’t say where we are, love, but it’s hot as hell and smells worse. Soap nicked half my rations, the knobhead, and Price has been growling at everyone like he’s got a wasp in his boot. But I’m alright. I’m coming home soon. Think about you every bloody minute.”

You smiled despite yourself. He didn’t say much, not on paper. But you knew what he meant between the lines. Always had.

Just as you poured the tea, the dog—Bear, your lumbering old Labrador—lifted his head from where he was sprawled on the hearth rug. He let out a low woof, tail thudding once.

And then you heard it—boots crunching on gravel.

You froze. Heart thumping.

Another step. Then another.

And finally—

A knock at the door.

You all but ran, stumbling a bit over the uneven flagstones as Bear trotted behind you, tail wagging furiously now.

You opened the door with a breathless, “Hi—”

And there he was.

Simon Riley stood on the doorstep, still in fatigues, his jacket dusty, hair mussed, face drawn but somehow... lighter. His skull-patterned balaclava was shoved up onto his head, like he couldn’t be arsed to wear it properly, and his brown eyes locked onto yours like he’d just stepped into sunlight after months underground.

"Alright, love," he said, voice rough as ever. "Miss me?

You didn’t answer.

You launched yourself at him instead.

He caught you easily, arms locking around your back with a soft oomph as you buried your face in his neck. He was warm and solid and smelt like metal and smoke and something you could only ever call home.

“Don’t cry,” he muttered into your hair, already rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. “You’ll set me off.”

“I’m not crying,” you lied, voice muffled against him.

"You're bloody leaking emotions all over me," he grumbled, but he held you tighter anyway.

Bear barked once, then settled down at Simon’s feet like it was the most normal thing in the world. As if the man of the house hadn’t been gone for months. As if he hadn’t left a hole in the walls that nothing else could fill.

You pulled back just far enough to press your hands to Simon’s cheeks.

“You’re here.”

“Told you I’d come back, didn’t I?”

He looked down at you, his face softening in that way it only ever did when it was just the two of you. Then his eyes drifted down.

The bump.

Simon blinked once, slowly, like he was seeing it for the first time.

“You’ve gotten massive,” he said, utterly deadpan.

You smacked his chest, and he actually chuckled—a low, rasping sound that rumbled through your bones.

"Cheers, sweetheart," you said dryly. "That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear when she’s waddling about like a bloody duck.

He stepped inside, finally shutting the door behind him. The cottage seemed smaller now, with him back in it—warmer, somehow. More real.

He knelt awkwardly in front of you, big hands cradling your sides, eyes glued to the rise of your belly.

“Can I…?”

You nodded, tears pricking again as he pressed his ear to your bump.

“She’s been kicking loads today,” you murmured. “Think she knew you were close.”

Simon’s eyes snapped up to yours.

“She?”

You smiled. “Found out last week.”

For a long moment, he just stayed like that—silent, pressed to your stomach, eyes shut.

When he finally stood, his arms were already open, pulling you close again.

“Christ, I missed you.”

You pulled him to the sofa, guiding him down with you, even though it was a bit of a squeeze. He draped an arm around your shoulders while you curled into his side, your hand slipping under his shirt just to feel skin.

“You alright?” you asked after a while. “Really?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Bit knackered,” he said eventually. “We lost a few. It was messy.”

You knew better than to push. He’d tell you what he could, in his own time.

“Soap’s still alive though,” he added, lips twitching. “Stubborn Scottish bastard wouldn’t die if you dropped a building on him.”

You laughed gently, and he turned his head to nuzzle into your temple.

"Price send his regards?"

Simon snorted. “Said, and I quote, ‘Tell your missus if she’s got any sisters, I’m in the market for a cottage and someone who bakes.’”

You giggled. “Cheeky old git.”

“He’s getting soft.”

“Must be catching.”

Simon made a noncommittal grunt, but he was already running his thumb over the curve of your arm, slow and steady.

You both sat like that for ages, the fire crackling quietly, the wind rustling the trees outside.

Eventually, he kissed your forehead and stood up.

“Gonna wash the war off. Don’t go anywhere.”

You watched him disappear into the small bathroom down the hall. Listened to the water running. Heard the soft groan as he eased himself under the spray.

You got up—slowly—and padded to the airing cupboard. Dug out a pair of soft pyjamas you’d left folded on top just for him. Faded old joggers. That grey long-sleeve shirt he liked.

When he emerged, hair wet and tousled, towel slung round his shoulders, he paused in the doorway. You held the clothes out with a smile.

“Don’t suppose you fancy a proper night in, do you?”

He took them without a word, kissed your knuckles, and wandered off to change.

By the time you were both curled in bed, Bear already snoring at your feet, the house felt like it had exhaled. Like everything was right again.Simon spooned you from behind, one hand protectively resting over your stomach.

“She’s gonna be loud, isn’t she?” he murmured.

“Probably. She takes after you.”

He huffed against your neck. “Rude.”

You turned in his arms, pressing your nose to his. “We’ll be alright though, won’t we?”

He met your gaze, serious now.

“Yeah,” he said, without hesitation. “We will. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

You reached up, fingers brushing his stubbled jaw.

“And when you do have to go back?”

Simon hesitated. “Then I’ll come home again. Always.”

He kissed you then—gentle, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

And this time, maybe he did.

------

Sorry it's been so long, it's good to be back!

Hope you enjoyed this little fic, more on the way 🎀

[izzyezalea]

Rescue Mission

Ghost x Freader

The night air was thick with tension, the kind of tension that makes every heartbeat feel like a countdown. You had been part of a highly covert operation—a mission that seemed straightforward enough. In and out. But nothing ever goes as planned.

The sudden ambush took you by surprise. Your team was scattered, chaos ensued, and before you knew it, they had you—captured, restrained, and taken deep into hostile territory. The only thing that kept you from losing yourself was the thought of your team and the one person you couldn’t stop thinking about.

Ghost.

He was your teammate, your friend, and—though you’d never admitted it—someone who had quietly crept into your heart, even when you fought to keep your distance. The thought of him coming for you made your chest ache, but it also gave you a shred of hope in this seemingly hopeless situation.

You could hear the distant rumble of footsteps approaching your cell, the clatter of weapons, and the low murmur of voices. Every sound felt amplified in the silence that surrounded you. You could only imagine what Ghost and the team were doing. They were coming for you. You just had to hold on.

Simon "Ghost" Riley wasn't one for sentimentality. He never showed much emotion, never allowed his guard to slip. His skull mask was his shield, both in battle and in life. But when you were taken, when he heard the crackle of static over the radio as your call went silent, something inside him snapped.

Your voice was gone. And in its place was the eerie quiet of a situation gone wrong.

"Stay focused," Price ordered, his voice steady, but even he knew the stakes. "We get her back, Ghost. No matter the cost."

Ghost nodded silently, his jaw clenched beneath the mask. He didn’t need to be told twice. Your safety wasn’t just a mission objective—it was personal. He’d never say it out loud, but he cared about you in ways he couldn’t explain, and if he had to burn the whole bloody world to get you back, he’d do it without hesitation.

He was a soldier, but right now, his focus was on one thing and one thing only: you.

The team moved swiftly through the dense forest, keeping their movements tactical, staying low, listening to every crackling leaf and rustling branch. The enemy was close, too close. They had no time to waste. You didn’t have much time.

You didn’t know how long you’d been in the damp, concrete cell. The enemy was methodical, always keeping you just out of sight, but never out of reach. They were waiting for something—waiting for your team to make a mistake. The cold chains around your wrists were a constant reminder of your helplessness.

Your thoughts drifted to Ghost again. You’d always admired him—his dedication, his resilience, his ability to lead without saying a word. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? You didn’t just admire him. You cared for him. More than you should.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, and your heart pounded in your chest. The door creaked open, and a harsh light blinded you. One of the captors stepped inside, smirking as he approached.

"You’re the medic, right?" He spat the words with disgust. "Think your team’s coming to save you? I wouldn’t bet on it."

You didn’t respond. It was what they wanted—a reaction, any reaction. Instead, you stayed quiet, your mind working quickly to find a way out. But your options were limited.

Ghost wasn’t used to waiting. But now, as he crouched in the shadows, his eyes scanning the enemy's compound, every minute stretched like an eternity. He could feel his blood running hot under the weight of the urgency.

"They’ve got her somewhere inside," Soap muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "We hit hard, we hit fast. No hesitation."

Ghost nodded. No hesitation. He wasn’t planning on letting them keep you for long.

He motioned for the team to move. There was a sharpness to his movements, a determination in his every step. They breached the compound, taking out the guards with surgical precision. No room for error. The clock was ticking.

You flinched as the door slammed open again, but this time, it wasn’t one of your captors who entered. You didn’t need to see the figure to know who it was. The familiar, imposing silhouette. The skull mask. The voice that haunted your thoughts.

"Move," Ghost commanded, his voice cold and controlled.

Your pulse quickened. You didn’t need him to say anything more. You knew that tone. That was the tone of a man who would stop at nothing to bring you home.

Ghost moved swiftly, his fingers working to release the chains around your wrists. His touch was gentle, despite the urgency. His eyes scanned your face briefly, searching for any sign of injury. There was relief in his gaze, but it was brief—his focus was on getting you out, not on any reunion.

"We’re not out yet," he muttered, offering you his hand. "Stay close."

You took it without hesitation, your heart pounding in your chest. His presence was a lifeline, and for a brief moment, the world outside the walls didn’t matter. It was just you and him.

But the quiet didn’t last. The compound erupted in chaos as gunfire rang out. You and Ghost moved as one, darting through narrow hallways, ducking into corners, and evading enemies with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Your heart raced, but you couldn’t afford to focus on the fear. Ghost had you, and you had him. Together, you could make it out.

"Don’t stop moving," he barked, his grip tightening around your wrist as he pulled you forward. "We’re almost there."

But the enemies were closing in fast. The compound had been crawling with them, and now they were everywhere. The sound of boots pounding the concrete floor echoed through the halls, a growing wave of pressure.

The moment you burst through the door to freedom, the outside air hit you like a tidal wave, fresh and sharp. But there was no time to breathe. Ghost had already pulled you toward the extraction point, his movements quick and instinctual.

Suddenly, a shout rang out, and before you could react, a soldier emerged from the shadows, weapon aimed directly at you. Your heart stopped. But in a flash, Ghost was there, knocking you to the side and taking the hit.

A grunt of pain escaped his lips, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now.

"You’re bleeding," you gasped, panic rising in your chest as you grabbed his arm. He’d been shot, but it didn’t slow him down. His face remained impassive under the mask, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the strain in his movements.

"I’m fine," he said, his voice cold. "Just get to the extraction point."

You didn’t argue, though every part of you wanted to scream at him to stop and let you help. But you knew. You knew he wouldn’t.

The helicopter hovered above you, its blades roaring in the night air. You sprinted toward it, Ghost right beside you, the two of you cutting through the enemy fire. You were almost there—just a few more steps.

And then, you were in. Ghost helped you into the helicopter first, then climbed in after you, barely avoiding another shot. The door slammed shut behind him, and the helicopter jerked into the air, taking you both away from the chaos below.

As the ground shrank beneath you, you looked at Ghost, your chest heaving with adrenaline. He was bleeding, his mask cracked, but there was something in his eyes—something that told you the mission was over. He’d done it. He’d gotten you back.

He looked at you, and for the first time since the mission started, the mask seemed to fade away just a little. There was a flicker of relief, of something soft, before the hardened soldier took over again.

"We’re not done yet," he muttered, though his voice had a gentler edge. "But we’ll make it. Together."

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and something else—something far deeper. The bond between you had been forged in fire, and now, it was unbreakable.

You were both alive. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself feel the weight of that victory.

[izzyezalea]

This is amazing! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Tea time ☕️ (Drew this over a year ago for the Sunshine Soap Zine. Some thoughts below)

For context, the zine funds meant for manufacturing and charity are gone: https://x.com/soapzine2024/status/1920663015017283887

This was to be my first ever zine, to celebrate a beloved character alongside fellow creators+fans, all towards a good cause. To have it all ruined by one bad actor is a massive disappointment. I hope customers will be able to get their money back and the charity donations met.

I kinda want to offer this as a print for those who wanted a physical copy, but I feel conflicted about having people pay for it… what do you guys think? Is there interest? If I do, I can also make prints of my other works. Let me know your thoughts, and please take care 🧡

[izzyezalea]

In the Dark

Ghost x FMedicReader!

The night was unnervingly quiet. A perfect silence that seemed to swallow everything whole. It was always the quiet before the storm, and this time, you could feel it deep in your bones. The mission had gone south faster than anyone had anticipated. What was supposed to be a simple extraction turned into an ambush, and now, you found yourself crouched in the dark, the only sounds being the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the enemy closing in. You should’ve been prepared for it. It always happened like this in the field—missions went sideways, plans fell apart, and soldiers were injured. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were facing now.

Simon "Ghost" Riley lay unconscious on the ground, his body limp in your arms. The black skull mask you knew so well was now cracked, a deep gash running through one of the eye holes, revealing the once-hidden scars beneath. His tactical gear, usually so pristine and efficient, was torn and bloodied. You could barely catch your breath as you tried to keep him steady in your arms, his blood soaking into your clothes.

"Ghost... please," you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice. You were a medic—used to dealing with injuries, used to putting people back together—but this felt different. He wasn’t just one of the soldiers you treated. He was Simon. The man who had quietly wormed his way into your heart, the man who had never said much but had always been there. The man who had always told you to "stay back" or "get to safety," never wanting you to risk yourself for him. And now, here he was, broken, bleeding, and you had to save him.

You cursed under your breath as you worked quickly, your fingers trembling as you applied pressure to the wound in his side. He’d taken a bullet during the firefight, and it was a miracle he was still alive. The enemy was still out there, and you needed to move fast. But you couldn't leave him behind. Not like this.

You glanced over your shoulder, trying to gauge your surroundings. The extraction team was too far off, and radio contact was down. You were on your own, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on your chest. Your mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this mess. Ghost was your responsibility now, and you couldn’t lose him. Not like this.

"Come on, Ghost... stay with me," you muttered, pulling a medical kit from your bag and working to staunch the bleeding. You could feel the heat of his body under your fingertips, the rise and fall of his chest shallow and weak. His breath was ragged, and his hand twitched slightly, but he didn’t wake.

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your heart was hammering in your chest. It was always different when it was someone you cared about. You couldn’t let yourself panic. You’d seen much worse than this before—hell, you’d treated countless wounds in the field. But this felt too personal.

His eyes fluttered open briefly, his gaze unfocused as he tried to lift his hand to his mask.

"Don’t..." you said quickly, grasping his hand before he could remove it. "Keep it on. You need to stay conscious."

His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, a pained groan slipped through, his body shuddering under the strain of whatever was happening inside him.

"Ghost, talk to me," you pleaded, your hands working faster now, applying a tourniquet to his leg to stop the blood flow. His face was pale, too pale, and you could see the signs of shock setting in.

He tried to speak again, but it was too weak. You leaned in close, doing your best to remain calm for him. "I’m not going anywhere," you said, your voice soft but firm. "You just hold on. We’re going to make it through this."

His hand gripped yours weakly, and for a brief second, you thought you saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It was hard to tell through the pain that clouded his expression, but you could swear he tried to smile.

"Promise... promise me you’ll get out... of here..." His voice was barely a whisper, but you caught every word. The worry in his voice made your chest tighten painfully.

You shook your head, the force of it surprising even yourself. "No. I’m not leaving you," you insisted, your voice raw. "I’ll get you out of here, Ghost. You’re not dying on me."

He let out a weak chuckle, but it ended in a painful cough, and you felt his body shudder again. His eyes drifted closed, and you felt the sudden terror in your gut.

"Simon!" you gasped, desperately trying to rouse him. You slapped his cheek lightly, but it was useless. His pulse was growing weaker. Your mind raced with all the things you could do, but none of them felt like they’d be enough. You needed help. You needed to get him to safety.

With shaking hands, you pulled out your radio, trying to make contact with the extraction team again. Static filled the air, and frustration built in your chest. "Damn it, answer me," you muttered, trying again. Nothing.

You looked back at Ghost, feeling the weight of the moment. You had to do something. You weren’t going to lose him. Not now. Not after everything you’d been through together.

You quickly assessed the situation again. The enemy was getting closer, and you needed to move, but you couldn’t just leave him here. You needed to get him to cover, to somewhere safe, where you could stabilise him long enough for help to arrive.

It was a gamble, but you didn’t have much of a choice. You gathered all your strength and, with great effort, managed to drag him into the nearby brush, carefully positioning him against a tree for support. His body sagged against you, and you could feel the heat of his blood soaking through your gloves.

"Come on, Ghost. Don’t do this to me," you whispered, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You wiped them away quickly. There was no time for that.

You applied another layer of gauze to his side, but the bleeding wasn’t stopping. You needed a field dressing, something more substantial, but your kit was running low.

"Hang in there," you muttered again, your voice tight. "You’re not going anywhere, soldier."

A distant shout broke the silence, and your head snapped up. You could just make out the figures of the enemy moving in the distance, closing the gap.

You quickly ducked down, dragging Ghost deeper into the shadows, your breath shallow with fear. Every movement had to be calculated. Every second counted.

But as you adjusted your position, Ghost’s body jerked slightly, a low groan slipping from his lips. His eyes flickered open, and he gazed at you, his focus clearer this time.

"Still here?" you asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

He nodded slightly, the effort clearly exhausting him. "You should... run," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "They’ll... find you."

Your heart ached at the thought of leaving him, but you shook your head. "I’m not leaving you, Simon. You hear me? I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw the man beneath the mask—the man who had always been so careful, so closed off, but here with you, raw and vulnerable.

"Don’t... don’t be a bloody hero," he murmured, his breath catching as he tried to sit up. You held him down gently, not allowing him to move.

"Shut up, Ghost," you said quietly, trying to smile despite the panic bubbling up inside you. "You’ve got to be a bloody hero to make it out of here, haven’t you?"

He chuckled weakly, and despite the situation, it felt like a small victory. You weren’t sure how long it would be before reinforcements came. You weren’t sure if you would make it through the night, but you knew one thing for certain: You would do whatever it took to get him out of here.

With the enemy closing in and time running out, you took one last deep breath, steadying yourself. You weren't going to lose him. Not today.

[izzyezalea]

Homecoming

Ghost x Freader - Fluff

Hey, I'm so glad people are enjoying my fics! I'll be making a master list soon - stay tuned! - IE 🩷

The house was quiet, too quiet. A silence that almost felt oppressive, as if the walls themselves could sense the emptiness in the air. You sat on the couch, a blanket draped around your shoulders, sipping at a cold cup of tea that had long since lost its warmth. It had become a routine, this waiting game. You would make tea, sit by the window, and hope. Hope for a letter, a call, or even just a hint that Simon would come home soon.

But all you had were his words from months ago, murmured just before he left. "I'll be back, love. Promise. Just hold tight."

You remembered the way his voice had softened in that moment, the usual stoic tone of Ghost giving way to something far more vulnerable. You never questioned his promise, but days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months. It wasn’t the first time he’d been deployed, but this time felt different. This time, it felt like part of you was on that mission too, waiting with bated breath for the return of the man who had claimed your heart in the quietest of ways.

You had tried to keep yourself busy—working, socialising with friends, even picking up a new hobby here and there. But nothing could fill the hollow space in your chest that had grown since his departure. Sometimes, you’d catch yourself staring at the clock, as if it could somehow turn back time or fast-forward to a moment where he was back with you, safe and sound.

The sound of a door creaking open snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the clock—it was late. Too late for a neighbour to be stopping by. You rose from the couch and padded across the room, your bare feet brushing the cool wooden floors. You peeked out the window, and for a moment, you thought you were imagining it.

There, standing in the glow of the streetlight, was Simon.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You blinked, certain that you had to be seeing things. But when you saw the familiar figure—a hulking shadow clad in black, the skull mask you knew so well—your breath caught in your throat.

Before you could even think, you flung the door open, your pulse racing.

"Simon!" you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you couldn’t quite believe he was really standing there.

He didn't say anything at first. His usual poker face was there, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed him. There was a flicker of warmth behind the cold exterior, a quiet vulnerability only you had the privilege of seeing. He took a few steps forward, his boots making a soft thud against the pavement, and when he reached you, he pulled you into his arms.

For a moment, you just stood there, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your fingertips, the familiar scent of him—smoke, leather, and the faintest trace of something earthy that you couldn't quite place. It was like a balm to the soul, soothing the ache that had taken root in your chest.

"I’ve missed you, love," he murmured, his voice rough, low, and thick with emotion. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your skin as though he was grounding himself, reminding himself that you were real, that he was home.

"You’re back," you whispered in disbelief, your voice shaky as you stared up at him. "I didn’t—didn’t expect you to come back like this."

Simon’s usual stoic exterior faltered just for a second. His shoulders slumped slightly, and his grip on you tightened. "I told you I would," he replied, though his words felt heavier this time, carrying the weight of all the things unsaid.

You leaned into him, pressing your forehead against his chest, breathing in the comfort of his presence. "I’ve been waiting for you, Si," you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "Every day. Counting the days, the hours… but I didn’t know if you’d come back."

The silence between you was thick, as though both of you were searching for the right thing to say. He lifted his hand to the back of your head, gently threading his fingers through your hair. "I couldn’t stay away. Not from you." His voice was quieter now, the soldier in him slipping away to make room for the man who loved you.

You stepped back slightly, just enough to look at him properly. His mask was still in place, but his eyes—those eyes—betrayed everything he had been holding in. "Why didn’t you tell me it would be this long?" you asked softly, your heart aching with the memory of those months.

"I didn’t want to make it harder for you," he confessed, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. "I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted you to live your life, not be held back by me being gone."

You shook your head, a quiet laugh escaping you despite the tears that threatened to spill. "Si, you’re a bloody fool. I don’t care about anything else, just that you’re here now."

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips beneath the mask, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the man you loved, not the soldier.

"Alright, love," he said with a gentle sigh, his voice finally softening into something more familiar. "You win. I’ll make it up to you. I’m here, aren’t I? Home, for good this time."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "I can’t believe it. I thought you were gone for good…"

"Never," Simon replied, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he wiped away a stray tear. "I’ll always come back to you. Always."

The weight of his words settled between you like a promise, an unspoken vow that stretched far beyond the confines of this moment.

You closed the distance again, resting your head against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat reassuring you. "I missed you more than you’ll ever know," you whispered, your hands gripping the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline.

"And I missed you too," he murmured, holding you tightly. "More than I’ll ever say."

There was so much you wanted to say, but in that moment, the words didn’t matter. His presence, the steady comfort of his arms around you, was all that was needed. He was home. And for now, that was enough.

"Let’s go inside," you said quietly, taking his hand in yours. "It’s bloody cold out here."

Simon nodded, pulling you close as you walked back inside, the door shutting softly behind you. Inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you both, a sanctuary from the chaos of the world. The tea was still sitting on the counter, now cold and forgotten, but Simon’s return had turned everything around.

In the quiet of the night, you could finally exhale, knowing that he was home.

[izzyezalea]

Thank you @magicwriterinspo and everyone who got me to 25 reblogs!

Til the Last Round

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

2,300 words - Angst,Romance, Sad AF!

The rain hit the safehouse roof like bullets, sharp and fast, drumming a rhythm you couldn’t settle into. The heater buzzed in the corner, rattling now and then like it might give out, but the silence between you and Ghost was louder than both.

He stood near the boarded window, watching nothing, arms crossed over his chest, balaclava still pulled over half his face. He hadn’t said a word in twenty minutes. Not since the call came through.

You were getting pulled.

“Say something,” you muttered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

You tried again, louder this time. “Simon—”

“You shouldn’t have come,” he snapped.

The words landed harder than a slap. “You asked me to.”

“No, I didn’t.” He finally turned to face you, eyes dark. “I told you it was dangerous. That you shouldn’t be on this op.”

“And I told you I wasn’t leaving you out there alone.”

“And now they’re sending you away. Back to HQ. They’re splitting us up again—‘cause they know.”

You stepped closer, boots quiet on the concrete floor. “I don’t care if they know.

“You should.” His voice was low, strained. “They’ll use it. Use you. You think Shepherd won’t hold that over me?”

You bit your lip, fingers twitching by your side. You wanted to touch him. You didn’t.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” he said quietly, and for a second, his voice cracked. “But I’m not gonna be the reason they hurt you.”

He walked away from the window, pacing now, hands clenched like he was holding himself together by threads. You watched his back, the rise and fall of his shoulders under the black tactical gear.

“You’re not,” you said. “You’re the reason I’m still breathing.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m poison, love. You should’ve figured that out by now.”

You crossed the room in two steps and grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

He stopped. Let you hold him.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” you whispered. “You’re not poison to me.”

His head dropped forward. “Then why does this feel like goodbye?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because it did. You’d felt it the moment Laswell’s voice crackled over comms: Get her out of there. Now. Separate transport. No arguments.

You both knew what it meant.

Burn notice. No return.

Ghost was staying in the field. You weren’t.

And what they didn’t say—but both of you heard—was this is the last time.

You finally reached for his mask, fingers brushing the fabric. “Let me see you.”

He hesitated.

“Please.”

Slowly, he tugged it off, revealing the man underneath. Tired eyes. Unshaved stubble. A fresh bruise on his jaw.

You reached up and touched his face, just once, like you were memorising it with your fingertips.

“I’ll wait for you,” you whispered.

“No, you won’t.” His voice broke. “You’ll try. But they’ll make sure I disappear, and you’ll move on. Meet someone clean. Someone who doesn’t sleep with a gun under their pillow.”

You shook your head. “There’s no one else.”

“There has to be.”

His lips found yours then, sudden and desperate. Not a kiss full of passion—one full of pain. Of goodbye. His hands cupped your face like you were glass and he was already mourning the cracks.

You pulled him closer. Kissed him harder. Tried to make it last.

It didn’t.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and shaking, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Do one thing for me,” he murmured.

“Anything.”

“When they take you... don’t look back.”

Your heart cracked. “Simon—”

“If you do, I’ll chase after you. And we’ll both be dead within the week.”

You nodded, but your stomach twisted.

He stepped back, mask in hand, face already shifting back into Ghost—the version of him that felt more shadow than man.

Footsteps outside. Voices.

The evac team.

He grabbed your hand, one last time. Held it like it hurt.

“I love you,” you said. “Even if you won’t say it.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes burned.

But he didn’t say it.

Didn’t have to.

The door opened behind you. Cold wind swept in.

You turned. Walked out.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t hear the way his breath caught as you left. Didn’t see the way his hand clenched the spot where yours had been. Didn’t know he whispered the words once the door shut.

“I love you, too.”

*Six Months Later*

You scanned the list of KIAs. It wasn’t long, but the name burned like fire.

Lt. Simon Riley. Killed in action. No remains recovered.

You didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream.

You just folded the paper. Tucked it into your pocket.

And walked home in silence.

He told you not to wait.

But you did.

And now you always would.

My first Angst fic! I hope you like it. Any feedback/advice is appreciated. Ask me anything, and feel free to request fics! Love - IE 🩷

[izzyezalea]

Til the Last Round

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

2,300 words - Angst,Romance, Sad AF!

The rain hit the safehouse roof like bullets, sharp and fast, drumming a rhythm you couldn’t settle into. The heater buzzed in the corner, rattling now and then like it might give out, but the silence between you and Ghost was louder than both.

He stood near the boarded window, watching nothing, arms crossed over his chest, balaclava still pulled over half his face. He hadn’t said a word in twenty minutes. Not since the call came through.

You were getting pulled.

“Say something,” you muttered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

You tried again, louder this time. “Simon—”

“You shouldn’t have come,” he snapped.

The words landed harder than a slap. “You asked me to.”

“No, I didn’t.” He finally turned to face you, eyes dark. “I told you it was dangerous. That you shouldn’t be on this op.”

“And I told you I wasn’t leaving you out there alone.”

“And now they’re sending you away. Back to HQ. They’re splitting us up again—‘cause they know.”

You stepped closer, boots quiet on the concrete floor. “I don’t care if they know.

“You should.” His voice was low, strained. “They’ll use it. Use you. You think Shepherd won’t hold that over me?”

You bit your lip, fingers twitching by your side. You wanted to touch him. You didn’t.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” he said quietly, and for a second, his voice cracked. “But I’m not gonna be the reason they hurt you.”

He walked away from the window, pacing now, hands clenched like he was holding himself together by threads. You watched his back, the rise and fall of his shoulders under the black tactical gear.

“You’re not,” you said. “You’re the reason I’m still breathing.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m poison, love. You should’ve figured that out by now.”

You crossed the room in two steps and grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

He stopped. Let you hold him.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” you whispered. “You’re not poison to me.”

His head dropped forward. “Then why does this feel like goodbye?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because it did. You’d felt it the moment Laswell’s voice crackled over comms: Get her out of there. Now. Separate transport. No arguments.

You both knew what it meant.

Burn notice. No return.

Ghost was staying in the field. You weren’t.

And what they didn’t say—but both of you heard—was this is the last time.

You finally reached for his mask, fingers brushing the fabric. “Let me see you.”

He hesitated.

“Please.”

Slowly, he tugged it off, revealing the man underneath. Tired eyes. Unshaved stubble. A fresh bruise on his jaw.

You reached up and touched his face, just once, like you were memorising it with your fingertips.

“I’ll wait for you,” you whispered.

“No, you won’t.” His voice broke. “You’ll try. But they’ll make sure I disappear, and you’ll move on. Meet someone clean. Someone who doesn’t sleep with a gun under their pillow.”

You shook your head. “There’s no one else.”

“There has to be.”

His lips found yours then, sudden and desperate. Not a kiss full of passion—one full of pain. Of goodbye. His hands cupped your face like you were glass and he was already mourning the cracks.

You pulled him closer. Kissed him harder. Tried to make it last.

It didn’t.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and shaking, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Do one thing for me,” he murmured.

“Anything.”

“When they take you... don’t look back.”

Your heart cracked. “Simon—”

“If you do, I’ll chase after you. And we’ll both be dead within the week.”

You nodded, but your stomach twisted.

He stepped back, mask in hand, face already shifting back into Ghost—the version of him that felt more shadow than man.

Footsteps outside. Voices.

The evac team.

He grabbed your hand, one last time. Held it like it hurt.

“I love you,” you said. “Even if you won’t say it.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes burned.

But he didn’t say it.

Didn’t have to.

The door opened behind you. Cold wind swept in.

You turned. Walked out.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t hear the way his breath caught as you left. Didn’t see the way his hand clenched the spot where yours had been. Didn’t know he whispered the words once the door shut.

“I love you, too.”

*Six Months Later*

You scanned the list of KIAs. It wasn’t long, but the name burned like fire.

Lt. Simon Riley. Killed in action. No remains recovered.

You didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream.

You just folded the paper. Tucked it into your pocket.

And walked home in silence.

He told you not to wait.

But you did.

And now you always would.

My first Angst fic! I hope you like it. Any feedback/advice is appreciated. Ask me anything, and feel free to request fics! Love - IE 🩷

[izzyezalea]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 100 likes!

[izzyezalea]

The Last Goodbye

Price x Freader - Angst/Fluff

The night air in the barracks was cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the fire in the corner. It crackled and popped, but the sound did little to ease the tension that had been building between you and John Price for the past few days. Tomorrow, he was leaving. No, he was going to war, and the odds were thin he’d return in one piece, much less unscathed.

The mission he and the rest of the team were about to undertake was classified—just a few of the details were known to you, but even those were concerning. Something about this particular mission felt different.

The quiet between you two had been thick for days, neither of you willing to speak the words that hovered between you. You’d always been close—too close, maybe, for a team leader and a subordinate. Price had always been more than just a commanding officer to you; he was a friend, a protector, and if you were being honest with yourself, there was always something more. But tonight, you both felt the weight of it all in a way that neither of you had before.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual. The minutes dragged on.

You were packing his kit, silently moving from one bag to the next, but your mind wasn’t on the task. Every so often, you’d glance at him—his brow furrowed, his hands gripping the edge of the table, his posture tense, but there was something else in his eyes tonight. Something deeper than the usual stoic concentration.

He caught you looking at him, and for the briefest moment, the air between you seemed to hum with the weight of the unspoken words. Then, with a slow, measured breath, he stood up, his boots hitting the floor with the familiar thud.

“Let’s go for a walk, yeah?” he said quietly, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You nodded, swallowing down the lump that had formed in your throat. Without a word, you followed him out of the barracks into the dark, quiet night.

The gravel crunched underfoot as you walked side by side, the only light coming from the dim glow of the moon overhead. There were no words between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not yet.

He stopped after a while, turning to face you, his silhouette outlined by the pale light.

“Listen, dove,” he started, his voice unusually soft, almost hesitant. “There’s somethin’ I need to say before I leave. I—” He paused, swallowing as if he were battling with the words. “I don’t want to go without you knowin’ how I feel.

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden change in tone. You tried to keep your voice steady, but it cracked slightly, betraying the nerves you hadn’t realised you had.

“John, you don’t have to say anything. I know the risks. We all know the risks.

He shook his head, stepping closer, his eyes locking with yours. “It’s not about the mission, love. It’s about you.” He let out a breath, his hands clasping behind his back. “I’ve never been good at this, you know that. But there’s no easy way to say this... I’ve always cared about you. More than I should. More than I’ve allowed myself to, probably. But I need you to know—no matter what happens tomorrow, you mean everything to me.”

Your heart skipped, the words taking a moment to sink in. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I just… I don’t know what tomorrow brings,” he continued, his voice softer now, a quiet vulnerability in his usually commanding tone. “But I didn’t want to leave without telling you that.”

The moment stretched on, hanging between you like a fragile thread.

“I…” You started, your voice wavering. You didn’t know what to say either. The truth was, you’d always known. You’d always felt it, but hearing him admit it, in the rawest way possible, made your heart ache. “I care about you too, John. I always have.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distance between you, though small, felt like an ocean. You both had always kept your feelings buried beneath layers of duty and professionalism, but now, as he prepared to walk into what could be his last mission, there was no room for anything but honesty.

Before you could say anything more, he stepped back, shaking his head, giving you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’d better get some sleep,” he said, trying to regain his usual composure. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat felt like a weight.

The next day, he was gone.

Days turned into a blur of uncertainty and worry. Every sound, every whisper in the halls made your heart skip. You hadn’t heard from him. No calls, no messages, no sign of life.

You couldn’t shake the gnawing fear. Every time the team gathered for briefings or mission updates, the silence was suffocating. Price wasn’t there. And the longer the silence stretched, the more hopeless it became. You knew deep down something had gone wrong. But you didn’t know what, and the unknown was eating at you.

A week passed without a word.

During that time, you barely slept, barely ate. Every waking moment was filled with images of Price—his smile, his steady presence, the way he’d look at you when you didn’t expect it. But those were just memories now, floating in the emptiness where he once stood.

You didn’t allow yourself to break down. Not yet. You focused on the mission, on keeping your head above water, on surviving. But the gnawing worry was relentless. You found yourself standing at the window of your quarters at all hours, staring out into the dark, wondering if Price was out there, or if he was...

The thought haunted you.

Then, one night, after a long day of tactical reviews and planning, you heard a knock on your door. Your pulse quickened, your heart in your throat.

When you opened it, you almost didn’t believe it.

There, standing in the doorway, his face tired and drawn, was John Price.

You stood frozen for a moment, heart thudding in your chest. His expression was grim, his usual confidence stripped away, replaced by a raw exhaustion that seemed to have aged him years in the span of a week.

He didn’t speak at first, just stood there, the weight of the moment too heavy for words.

“You’re alive,” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper.

He nodded slowly, his eyes softening for the first time in what felt like forever. “Just barely.”

You didn’t know what to say. The relief that surged through you made your legs feel weak. You took a step forward, then another, your arms aching to pull him into a hug, to hold him close and never let go. But there was a wall between you now—one you didn’t know how to break.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I should’ve—”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Don’t. Don’t apologise. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes flickered over to you, filled with an unspoken understanding. But there was something else too—something new. A distance. Not physical, but emotional. You could feel it, the crack in the foundation of what you once shared.

“You’ve changed,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Price’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away. “I know. I…” He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “It’s not easy, love. What we do… it’s not easy. And I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.”

You nodded, the pain of it all settling in. You wanted to go back to how things were, to the simplicity of those late-night talks, the teasing, the warmth of his presence. But you couldn’t. Not now.

“I don’t know how to move forward from this,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Price didn’t answer right away. He just stepped into your room, closing the door behind him, and for a long moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the lights.

“I don’t either,” he murmured. “But I’ll figure it out. I’ll figure us out. If you’ll let me.”

The uncertainty lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, but there was something else, too. A thread, fragile but strong.

Maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe it was just the beginning of something new—something neither of you fully understood yet.

But you were both here. And that had to be enough.

[izzyezalea]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 50 likes!

This is amazing! I will be uploading more fics very soon! 🩷🩷🩷

[izzyezalea]

Hi! So glad people are enjoying my first fic!

Please ask me anything, I'm new to this, so give me ideas and recommendations - I'm happy to write for all call of duty characters - IE 🩷

Three Minutes

Simon “Ghost” Riley x FReader | Bomb Defusal | Lovers in War

The building was silent, save for the creaking of metal and the faint drip of water somewhere in the dark. Every shadow looked like it could lunge. Every corner, a trap. Ghost moved like death itself—silent, fast, focused. The rest of 141 was clearing the perimeter, but he hadn’t waited. Couldn’t.

Not when it was you.

You’d been missing for two days. Two fucking days. Intel finally came through—cartel offshoot, using an abandoned comms station outside Al Mazrah as a makeshift torture den. By the time they stormed it, Ghost was already inside, carving his way through the bastards like a man possessed.

He turned a corner. Stopped cold.

There you were—slumped against a support beam, wrists zip-tied, blood dried along your temple. Eyes wide, dazed—but alive.

Alive.

And strapped to your chest was a bomb.

His heart kicked into overdrive. He didn’t even breathe.

“Love?” His voice was low, strained. “It’s me.”

Your head lifted slowly. “Simon…”

And God, that voice—hoarse, broken—but real.

He rushed to you, dropped to his knees. “Stay still, yeah? Don’t move.”

You nodded weakly. “They said... three minutes. When they left. Dunno how long it’s been.”

He didn’t waste time asking stupid questions. He was already examining the vest, fingers nimble despite the tremor in them. Wires. Timer. 01:54 and counting.

Bloody hell.

“Alright,” he muttered, pulling a small toolkit from his belt. “This ain’t gonna be fun, but I’ve got you.”

“You sure?” you whispered.

He paused. Met your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Your breathing hitched. You tried to stay calm, but the fear was thick in the air, mingling with dust and sweat and blood.

“I don’t wanna die like this,” you choked out.

“You won’t,” he said, sharp, certain. “You’re not dyin’. Not today. Not ever if I can bloody help it.”

He worked fast, eyes scanning the circuit, isolating wires, tracing them back. It was an old rig, Russian-made. Bastards were getting creative. But Ghost had defused worse.

The timer blinked: 01:12.

“Talk to me,” he said suddenly, voice tight. “Keep your mind off it.”

You tried. “Been a year now, yeah?”

“Year and three weeks,” he replied, snipping one wire. Timer kept ticking.

“Thought maybe we’d make it to two.”

“We will. You promised me pizza and a film night back home.”

You gave a weak smile. “With those stupid action flicks you pretend not to like?”

“Oi, I’m partial to a bit of Fast & Furious. No judgin’.”

Timer: 00:42.

He was almost there. Just two more connections.

“You ever think about leavin’?” you asked, barely audible.

He froze for a fraction of a second. Then: “All the time. With you.”

“Where?”

“Doesn’t matter. Somewhere quiet. Maybe a little place with a garden. You like those. Maybe a dog.”

You blinked hard. “You want a dog?”

“I want you. Whatever comes with that, I’ll take.”

00:25.

His hands moved faster. The sweat on his brow mixed with soot. He could hear boots above—Soap and Price clearing rooms. But it was just him and you in this moment.

You were trembling. “Simon… I’m scared.”

His hand found yours. Gripped tight. “Me too. But I need you to be brave for just a bit longer.”

00:15.

He found the trigger wire. Two options—cut the wrong one, and you’re gone. He stared at it. Everything in him screamed to act fast, but instinct told him to go steady.

You were watching him, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” you said, voice shaking. “Don’t let them take me away from you.”

His jaw clenched. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

00:08.

He cut the wire.

The timer stopped.

Silence.

Just for a second, the world paused.

Then Ghost exhaled—shaky, half-choked—and pulled the vest off you, tossing it aside like it’d burned him. He was on his knees again, tugging at your zip ties with trembling fingers.

You collapsed into his arms as soon as they snapped.

“Got you,” he muttered into your hair, holding you like you might vanish. “You’re alright now. I’ve got you.”

You sobbed once—quiet, raw—and buried your face into his chest.

He held you through it. His mask was soaked from sweat and soot, but he didn’t care. Didn’t even notice.

Footsteps pounded behind him. Soap appeared in the doorway, rifle raised.

“Ghost—bloody hell, you found her.”

“She’s safe,” Ghost said, not turning. “I’ve got her.”

Soap nodded, gave you both a look of quiet relief, then turned to cover the hallway.

When you finally pulled back, your fingers brushed the edge of Ghost’s mask. You tapped it gently.

“Can I see you?”

He hesitated.

Then, without a word, he pulled it up—just enough to show his face. Just for you.

Bruised, tired, dirt-smudged—but yours.

You touched his jaw, thumb brushing that old scar.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He kissed you. No hesitation. No fear.

Just need.

When he pulled back, he said it too—quiet, rough, like it cost him.

“I love you more than this bloody world deserves.”

Outside, the evac was arriving. Price’s voice crackled in the comms, orders snapping out.

But in that abandoned building, amid broken walls and ghosts of violence, all that mattered was that you were breathing, together.

Alive.

[izzyezalea]

My first fic! Please be kind 🩷

Smoke and Blood

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

- Friends to Lovers

The street was a proper warzone—half the buildings shelled to shit, the sky thick with black smoke and tracer fire. You could barely see ten feet ahead without catching a mouthful of soot. Task Force 141 had been split after the ambush near Al Mazrah, and now it was just you and Ghost, moving through the smouldering wreckage with death breathing down your necks.

"Oi, keep low," Ghost muttered over comms, crouched beside a burnt-out lorry. “Sniper’s got eyes on this stretch. We move on my mark.”

You gave a silent nod, pressing your back to the brickwork, heart hammering. Your M4 was slick with sweat and grime, and the blood on your sleeve wasn’t all someone else’s.

“Three tangos up ahead,” you whispered. “Rooftop, one with a Dragunov.”

Ghost peeked, then ducked back. “Cheeky bastard’s about to lose his head.”

And like that, he was up—two shots from his suppressed rifle, and one poor sod toppled off the edge like a sack of bricks. You took the second shot. A clean one. Right through the eye. The third bloke legged it before he joined his mates.

“Move!” Ghost barked, and you were off, boots hammering pavement, weaving through alleys.

Every time you glanced his way, he was right there. Same brutal precision, same steely focus. But lately, something different lingered beneath that skull-painted mask—a softness, a tension that had nothing to do with the battlefield.

You burst into a half-collapsed flat, took a breath, and turned to him. “You alright?”

“I’m peachy,” he said, sarcasm dry as sandpaper. “You?”

“Still breathing.”

He looked at you for a beat longer than usual. “Don’t go getting dead on me. I’ve not got the patience to drag your arse outta here.”

You smirked. “Who said you’d have to?”

He rolled his eyes behind the mask, but there was a flicker of something else there—relief.

But there wasn’t time to dig deeper. Another blast rocked the street. A nearby building caved in with a thunderous crash, sending chunks of concrete raining down.

“Down!” Ghost shoved you hard, and you hit the floor just as the shockwave rolled through. Dust filled your lungs. Ears ringing. You scrambled to your feet, coughing, eyes stinging.

“Ghost?!”

No answer.

You found him slumped against the wall, blood trailing from a nasty gash above his eye. He blinked slowly, dazed.

“Bloody hell…” he groaned.

“You with me?”

“Barely. Feel like I got snogged by a sledgehammer.”

You knelt, ripping open your medkit. “Sit still, I’ve got you.”

He hissed as you pressed a bandage to the wound. “Not the gentle type, are ya?”

“You want gentle, find a nurse.”

You felt his gaze on you—heavy, unreadable.

“You’re good at this,” he said, quieter.

You shrugged. “You learn fast when the alternative is bleeding out.”

He grabbed your wrist gently. “You scared?”

You paused. “Of dying? No. Of you dying? Every damn second.”

That silenced him. The tension between you was a live wire now, snapping and sparking in the thick air.

“Look,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life. You know that. But you—you’re the one thing that cuts through the noise. I can be knee-deep in bodies, and somehow I still see you. Hear your voice.”

You blinked. “Simon…”

“I’ve been meaning to say this, but this bloody war keeps gettin’ in the way.”

He pulled his mask up just enough to show his mouth—lips chapped, a scar curling along his jaw—and leaned in.

“I love you,” he said, simply. No fluff. No hesitation.

You didn’t think. You kissed him—tasted ash, blood, desperation—but beneath it all, you tasted him. Real. Alive.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. But it was everything you’d been too afraid to want.

When you broke apart, you rested your forehead against his. “I love you too.”

A siren blared in the distance. The evac.

“Time to finish this,” you said, gripping your rifle again.

“Right behind you,” he murmured, mask sliding back into place.

And you fought.

Fought like demons, side by side, tearing through enemy lines with ruthless efficiency. Covered each other like muscle memory. Every move synced. Every shot clean.

At one point, you took a round to the arm—white-hot agony tearing through your bicep—but you kept going. You had to.

Because Ghost was still breathing. And as long as he was, so would you.

When you finally reached the exfil point, bloodied and battered, the chopper blades were already kicking up dust. Soap was shouting through the headset, Price barking orders.

But all you heard was Ghost beside you, panting, alive.

You collapsed into the bird, shoulder to shoulder. Bruised. Exhausted. Alive.

And when the doors shut and the chaos was left behind, he leaned into you and whispered, “You’re mine now. No more running.”

You smiled, head resting against his shoulder.

“No more running.”