#ghost x oc

[lululandd]

oc: this is no longer your apartment this is meese's. ghost: yeah and?

[cloudofbutterflies92]

The scientist cowgirl from the vault and the mercenary ghost of Mojave

[cyberghostdraws]

- ̗̀᥀💐♡⋮ Chibis ¡ MW & Ghosts

— I finally finished them after almost a month haha I hope you like it! ✨

(The file for my oc Blaze from Call of Duty: Ghosts is in process, I will probably publish it soon 👀)

.ೃ࿔*━━━━━━ 𓏲ֹ۪❪ ⿴ꯨ❛ 💌 ❜˚❫ 𓏲ֹ۪━━━━━━.ೃ࿔*

[chaosbarelycontained]

I Am The Resurrection

North Country Boy Part 1

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: swearing

Words: 2.9k

Synopsis: Jules is given a choice and finds out that someone from her past whom she thought was dead is actually very much alive.

Jules sat towards the back of the room as Captain Green debriefed his squad on their latest successful deployment. She picked at the skin around her thumbnail as she tried to ignore the rising tide of nausea in her belly. She was in the shit. Ignoring a direct order, no matter the outcome, was unacceptable and she’d had to take out three hostiles in the process. Sure she’d managed to get her hands on the key locations they’d needed but now she was drowning in paperwork and had the dark cloud of a disciplinary hearing hanging over her head.

A slight creak of the door to her left grabbed her attention and her eyes were drawn to the tall male figure that slipped through and leaned against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest and seemed to be listening intently to whatever the Captain had to say. Jules resumed her picking, hissing out a quiet curse as a bead of blood welled up against her cuticle, and she stuck her thumb in her mouth. Something registered in her brain then, much slower than it usually would have, and she cast another surreptitious look over to the stranger. Beard. He had a beard. Only Pioneer Sergeants were allowed to wear a beard and she could see from his uniform that he wasn’t one of those. His stripes told her he was a Captain. Special Forces then. Had to be covert ops. Why was…oh shit.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught him looking over at her and, for Juliette, it was enough confirmation. He must be part of the disciplinary committee. If they’d brought in another Special Forces Captain for her hearing then she was well and truly fucked. Her stomach rolled and saliva welled in her mouth as Green moved into his closing remarks. She barely heard his dismissal over the thoughts that were running rampant through her brain but the movement of her squad as they began to vacate the room brought her back down to Earth. She stood from her chair and then turned to leave but Green’s voice cracked out across the room.

“Kelsall, a word?”

Jules froze for a second and tried not to let her shoulders droop as she made her way to the front of the room. A few of her squad mates gave her sympathetic looks and Boothroyd even patted her on the shoulder. Plastering a bland mask onto her face she stood at ease before her Captain, trying to project the very image of military perfection. I’m sorry Robbie, she offered in silent prayer to her brother as the unfamiliar Captain stepped up to stand next to Green.

They waited in uncomfortable silence until the room had emptied. Jules resisted the urge to squirm under the heavy scrutiny of her senior officers. She was no rookie and she’d not crumble like one.

“Sergeant Kelsall, this is Captain Price,” Green said, inclining his head toward the stranger.

“Pleasure to meet you, Sir,” she saluted with as much formality as she could muster.

“Kelsall,” Price nodded, his arms still folded.

“Look, Jules,” Green began, trying to make her feel comfortable. “We’ve been in the same squad for a long time now and I’ve never once ever questioned your judgement. Even now.”

Jules sighed and lowered her gaze. She knew which way this speech would go. She and Green had a good working relationship that had started way back even before they’d joined the Special Reconnaissance Regiment but she guessed that even he didn't have the authority to get her out of the hole this time. She wondered for a moment where she’d actually go, she was pretty short on options, but the unfamiliar voice of Captain Price drew her back to the conversation.

“You’ve been noticed, Sergeant,” he stated in a clipped tone.

“I don’t quite know how to take that remark, Sir,” Jules admitted, trying to maintain her posture.

Green sighed and ran his hand through his short salt-and-pepper hair before dragging it down over his chin.

“I’m going to put it plainly, Jules, out of respect for our friendship. You’re going to face disciplinary action for your conduct on the last mission…”

“Or?” she interrupted, sensing the direction the conversation was going.

“Or we take a walk and you listen to what I’ve got to say,” Price interjected, tilting his head slightly.

Her eyes darted between the two Captains but she managed to keep the rising tide of panic off her face. A second passed, and then a few more, all of them weighed by a heavy silence.

”Shall we, Sir?” she said finally, turning to face Price.

“After you,” he gestured towards the door.

With one last look at Captain Green’s tight-lipped face she led Captain Price out of the room and into the corridor beyond.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions,” he said quietly, mindful of their public location.

“Not as many as you’d think,” Jules replied, following alongside the Captain as he led them confidently through the maze of corridors and walkways.

He finally came to a halt in front of an unlabelled door that opened up into a cramped, nondescript office. Price made his way behind the desk and reached for the top drawer, surprising Jules by actually removing it completely. On the back of the drawer there was a small rectangular object fastened there by metallic duct tape. Price worried at the corner of the tape with his fingernail, loosening it enough for him to be able to peel it back and retrieve the object. He held it out to Jules, his eyebrow raised, and she took it from him. It was a data drive.

“Everything you need to know is on there. It can’t be copied, well, you probably could but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. You’ve got four hours from when you plug it in to read it before it wipes itself.

“OK, but what’s this all about?” Jules asked, still confused, although she curled her fingers around the drive and drew it back towards herself.

“You’ve got skills, Kelsall,” he rumbled, “but more importantly, you’ve got an attitude. You get the job done regardless and that’s that sort of thing we’re looking for.”

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head at Jules’ bemused expression.

“Just read it. If you’re in, pack your kit and I’ll see you on the airstrip at 1600 hours, if not…well, this conversation never happened.”

“Understood, Sir,” she said, but already sounded distracted as she turned the drive over and over in her fingers.

“Alright then,” he nodded, moving towards the door but then paused, tapping two fingers onto the monitor of the desktop computer in front of her. “Use this one. It’s not connected to the network.”

With those last words he left Jules in the office, closing the door quietly behind him. Jules took his place behind the desk and sat in the old wooden chair that had been left there. It gave an ominous crack as she leaned over to turn on the pc but it remained uncomfortably stable. The screen flickered to life, opening in bios, and Jules plugged the data drive into the usb slot on the pc before typing in the commands to run the drive.

It contained nothing more than a single unnamed document. She took a breath and opened it, curiosity thrumming through her veins. Task Force 141. The overview was short, revealing not much more than a veiled reference to various Special and Black Ops but it was enough to draw Jules in. She scrolled further to find a squad list, with Price’s name at the top. There were no photos, just names, ranks and former affiliations. Price and a few others were former SAS. Makes sense, she thought but when she got to the third name on the list her heart skipped a beat and her hand stilled on the keyboard.

Jules stared at the document on the screen, as if she could make a photograph appear by sheer force of will. She shook her head in disbelief. It couldn’t be the same person, surely. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind she scrolled through the rest of the short list of names. There were Americans, Russians, a couple of Australians, and the unusual mix fuelled Jules’ intrigue even more.

As the clock ticked around to 1600 hours, Jules found herself standing before the doors that led out to the airstrip. She smoothed her hands over her maroon Duke of Lancaster belt and adjusted the fit of the grey SRR beret that she’d been so proud to receive. Hoisting her kit bag onto her shoulder she marched out onto the airstrip towards the distinctive figure of Captain Price, who stood with arms folded before an A109SP helicopter that was readying for takeoff.

“Hoped you’d make an appearance,” Price said gruffly, raising his voice a little over the noise of the aircraft.

“Join a task force that doesn’t exist or face a disciplinary, not really much of a choice there, Sir,” she scoffed, turning to face him.

He looked down at her with a smirk before turning toward her and holding out his hand. She looked down at it and then back up at him before grasping his hand in hers and shaking it.

“Not many get the option.”

Jules followed Price onto the aircraft, stowed her bag under her seat, and fastened herself in. She removed her beret, rolled it up to put in her pocket, and then put on the headset and mic so she could communicate with Price and the pilot. The noise of the engine and the blades grew even louder and her stomach lurched as the helicopter rose into the air and headed off on an almost southerly trajectory.

“Should be about 45 minutes,” the pilot informed them after she had completed her obligatory checks.

“Cheers Ross,” Price said and then turned his attention back to Jules.

She shrank a little under his intense gaze and she struggled to read his expression under the beard he wore. A sick knot of regret began to build in her throat but she swallowed it down and met his stare.

“Can I ask where we’re going?” she croaked, but the mic carried her strained voice straight to the Captain’s ears.

“Stirling Lines,” he offered and Jules nodded despite her surprise.

The base in Herefordshire was the headquarters for all the Special Forces regiments including the SRR, but Jules hadn’t really expected it to be the home of a secret task force. She’d been based in Preston for the last three years and had been hopping around the globe for longer than that. She’d not actually spent that much time on Stirling Lines beyond her initial SRR recruitment and training.

“Will I get a chance to get the rest of my stuff, Sir?” she asked, having not been able to fit all of her belongings into a single kit bag.

“It’s being packed as we speak. Should be delivered tomorrow.”

“You were so sure I’d say yes?”

“90%” Price said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“And the other 10%?” Jules probed.

“That you and Green were having an affair and you wouldn’t want to leave him.”

“What?!” Jules spluttered, her jaw almost hitting her chest.

“It was the only other reason I could think of as to why he spoke so highly of you. I see from your reaction that’s not the case so you’d better live up to your reputation, Kelsall.”

“Are you serio…you’re takin’ the piss aren’t you, Sir?” Jules said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously and Price let out a hearty laugh.

“You’d better get used to it. Welcome to the 141, Sergeant.”

After landing at the barracks, Price guided Jules onto a small jeep before climbing into the driver’s seat. He pulled away from the helipad and took them on a short journey down a small side road that Jules had never used before. It led them around the back of the billets to a smaller building that Jules hadn’t seen in her time stationed there. It was close enough to the other accommodation buildings to still be a part of them but far enough away to give some extra sense of privacy. Price pulled up next to a couple of other vehicles and cut the engine, exiting the cab with the same economy of movement as he did everything else. Twitching his head in the direction of the entrance he stalked off, expecting Jules to follow him.

The interior was no different to any other billet she’d stayed in, with linoleum floors and bland-coloured paint on the walls.

“Mess hall’s down the back there, rooms are on the first floor. You’re in 3B,” the Captain pointed towards a set of stairs. “You can dump your kit before we eat but first I’ll introduce you to everyone. They should be in the briefing room now, or they will be if they know what’s good for ‘em.”

Jules followed close behind as the Captain led her towards a room at the rear of the building opposite the mess hall he’d indicated earlier. As they got closer she could hear the familiar rhythm of raucous banter even though she couldn’t yet make out the words. Price opened the door and they passed through, a chorus of cheers rising up as the team took sight of their Captain.

“‘Bout bloody time,” one of them called out.

“Should be against regs to call a briefing this close to tea time!” another grumbled but they quietened down when Price turned to face them and ran a hand over his beard.

Dumping her kit bag on the floor near the door, Jules stood at ease against the wall and listened as Price addressed his team.

“The sooner you stop your whining, the quicker you’ll get to your scran, MacTavish,” Price warned but Jules could see the good-natured spark behind the Captain’s disdainful expression. “I wanted to introduce everyone to the newest member of the team.”

A few whoops and whistles sounded before a gesture from Price quieted them down again and began his introductions. Jules stayed steadfast under the scrutiny of the assembled soldiers as she plastered a pleasant half-smile on her face and hoped that the flush she felt rising on her chest would stop at the neck of her shirt and not turn her face into a beetroot. She nodded along to the cheerful welcomes from the room and her smile slowly turned from forced to genuine.

Movement from the doorway drew her attention away from the Captain’s address and she watched as a large figure entered the room, his face covered by a balaclava with a skull painted on it. She wasn’t phased. Special Forces were, by their nature, a strange lot. She should know, she’d been in the SRR for long enough.

“Finally,” Price huffed. “Where the hell have you been? You know what, never mind. I was just introducing the rest to the new recruit. Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Juliette…

“Kelsall,” the newcomer finished and Jules froze at the sound of his voice.

Something about it was so familiar and yet…

She stiffened as his chestnut eyes bored into her from beneath the cover of his mask and it was then that she was certain. Her chest filled with ice, her heart hardening as she stared back at him with cold eyes and her jaw tightly clenched.

“Yeah, that’s right. You know each other?” Price asked.

“Used to,” the soldier replied, folding his arms across his broad chest, his eyes still fixed on her.

“Though he was dead,” Jules shrugged as if she didn’t care, forcing herself to turn her attention back to Price.

“He is!” one of the other soldiers called out with a laugh as Price waved a disgruntled dismissal.

Chairs scraped as the 141 rose and left the briefing room for the mess in search of their tea. Jules managed to maintain her hold on her expressionless face, having to draw on every single ounce of her training as a cold rage began to form deep within her chest. The man before her wasn’t dead at all, and the implications of that rocked her to her core.

* * * * *

Juliette skidded into the kitchen, her feet sliding across the cheap linoleum. She came to a stop, beaming shyly at the lad who’d just let himself in.

“H-hi Simon,” she stammered, rocking on her heels a little as her face flushed red.

“Jules,” he nodded, leaning against the wall next to the back door. ‘You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm cool,” she replied, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably.

Her brother Rob entered the room, shrugging on his knock-off Sprayway jacket and rolled his eyes at her embarrassment.

“Alright mate, we off?” he said to Simon, who nodded and pushed off from the wall.

“Where’re you goin’?” Juliette asked, a not-so-subtle yearning note seeping into her voice.

“Out,” Rob grunted dismissively.

“Can I come?” she tried, but the hope that brewed in her eyes was dashed at her brother’s derisive snort.

He didn’t bother to reply and the two lads turned to go. Simon looked back and gave Juliette a tight but sympathetic smile.

“See ya, Jules,” he muttered as they went out of the house, leaving Juliette alone in the kitchen.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Soap : "Yeah uhh... sure."

Gaz : *Takes photo* *sends pic to Alex and Farah*

Soap : *Sends pic to Alejandro and Rudy*

*Spreads throughout Urzikstan* *Spreads throughout the Los Vaqueros*

*Somehow the Shadows knows it too idk*

*Somehow Laswell and Price knows last*

---

(They're sparring ok ��)

idk why I drew this but I got a lil' naughty 👁️👄👁️

[ghouljams]

Fuck me. Dilf!fae!Ghost.

You watch Simon bounce your daughter in his arms, humming to her quietly as he tries to settle her down for her nap. You're busy transferring his t-shirt to the drier after some hefty spitup earlier, and you can't say you're disappointed he hasn't grabbed a new one. He looks good with a baby and some stubble, very parental. Oh my god.

Oh my god he's a fucking dilf. A dilf that you get to f on the regular.

"I'm gonna put 'er down," Simon tells you, his voice low enough not to wake the sleeping infant in his arms. Coincidentally also low enough to make you shiver. You don't know if he notices but you don't care. You have bigger problems, like how did you not notice such a major milestone in your man's life? You have to make him and award, you have to give him a reward.

He kisses your cheek as he brushes past you to the nursery and you can't not fuck him.

When Simon comes out of your daughter's room you are on your knees faster than he can get the door closed. Your fingers are already working to get his fly open as he scrambles to get a hand in your hair. You push his jeans and boxers down in one well practiced motion. He's not hard, but you still sigh at the sight of him. Perfect as always, fuck you love his cock.

You press your lips to his stomach, lick the coarse curly hair that trails from his belly button to his cock, and stroke his length with your hand. Simon, to his credit, tips his head back to tap against the door with a sigh. You pull back to spit in your hand, watching him as you work his cock. He's so fucking pretty. Scars, fucked up nose, the softness around his middle, all of him is just gorgeous.

You duck your head to give his balls some attention, rolling your tongue over them before pressing sucking kisses to the sensitive skin. He groans low in his throat, his fingers tight in your hair, almost insistent as he keeps you held close. His balls feel so heavy on your tongue, you wonder when the last time you fucked was. It hasn't been more than a week you don't think but with the baby everything has been so busy. This is well fucking needed then.

You drag your tongue up from his balls to his cock, working around your hand to slick his length. You lap at the head collecting his precum on your tongue before wrapping your lips around him and sucking. Pretty fucking boy, you think watching Simon watch you, his long lashes fluttering as you stroke his cock with the bob of your head. You move your hand to grip his thich as you slide your lips down to the base, moaning around the thick cock down your throat. He stretches you out so nicely. You wiggle your head a little to feel his girth shift, to feel your nose drag through his public hair, to feel the suppressed gag that makes your eyes roll back. God you are made for him.

Made to purr around his cock until he tugs on your hair to remind you what you're supposed to be doing. You ignore the throbbing between your legs in favor of bobbing your head up and down his length. Only pulling off to breathe and spit on his cock, more slick to help the slide of your lips. You roll his balls in your spit slick hand, squeezing them gently as you suck his cock until you feel them pull tight. Then Simon presses you back down to take his cock whole as he bucks down your throat.

"Fuck baby, tha's a good girl, take it all," he groans, spilling down your throat. You swallow, try to keep your eyes on him when you'd really love to be staring at your brain, and let him use your mouth to finish. A few shallow thrusts as he catches his breath and he's pulling out.

You stay on the ground, stick your tongue out to make sure he sees you've swallowed everything. Simon gives you a pleased hum, fucking two fingers into your mouth. In and out over your tongue before he thinks better of it.

"What's this about?" He asks, his voice thick. Oh, you love his sex voice, he could still go another few rounds.

"Congrats on your new status as a DILF," you tell him without missing a beat.

"Mm," he hums, "you want me to call you mommy now?"

"Maybe," you hadn't considered that, this does make you a MILF, huh.

"Alright," Simon crouches and grabs your arm, hauling you up over his shoulder as he stands, "Let's go make another baby momma."

That is a very promising statement.

[sim0nril3y]

I think trying to wind up Simon would be a gradual thing, if was be an easy simmer until boiling over dramatically. I feel like in his work life he can go from controlled to explosive at a moments notice but with you he likes to keep things calm and sweet and you’re the one who does the pushing.

That is until you start whispering soft naughty things in his ear at the pub. He’s eyes would he fixed on the England game on the screen when you lean close, at least he expects you just want a little comfort but as you lean up to begin whispering the filthiest thing a in your ear his cheeks begin to glow, hand gripping his pint glass so much that he thinks it might smash between his fingers.

He would give warnings, at first just glancing in your direction, a tempered look in his eyes causing you to just bite your lip. If you continued he would just give little one word replies. “Enough.” “Behave.” “Oi.”

You could also say the most vile things into his ear. “I’m so wet right now.” “God, been thinking about you all day.” “You look so fucking good I could suck you off right here.” “I’m fucking aching for you, Si.” It was that final thing that finally caused him to snap, standing with a loud screech of his chair. “Up. Now.” He would growl, snatching you up and out of the pub. “Fucking aching for me… love, you’re gonna be aching by the time I’m done with you.”

[r1pp4r]

since yall loved königs so much, heres some simon “ghost” riley nsfw headcannons!!

WARNINGS: MDNI!! this is just completely nsfw :))

——————————————————————————————

* okay- simon 100% is a thigh lover and i mean ANYTHING to do with your thighs. especially if he fucks your thighs ugh, especially with your back to his chest and your sitting on his lap 🧍‍♂️

* riding. he looooves the way your body is pressed up against him, and the way you move your hips. it’s so intoxicating to him, he’s obsessed. he loves feeling you bite into his neck and shoulder, or your kisses against his jaw. he also loves the way he can grab ur thighs, and thats why he also loves the mating press or your legs on his waist, but like,, pressed to ur chest

* i don’t think simon has a lot of kinks. like not ones that physically harm you. it honestly depends on your preference :) but like idk. for me he’d have some kinks, but nothing with sadism or masochism like at all. but he loooooves to make you feel overwhelmed. i think he’d be into light bondage sometimes but not a lot. he likes to make sure you know you’re safe.

* playing off that, simon is someone BIG on hearing you verbally consent. a nod or a kiss won’t do. he needs to verbally hear you say what you need, or want. that ties into the fact he does absolutely love to hear you beg for him.

* simon is a stone top. at least imo, only bc of his SA. which that can happen, and he feels the need to have some kind of control over the situation and not you entirely. but sometimes he’ll let you praise him, and he’ll beg for you. he lets his guard down and submits to you in a sense.

* SAFEWORD. EVEN THO ITS NOT BDSM HE HAS A SAFEWORD. for him. not just for you-

* simon adore cockwarming. he loves feeling your little cunt on his shaft, where he just has you against him. he lets you grind into him barely, just getting enough friction to have soft, almost inaudible whimpers. especially when he’s doing paperwork.

* simon doesn’t ask you to give him head a lot bc he feels like it’s a task bc of his size. but you always insist and he swears its the best thing because your mouth was made for him. (sometimes he’ll fuck your mouth if he’s feelin silly n goofy :p)

* MARKINGGGG!!! he loves leaving sweet hickeys all over your neck, softly massaging your clit while sucking soft bruises onto your skin <333

* he takes his time a lot. and i mean a lot of time. he doesn’t like quickies (i agree) sessions can last sometimes 3-5 hours because he has so much stamina. like good lord.

* but he also takes his time bc he wants to show you how well knows your body. good lord does he know it. he knows exactly how to make you sing, and he’s hit spots you couldn’t have imagined.

* yes, simon is BIG but he knows how to use it. people who don’t know how to use their dick and its big, it hurts. but simon knows his angles, how deep he can go, etc.

* simon has a huge breeding kink, and i mean it’s horrid. he fills you up every single time. multiple times. he loves the thought of fucking a kid into you, and loving a kid into you. but he knows your both not ready for it yet, but it still drives the both of you crazy, the thought of you plump w his kid

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Wild Horses

Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Doctor!Reader

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

A/N: Just a little idea I had after seeing all the TikToks and now I am yanked onto the Ghost train. I used to watch my brother play the game but that was a while ago so bear with me here. (advice or little pointers are much appreciated). I also might make this into a short story or add another part to it, let me know y’all. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings: language, fluff, angst

You were assigned to the team as their personal physician, as requested by the higher ups in order to make sure the soldiers stayed in best health, both physically and mentally. You used to work at your local hospital before you were offered the position.

You knew the dangers and the risks involved, but you were in debt and had student loans that needed to paid. So after much hesitation, you accepted the offer, eventually being convinced by the fat paycheck.

You remembered the day you were first introduced to the team, the way everyone's eyes glued to you like a hawk, their large forms towering over your small frame in the room while you picked at the skin around your nails in nervous habit.

They were curious to say the least, wondering what the hell someone like you was doing in a place like this. And since when did they get the chance to have a full on doctor to treat them, usually they were offered combat medics. You had guts, that's for sure.

You on the other hand were nervous, frightened even, with the thought of living in the same quarters of men wrapped up within the tumults and afflictions of war without a single clue as to their current psychological state. You had seen the worst of men and humanity growing up and you no idea who these soldiers were, what they were capable of, or what their intentions might be. Maybe you should have requested that briefing before you hopped on that plane.

Amongst all of their gazes, you had failed to notice a certain masked individual in the far back of the room, his form shrouded amongst the others as he studied you. His eyes, hidden underneath the grooves of his mask that only seemed to be darkened by where he stood blocked by the only source of light, watched your every movement, from every gesture of your perfectly manicured fingers to every smoothing of the lint-free fabric of your sweater to the way you kept shifting your weight from one foot to another.

One thing was apparent; during the entire length the high ranking officer next to you introduced you and debriefed the men on what was expected and such, you had not uttered a single word, minus the small polite and somewhat strained smile on your face while your eyes told another story. Why the military truly hired you, he may never know.

After being shown your little office and workspace including your room, you were quick to settle in, decorating the area to the best of your abilities with what you had taken with you from back home in order to bring some life into the dull and two-dimensional area. If anyone questioned you on it you would just say that your own sanity is extremely vital in order to ensure quality treatment for your patients.

Once everything in your office was set up, you threw on your white coat and retreated yourself to your office space, sitting at your desk and hastily going over the files that you had completely forgotten about that were given to you regarding the soldiers' previous health before they come pouring in reporting symptoms of god knows what. Best be prepared. Jesus how many bullet wounds can a single individual have.

The soldiers were advised to do their routine physical examinations with you so the first one to come waltzing in through your office door was none other than Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, a cheeky grin plastered on his face and much too excited for his own good. That boy's got a crush on you I swear. To be honest I'd be lying if I said the whole team didn't have a schoolboy crush on you.

The men were quick to warm up to you, relieved to have a gentle soul in their midst after all the shit that goes down outside, you were like breath of fresh air. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring a doctor on board, as quiet and reserved as you were. They speculated you were just shy, the reason why you never spoke much, not knowing that you just couldn't hold a conversation if your life depended on it, especially around those you weren't close with. At first they couldn't tell because of your major rbf.

During their routine check-ups or whatever issue they had going on, they would do most of the talking, which was a good thing on your end because it helped you to piece together their temperaments. Thank the lord no one is a psycho murderer. Oh wait.

Soap is the most chattiest of them all. Boy wouldn't shut his mouth when he sat in your office. He's super flirty. But not as flirty as Alejandro.

Ghost on the other hand was reluctant to step into your office for his check-ups. After all he was usually the one to tend to his own wounds or just push through whatever it is that is going on, so he did not know what all the fuss was about in having to get his health checked. So when you call out his last name more than once might I add, clipboard in hand and scanning the area for whoever looks to be headed in your direction, he can't help but heave out a sigh, trudging over to where you stood, your clean white coat a stark contrast to the rest of the environment as you leaned against your door to hold it open.

You muttered out a small hello to which he let out a small huff as you moved aside to let the man enter, watching him walk into your office and seat himself down. That man intimidated you a bit not gonna lie. Not only could you not see his face but he had also not said a single word to you. And not to mention he was absolutely huge as compared to you, even more so in person. You also had heard a lot of stories from the other guys.

"How is your day?" You ask, shutting the door behind you as you briefly read over his previous but extremely short records on your clipboard. There's barely anything on this man. Does he not get ill?

Ghost is quiet at first, watching your eyes scan over the clipboard and curious to know just what is on those papers before your eyes flit up to meet his and catch him off guard, which causes him to answer abruptly. "Fine."

"Okey dokes." You give a quick smile.

Did you just say okey dokes.

Clearing your throat, you go over to where he sat and set the clipboard down on the table next to you beside your laptop. You didn’t have to read his body language to know he did not want to be here at all. So you were going to do him a favor and make the appointment as quick as possible.

"So do you have any allergies to any medications, any allergies I need to know of?" Your fingers hover over the keyboard of your laptop as you turn to face him, only to be met with an expressionless skull of a mask and the expressionless eyes beneath. Oh boy this session was going to be something. You had heard of how he had never shown his face, so you made sure not to question on it.

"No ma'am."

"Are you currently taking any medication?" You ask the same standard set of questions you have asked every single patient of yours, typing as you go.

"No ma'am."

Any previous illness? Disease?"

"No."

The more you ask him questions, the more he strangely finds it easier to answer. Your voice is surprisingly soft, warm even, like the start of autumn, and he finds it comforting to listen to. Or maybe it's just some technique doctors learn during training in order to relax their patients.

"Do you have any history of smoking, alcohol, or illicit drug use?"

".......sometimes I'll have a smoke, and a glass of bourbon." He's almost waiting for you to hand him a pamphlet about the dangers of smoking.

"How many times would you say?" You ask for details, your eyes still glued to the screen of your laptop as you await his answer.

Ghost is a bit confused by the amount of questions you ask, but he also has not been to the doctor's so how would he know. "Um I don't know."

"A rough estimate is fine."

"Not much, maybe 2-3 times a week or so when I'm not on duty."

"How many times a week do you exercise?" You feel silly for asking this question to a man like him but it's all part of the procedure and you almost pray he doesn't hate you for it.

"Every day." So no pamphlet?

Jesus this man has more discipline than you. You can barely get up in the morning.

"Okayyy." You mutter out, more to yourself as you enter in his responses.

Ghost finds himself watching you from his seat on the chair, his eyes tracing over and studying your features as you type away on your laptop. He thinks you're really pretty but either doesn't want to admit it or just flat out does not know that he finds you attractive.

There are certain details about you that he can't help but find himself intrigued by, like the small black outline flower tattoo on your hand that was located near the area of your thumb, running along the curve to meet the knuckle of your forefinger. He's curious as to the meaning behind it, if there was one. He wanted to ask what type of flower it was, perhaps it was your favorite? It would give him an idea as to what flowers to get you.

"Have you ever been hospitalized, had any surgical procedures done or been treated for any chronic conditions?"

"No." Ghost shakes his head before remembering his wounds from combat, wondering if that is something you should know. "Just the bullet and knife wounds from combat. Nothing too serious."

Jesus fucking christ. You were willing to bet he treated those wounds himself.

Ghost is not a fan of hospitals. Pretty sure this dude just looks up YouTube tutorials on how to fix himself instead of just going to the doctor like a normal human being.

"When was the last time you visited your general practitioner.......or just any doctor in general?" You ask the last question, willing to bet it never.

There was silence on his end as you looked towards him waiting for an answer, the clicking of your keyboard coming to a stop and only loudening the silence. Ghost could not remember the last time he had been to a hospital or even scheduled a visit. And as you looked at him, your eyes almost staring into his soul, still waiting for a response, he could not help but feel a tad bit embarrassed, as if you were judging him for not being a responsible adult. Also it didn't help that you were goddamn pretty.

"I'm gonna take that as a very long time, the last time being the prehistoric ages, correct?" There's the slightest hint of a tease in your voice.

"Uh.......yes ma'am." Ghost squints his eyes at you as you go back to typing on your keyboard. Did you just.............did you just call him…..He does not know how to feel about that. Did you just try to crack a joke? He always thought doctors were the serious type.

"Okay then." You straighten up, grabbing your sphygmomanometer off the table and turning yourself to face him. "Is it okay if I check your blood pressure?"

The man is stunned. No one has ever asked his permission for anything before. He's so used to either taking orders or giving orders that he doesn't know how to respond and stares at you for a moment, forcing his brain to process what to do next before eventually giving a nod.

"Is it okay if you take your jacket off so I can get a clearer reading?"

He nods again, still in shock as he takes off his jacket, leaving him in his black long sleeve thermal. He's almost thankful he wasn't in his full tactical gear, having to imagine you standing there waiting for him as he removes every single piece of equipment off his torso.

"Thank you." You give him a short smile, placing your hand under his tricep and gently lifting his arm in order to wrap the inflatable cuff around his bicep. You almost blush at the mere size of this man's arms. "Now you're just going to feel a slight pressure okay."

Ghost can't help but feel a slight warmth spread to his cheeks at the way you handle him with such care, as if he were the small delicate thing and not you. Now he knows why the others were so giddy after leaving your office.

As you place your stethoscope on his forearm near his elbow to listen to his blood pumping through the artery, your other hand pumping air into the cuff using the inflation bulb with your eyes glued to the numbers on the gauge, he can't help but to notice the old Donald Duck watch that sat at your wrist, the ones with the moving arms and the vintage style black leather straps.

And as he further investigated your attire, he noticed a few other details, like the colorful glittery badge reel in the shape of a pill container with the words "licensed drug dealer" printed on it that was attached to your scrub top, the glitter sticker with the words "I'm nicer than my face looks" as well a few Disney character stickers and the little frog looking keychain that hung off of your badge. He was wondering what the hell that thing was. Your accessories were awfully colorful for a general doctor. Something was telling him you either used to work with families or children. Whatever the hell managed to bring you to such a drastic change.

You brought him out of his thoughts as you shifted from your position, unwrapping the inflatable cuff from around his bicep and placing it back on the table before typing the results into your laptop. "Okay," You adjust the ear pieces of your stethoscope back into your ears as you turn back to him, "I'm going to perform some auscultations, which is just listening to the sounds of your heart and your lungs so if you could just sit up straight and relax that would be wonderful."

Simon straightens up his posture as you place your free hand on his shoulder, at this point you're not sure if you're steadying him or yourself, your fingertips just barely grazing across the bottom of his neck. He doesn't know why but, it's as if your fingers are directly touching the skin underneath, despite the fabric of his mask that separated your fingers from his skin. Your hands feels hot, like really hot and he has no clue why.

The soldier only feels his cheeks warm up even more so now as you inch closer to carefully place the diaphragm of your stethoscope on his chest, your head tilted and your eyes lowered to the floor as you listen for his heart beat. He gets a whiff of your perfume and he finds himself drawn to it. You smell like something along the lines of jasmine petals, geranium, myrrh, frankincense, and a hint of sandalwood. Now he definitely knows why the others are fawning over you. Poor Simon is praying you don't hear how his heart is nearly racing. He does not know why he is feeling this way and it slightly bothers him in the way that he has no clue what it is he is feeling.

He catches how your brows slightly furrow at the center and his heart skips a beat. Now he's fucking embarrassed and this man rarely ever is embarrassed. Maybe he's even starting to panic. Can you tell? Do you know? You open your mouth to say something but he quickly interrupts he just got back from a run so you dismiss it with a shrug, placing the diaphragm on his back now and asking him to give you a couple of deep breaths.

"Okay. Take a deep breathe in, breathe it out. Breathe in, and out."

He complies with your instructions, breathing in slow and deep breaths as you go from one side of his back to another.

"Good job." You remove the earpieces and let your stethoscope hang around your neck as you go back to your table, recording in more info. Hang on did you just, did you just tell a grown 6'4" man good job.

Even Simon is confused. Like bitch.

"Okay, so we're all done with that." You inform him, before going over to one of the drawers and sliding it open. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to have some blood work done on you, just to make sure there are no underlying issues that need to be taken care of."

Simon is silent so you turn to him. "Is that okay, Ghost, is that what the others call you? Would you like me to call you Ghost?"

Goddamn you're too polite. "That's fine by me ma'am."

"Perfect. Now is it okay if I take your blood sample?"

Ghost nods, so you grab the tools necessary and place them on the table next to you.

"Could you please roll your sleeve up and make a fist for me? Thank you." You ask him once you sanitize your hands and throw on a pair of fresh gloves. You grab the tourniquet and catch sight of the tattoos that cover his forearm as you tie the tourniquet around his arm above the elbow. You're curious to know the story behind them but you have a feeling he's not one for storytelling or just talking in general so you remain silent. You tear open the small packet of the alcohol wipe and apply it to the area. The chemical is cool against his skin as you sanitize the area before letting it air dry. Simon can't help but notice how small your hands are.

Simon watches you intently as you work, the way you are so focused and so precise with each step, and yet so gentle. It's almost cute.

"You're just going to feel a little pinch." You tell him in a soft tone, a tone you were used to using on all your little patients before inserting the needle into his vein. As if the man hasn't been shot or stabbed and god knows what multiple times before.

At this point Simon doesn't even notice the needle in his arm, he's too focused on the details of your face. He can sense that you're nervous around him and he feels bad. Even though he's just met you, the last thing he wants is for you to feel scared or unsafe around him. And even though this whole situation is awkward for him since he never was a fan of visiting the hospital, you're their physician, and at the end of the day you're there to patch them up. So he comments on your dark circles, thinking you haven't gotten any rest since you arrived here. "You look tired."

"............that's just my face." You give him that distinct smile, the same smile you have given anyone who ever commented on them as you connect the vacutainers to the needle to draw his blood, your eyes glued to the dark red liquid seeping through the thin clear tube before pouring into the sample tube.

If you thought it was quiet before, well you are most definitely wrong because the silence is absolutely deafening now.

Simon nearly punches himself for his stupidity. Why in the bloody hell did he say that of all things. He wanted to tell you he liked your dark circles but decided to bite his tongue instead. Now he's definitely not going to say another word. Better yet, once he leaves your office, he's not coming back. He's just going to avoid you at all costs in order to save both you and himself the embarrassment. He's willing to bet the others handled this way better than him.

"But I suppose I am a bit jet-lagged though. Haven't really gotten any rest since I got on that plane." You add. "I appreciate your concern."

You most definitely said that to make him feel better about himself, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at the wall and avoids your face. There was no other reason.

Once your done drawing his blood you ask him to hold the piece of cotton pad down onto where the needle was punctured as you open up the drawer where the gauze is located. "Do you have a favorite color?"

Did you just ask him his favorite color? Simon stares at you blankly. Were all doctors this odd?

"I'm guessing you like black?" You pull out the roll of black gauze, displaying it in front of you with the most deadpanned expression possible.

You've got jokes. Simon thinks to himself. If he had looked a little closer he would have noticed the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

"You should see the colors the others picked." You tease as you wrap the gauze around his arm at the elbow, making sure it isn't too tight but also not loose enough to the point where the cotton pad underneath slips out.

Simon narrows his eyes at you. Bloody fucking hell. The others picked a color?

You're pretty sure Gaz requested you get an Elmo print one he saw online once somewhere. Soap asked if there a print of the Scotland flag available. The look of hurt on his face when you said there wasn't so you improvised and gave him both the blue and white gauze. You gave him a Dum-Dum lollipop to make him feel better. The others may have also gotten a lollipop as they left your office, especially after seeing the special treatment that Soap received. Were they jealous? Maybe.

Once you tell the man he is all good to go and that you will call him once you're done getting the results from his blood sample, he nearly jumps out of the chair and bolts out of your office. He prays some unknown miracle happens and that his blood sample magically disappears so that he doesn't have to face you, firmly believing he insulted you and that you thought he called you ugly when that is not what he intended. I am telling you this man does not know how to compliment. They should make a guidebook for dummies specialized just for him.

You watch him disappear out your door with a quirked brow. Well that was fucking weird.

When Simon leaves the area he finds Soap lounging about on a chair with a sucker in his mouth.

"The hell is that?" Simon squints at the sergeant.

"Mph mph." Soap's voice comes out muffled.

"What?"

Soap pauses and turns to see Ghost looming over him. "It's a Dum-Dum."

"A fuckin what?"

"Y/n said they're called Dum-Dums." Soap pulls it out of his mouth, twisting the stick of the lollipop around in his fingers as if he were inspecting it. "This one's a cotton candy flavor."

"She gave you a fuckin lollie?"

"It's pure dead brilliant I tell ya. Why, did she not give ya one?"

More silence. Simon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a tad bit butthurt.

"Maybe you scared her." Soap jokes.

Simon lets out a grumbled incoherent huff and walks away.

Soap just shrugs and pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

Simon has a feeling he is going to go to bed thinking about his actions.

Part 2

[sprout-fics]

Whumptober Day One: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')

(Whumptober Masterlist TBA)

Rating: Gen Wordcount: 1.6k Tags: Blood/Injury, Whump, Head Injuries, Fainting, Worried Simon, Banter Warnings: Vomit mention

Asshole got the drop on you. 

You were checking your corners this time, talking calmly into your radio as you slowly swept the perimeter of the warehouse you and Ghost had been sent to investigate. There had been fair resistance, one that had been thinned by your sniper fire as Ghost moved interior. It had only been once he’d sounded the all clear that you clambered down from your perch on the hill and had moved to rendezvous with your LT. 

A noise catches your attention, a rolling bottle that clattered against the concrete. You pivot sharply, weapon raised and moving silently towards the source of the sound. Too late do you realize it’s a distraction, and before you can spin on your heel to face the presence that makes the hairs on your neck rise, the world cracks with color and you’re sent spinning to the ground. 

It takes a moment for you to orient yourself, and the first thing you recognize is the splitting pain just above your right ear, so fierce it nearly blinds you. Yet the enemy behind you doesn’t seem to care, towering over you and reaching for your form with darkly clad hands. Body operating on pure instinct, you reach for the knife on your vest, slash across his calf so he stumbles. It doesn’t take much after that, as you swiftly stand and fire once from your side arm, the man slumping to the ground limply. 

“Fix, how copy?” Ghost suddenly barks into your radio, having heard the commotion, and the noise screeches in your ears. Too loud, too loud. It hurts, the place where the AQ agent hit you with the butt of his rifle, likely out of ammo. The pain unfurls across your skull, has you scrunching your eyes shut with a groan of blooming pain that feels bitter on your tongue. 

“Fix.” Ghost tries again, and you shudder an exhale as you try to breathe through the pain, eyes closed as you blindly fumble for your radio. 

“Copy. I’m injured. Moving to your position.”

There’s a pause, and you try vainly to right yourself, checking your gear and toeing the edge of the body at your feet so you can navigate around it with your eyes closed as much as possible. 

“Negative. Stay where you are. I’m coming to you.”

You wince at that, not out of pain, but at the griping irritation in Ghost’s voice at your injury. You’ll probably hear about it later, but for now you focus on trying to find somewhere to sit down so Ghost can find you. The world wobbles dangerously around you, and the first turn of your head summons a low, stifled groan at the pulsing gunshot of pain that flares behind your eyelids. 

“All stations- I’ve got one wounded. Standby.”

Way to advertise, Ghost. You think with a little frown, glad that now every operator on this mission knows you have a fucking headache. You press a hand to the center of the pain and instantly draw the touch away with a hiss, feeling the skin react to your fingers. They feel wet. It’s agonizing, the pain, it feels like someone has decided to try and fracture you open to look inside, forgetting how to close you back up. It feels like the only thing you can think of, your world consumed by a tilting dizziness and growing nausea that sits heavy and sour in your stomach.

It doesn’t take long for Ghost to find you, and when he does there’s little fanfare as he immediately moves to assess you. 

“Eyes up.” He demands, and despite the curtness it’s a touch gentle, encouraging as a gloved hand tilts your chin up and then to the side so he can examine the growing welt on the side of your skull. 

“How’s your head?” He asks blandly, trying to part the hair from your temple to see the injury.

“No complaints yet, LT. At least not from you.” You try, voice wobbling a little but trying to see if you can get a reaction from him.

Ghost takes a moment to catch what you’ve said, pauses, sighs. You snicker.

He elects to ignore you, which is a little disappointing, and admittedly a little worrying too. If he’s not up for jokes, whatever injury he’s looking at must be serious. You wonder if it’s worse than you think it is, which is to say it might be pretty fucking bad.

Headache, light sensitivity, nausea, bleeding…You grimace, years of medic training efficiently narrowing down the probable causes to a short and frankly worrying list of possible causes. The thought is short circuited to nothing as Ghost turns you slightly, making the world shift violently under you and something terrible roll in your stomach at the horrific wash of pain it summons. 

“Fix. Look at me.” Ghost tells you, and you force your eyes open to see the black void of his war paint mere inches from your own. He blinks underneath his mask at whatever he finds in your eyes scrunched with pain, brow scrunching in sudden concentration.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Ghost asks you abruptly, and despite the steadiness of his voice his hand is gripping your shoulder with a sudden severity that does little to anchor you from the spinning room.

You try to focus on his skeletal fingers with little success.

“...Two? Three?” You cut yourself off with a groan, pressing a hand to your head to try and dull the pain. It’s no use. It blooms blindingly behind your eyelids, carving deep into your skull with unrelenting mercy. You feel wetness trickle over the heel of your palm, warm and red.

“Ghost…” You try, unsure of what you're pleading for. Mercy? Help? A bullet between the eyes to make it stop?

"Fix." Ghost tries again, and his shadow falls over you, dwarfing you with his size. His voice has taken on an urgent growl that misfires in the back of your thoughts because it sounds like fear. 

"How many fingers?"

You try to focus on them, the digits wavering in front of your face. You squint your eyes, but it summons a sudden, violent wave of nausea that turns your stomach upwards.

"I-I think I'm going to be sick." You manage, and double over to the side, just in time for the bile in your stomach to avoid hitting Ghost's boots.

You hear him curse, bark over the comms for med-evac, and when you try to straighten you overcorrect, fall straight off the crate and into his arms.

"Fix!"

“S-shit. Sorry.” You fumble, but do nothing to try and raise yourself up, too consumed by the red pulsing pain behind your eyelids. “Fuck. Fuck it hurts.”

You don’t like to complain. As the medic your whining only serves as a poor example. Now, however, you grant yourself the reprieve of your quickly slurring words trailing into a broken string of curses you use to distract yourself. 

“Hush.” Ghost tells you, and there’s a flash of recognition as you try and place the waver in his voice. Anger? Fear? You can’t tell. His arm cradles you against his chest, a knee braced at your back to keep you sitting upright. “Breathe through it, stay with me.”

Stay with you? You think dumbly. You’re right here, you can’t move. Where the hell are you supposed to go?

“Simon-” You try, confused, spinning, a hand grasping at the strap of his vest. It takes effort to raise your hand, and you realize with a flash of alarm that your body isn’t nearly as responsive as you think it is. “W-wait, Simon. It’s-”

You can’t find the words, but Ghost seems to understand, because he suddenly goes rigid and begins yelling into his radio with a sudden volume that makes you whimper. Whatever you try to say next is swallowed by his arms suddenly closing around you, lifting you up as the world moves around you. 

“Fix. Pet, I need you to stay awake for me.” He tells you, voice taking on a new tenderness that betrays his sincere worry. You try and nod, but even that feels like too much, so you try and stay still, try to breathe like he’s told you, even when bile boils in your stomach at the dizzying turn of the earth under you both. 

“S-sick-” You try, trying to smack at his vest to warn him, but Ghost doesn’t stop moving. You end up trying to twist away with little success, a little dribble of sickness trickling down the front of your vest. 

“You’re alrigh’.” He tells you through gritted teeth, and somehow you don’t believe him. “Stay awake, Fix. Just a little longer.”

How much longer? You think desperately, stomach rolling with the pain splitting your skull. The movement doesn’t help, merely exacerbates your violent agony that forces you into limp stillness to just try and breathe through it. 

“Si-imon…” You whimper again in a bid for mercy. 

When Simon responds with your name, you know it’s bad. 

He shakes you a little as you go pliant in his arms, growling a reminder to stay awake that you can’t seem to heed. You try to apologize, but the words feel useless on your tongue. Darkness beckons with a sweet promise of painless unconsciousness you desperately want to cave to. 

“Don’t you fucking sleep on me.” Simon growls at you, suddenly desperate, and you try to lift a hand to his face, to reassure him it’s only a little nap. All you succeed in is loosening your grip from his vest. Your hand falls limply against you. 

“Don’t hate me for this, Si.” You think weakly as your head falls forward into your chest, and you succumb to nothingness.

[cannedmuffins]

I needed a older more exhausted Daddy Simon so I added 2 more children to Ghost and Hawk’s family (I also used references of Samuel Roukin for his look here 👀).

Little treat under the cut to match the last Daddy Simon post

He’ll always have that dog in him

[cloudofbutterflies92]

Understand my Ship in 5 minutes

Yep, I'm back with another template on my ship, this time it's Ghost and Eden in the Fallout universe, you can find the template here for anyone who wants to try (yep he hates everyone, except Eden and his daughter Diana, and yes here he is 44 years old :3)

[imshymorph]

So, new story! Death!Ghost x Life!reader. It’s a longer one, there’s much more to their story if everyone likes it an wants to see more. Update: Here's Part 2 and Part 3

You’re sitting by the edge of the water, fingers lightly dipping in the creek and moving around. The ripples that form from your movement making tadpoles, small fish and spurts of water plants come to be.

It felt natural, with the longer hours of sunlight and the rising of temperature, to start using your abilities once again. To take your side of the mantle once Death had taken the grunt of the work in the colder months. Spring was only nearing closer, and that meant you’d have to start adding spirits back to the Earth, it was your time to keep balance.

- - - - -

You looked up from the stream, from the trail of tiny creatures that gladly followed the movement of their creator’s hand, when you felt the breeze cool a little. It could only mean one thing.

Your lips pull up into a soft smile, your lively eyes crinkling lightly at the edges as you see him stand on the other side of the creek. His own eyes shift under the skull mask, and you know he’s smiling back even if his eyes are covered by the shadow of the bone. It doesn’t surprise you that within barely a few seconds he’s instead sitting beside you, the wavy reflection of the water in front of you confirming his presence.

It always felt like that, peaceful and comfortable in each other's presence. You had gotten used to Death long ago, or Ghost, a name that had come from a joke once made aeons ago. You couldn’t help yourself, lightly teasing him when you had seen how pale his skin really was the one time he had taken a glove off. And somehow, it just stuck.

The both of you stay in silence for a bit, admiring the landscape around you, how slowly your power took over the terrain to give him some rest. You worked in harmony, the switching in seasons never feeling like a competition or betrayal, but like an acknowledgment of the other’s importance and significance.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” He’s the first one to talk, giving you a short look before his attention was pulled to the birds that filled the sky. Most of them nesting, feeling in some way that your power would welcome them soon before giving them tiny ones to look after.

“Good, busy with the new blooms that come with spring.” you reply with a small smile, your hands running through the grass below, making new blades appear, greener and more luscious. “You must’ve been busy.” You tack on, your eyes following the trail of growing plants until your eyes find him.

“Hmm, you have some work ahead of you.” he concedes, tilting his head back, feeling what sunrays managed to filter through the holes in his mask. He let out a soft sigh before giving a light nod, “Been taking care of my duties, but it’s been good.”

“You’ll be able to rest a bit more. Now that the warm months are coming in.” You say, that smile still on your face. It definitely was what fascinated him most about you. He knew the amount of power you beheld, all the things you could make appear out of thin air. Yet there was something about that smile, that soft and kind smile that you always seemed to gift him with.

Or at least that’s how he wanted to see it, like your sweet smile was specially directed at him, for him. If there was one thing that he pictured on his mind whenever he thought about you, it was the upturn of your lips. Not even your mightier creations could ever compare to the one of your smile.

“I suppose I did, yes.” He says with a light nod, his tone low and gravely but really calm as well, like deep calm water. His head then turned, your view of his mask turning from the profile to a full fronted one. His cold and cloudy almost-grey eyes finding yours. “Are you enjoying your creations?”

The corner of your eyes crinkled a bit more as they landed on his, your smile brightening, reminding him of the golden hues the sun gets when it starts to set behind the horizon. Your hand moves, fingers trailing through the dirt beneath you. Tips passing just enough power to the small buds that were starting to grow to make them fully bloom. “Always do.” Your tone sounding sweet and golden like honey.

A smile took over his lips and he mentally thanked the skull covering them, although the amused glint your eyes got told him that you had definitely noticed. “I’m glad to hear it.” He says, tone as cordial and gravely as ever, hiding the small embarrassment of the knowing tilt your smile gets.

The both of you seeped into comfortable silence once again, you looking at the vast forest around you, the light hints of it filling with your creations again after a cold winter. Meanwhile he busied himself as he looked over his scythe, his gloved finger lightly trailing the sharp edge.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” He murmurs, almost making you wonder if he had actually spoken as his eyes stay trained on his tool.

“You know I never do.” You reassure, your eyes only staying on him for a moment before going back to the light ripples on the water source in front of you.

“I was wondering…” he starts before cutting himself off. You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him as he leaves the scythe back on the floor beside him. Nor as he tilts his head back to look up at the sky once more. And he doesn’t think he could ever find the words to express how thankful he is about it.

He clears his throat, daring to give it another chance. His head tilts a bit to the side, only enough to see you from the corner of his eye. “I was just wondering, we’ve worked together for so long…” he fully turns his head now, his eyes meeting yours. “And yet… you’ve never asked to see me? See what’s under my mask.”

For someone who was the personification of Death, Ghost couldn’t understand how his heart could beat so fast. How it felt like it could leap out of his chest at any moment, how fast his blood pumped through him.

And it feels like it instantly stops when he sees you lightly shaking your head, “It’s not my place to ask, I'm sure it’s there for a reason.” your soft voice explains. And he lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding, his heartbeat slowing a bit but the tension still in his body as he gives a light nod back.

The both of you go back to the silence, but this time your eyes stay on each other's. His hand slowly reaches up, his fingers feeling the edge of the worn out bone. His voice is barely perceptible when he talks next, “What if I wanted to show you?”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ghost masterlist

(Ghost art by Coruja3571/Twitter)

I Never Missed You {Bodyguard AU. Romance, smut, light angst, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to... Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Anhedonia {Smut, hurt/comfort, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle. You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets. He only has soldiers. Subordinates.

Part 1 (5.5 k) | Part 2 (4.4 k)

Ghost stories {Smut, angst, Ghost POV, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FMedic!Reader | It's only work that awaits him. From dawn till dusk, with hungry arms and a cold, dead cunt.

Refugee (6.5 k) | Lazarus (5.7 k) | Immortal (5.5 k)

Man-sized {Romance, flangst, smut, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC | Not only did he contact her, he sent her a picture of himself looking like… like war. The tired eyes stared at her from inside what looked like the top of a human skull attached to a black balaclava. He wasn't a foot soldier, or a mercenary, he wasn't even working for the UK version of a SWAT team. He was something else.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Love is a Heavy Weapon (sequel to Man-sized on Ao3)

On Sarah & Simon's wedding How did the shibari class go? Will they ever have kids? Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Drabbles & headcanons [18+]

Ghost x Virgin!Reader (2.9 k) This is not a Drill (2.2 k, size difference) Wildflowers Grow in Ruins (5 k, Reader tries to break up with Ghost) Couldn't Love You More (3.7 k, breeding kink)

Random headcanons Getting into a relationship with Ghost What would it take to win Ghost's heart?

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

I got bored 😭

Inspired by this meme!

[ghouljams]

Thinking about professor!Ghost and his stupid motorcycle, abs how he definitely isn't stalking the hot Anthropology professor but he does notice she hasn't left the parking lot at her usual time so he goes to check what's up with that. And when he finds out someone let the air out of not one but two of her tires, thus rendering her one spare useless, he offers her a ride home. Something he never does, because he doesn't like carting people around he likes going fast and not worrying about cargo, but he settles next to Love's car and offers her a ride home. He does tell her to stay put while he runs to his office for his extra helmet and when she finally gets it in her hands she tells him,

"Its pink," with a sort of soft smile that melts his heart, he just grunts and responds,

"I thought you liked pink."

Which is immediately met with laughter like bells and a smile that feels a lot more genuine as she pulls the full face helmet over her head. She steps close to the bike and Ghost stops her to check that the helmet is on right, his gloved fingers skirting under her chin to make sure the strap is on tight. He offers her a hand, holding the bike steady as she climbs on behind him, and he's maybe a little too eager when her arms wrap around his middle and squeeze.

Ghost's never liked feeling a helmet against his shoulder, but somehow when it's her it's tolerable. Somehow he doesn't want to go as fast, meandering down the streets until she taps his thigh and Ghost feels all his blood rush south. He stops in front of her flat and helps her climb off, staring a little too much at the way she swings her leg over his bike until she's fiddling with the helmet and again he reaches out to help.

She shakes her hair out with a smile as soon as it's off and offers the helmet back. Ghost doesn't have a good reason to tell her he got it for her, so he takes it back and watches her make her way inside. He can still feel the squeeze of her arms around him. Maybe he should make a move.