#modern warfare imagine

[inkbybambi]

bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."

and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"

the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.

they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."

something shifts after that.

he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.

he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.

nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

he starts sleeping in your bed.

he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

he starts taking the balaclava off at night.

a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.

"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"say please," he rumbles.

"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

but you? he feels feral with need.

"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."

and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.

"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

time bleeds together.

his contract renews on the twelfth month.

he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.

you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

you've never felt more secure. more protected.

until —

he doesn't know how it slipped past him.

he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

you look one second too late.

simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

fuck.

at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.

price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.

you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.

twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.

a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.

you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

riley.

[multific]

Taskforce 141 When You Use Your Safe Word - Preferences 

Warnings: SMUT, Minors DO NOT interact

It was all beginning to be a little too much.

You knew you should stop him, but you didn't want to disappoint him. You wanted to last as long as he needed you to, you were his good girl after all.

As he said many many times.

But he also said to stop him if it gets too much, he just how much he can get lost in your pussy and how rough he can get.

So, you agreed on a simple safe word, "Red". 

It was for you to use at any given moment. No questions asked he would stop immediately.

You never imagined using it, but as he was mercilessly pounding into you, it became all too much.

You wanted it to end, you needed it to end.

"Red! Please! RED!" you said when you finally caught your breath...

John Price

He stops immediately.

Pulling out as he turns you around, checking your face.

"Sweetgirl, are you okay? Talk to me."

"Too much." is all you could muster. And John immediately felt guilt running down his spine.

He knew the day would come when he went too far. When he would overstimulate you to the point of no return.

"Okay, let's get you into the bath, eh? A nice warm bath." he said as he ran to the bathroom and ran you a nice bath, he then ran back and got you.

Soon, he was sitting next to you on the floor, one of his arms inside the bath, in the water, making sure the temperature was perfect.

"I'm so sorry, Darling. I should have known. You started to move away from me, but I just kept going..."

"It is not your fault John, I should have stopped sooner."

"I should have known."

"It is not your fault." you moved your hand and placed it on his cheek, he turned and kissed your palm. "Make it up to me by cuddling me."

"I will never let you go. I'm truly sorry."

"This is why I have a safe word, John."

"And you were a good girl and used it." he placed a kiss on your head, and he would make sure to cuddle you until the next morning and beyond.

Simon Riley

He would be ashamed but it would take him a second to realize what you just said, but when he does, he moves away from you immediately.

His hands would be shaking as he watched you sit up against the headboard.

"I'm so sorry." he would turn to leave, but you stopped him.

"Simon," your sweet sweet voice. So kind and innocent, he would turn to look at you. "Come back please, I'm cold." how could he ever say no to that?

He grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt, handing it to you as he put on the pants.

He moved close to you, leaning against the headboard, holding you, running his hand up and down your back.

"I'm too sore, it's why I made you stop, I think I'm just too tired."

"I'm glad you spoke up and said something." you moved and kissed his cheek.

"I love you, Simon." you tried your best to reassure him, letting him know you were okay.

"I love you too."

Kyle Garrick

In one movement he stopped and looked at you, your back was to him but he heard you clear as day.

"It's too much, Kyle, please."

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?" he watched as you nodded and he moved back, turning you around and sitting you up in bed. "How about a shower?"

You nodded again as you slowly calmed down and your breathing evened out.

Kyle watched you closely, making sure you were okay, he even washed you up.

He then carried you to bed, laying you down.

"I'm so sorry."

"It is all good. I'm glad you stopped."

"Of course, I did! It is why I came up with a safe word for you. I'm glad you used it when it became too much." you smiled at him as he leaned down and kissed your lips. "Does it still hurt?"

"I'm more sore than hurt now." you said and he held you close. "It really is okay, Kyle."

He knew it was, and he knew it will be, he was just glad he had the presence to stop when he did.

Johnny MacTavish

It took him a moment to realize what you just said.

"Red?" he asked with a confused tone. "Shit." he moved away from you, but still stayed close. "What is it?" he asked and if you wouldn't be so out of it, you would have realized the worry in his voice.

"It hurts, too much." you managed to say.

"How can I help?" he asked, watching your face closely.

"Just hold me, let me sleep."

"Sleep, okay got it."

He pulled you close, turning the lights off as he soon heard your soft snores.

He felt so guilty for hurting you, but he was proud you spoke up.

He spent hours in the dark, thinking and overthinking.

He thought he should have noticed, that he should have realized, but he could recall that he was too focused on the feeling, he got lost in it, and he wouldn't have seen the discomfort because he had his head in the crook of your neck.

But one thing was sure, after this, Johnny would pay extra attention to keep his control and his cool and make sure you are comfortable and you enjoy sex as much as he does.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[hunterbunter3000]

Laswell: You do know that you have everyone wrapped around your fingers, right?

141 Sweetheart: What?? Laswell, what're you talkin' about?

Laswell, looking at her stupid: The boys. The Capitan. König, Horangi- which was a surprise- Alejandro, Rudy-- hell, even Graves and Alex. They're all heavily whipped for you.

141 Sweetheart, laughing: Woah what?! Now that's just crazy talk.

Laswell:

Laswell explaining to her how the boys look at her, how Price let's her wear his hat constantly, how König follows her everywhere like a puppy, how Alejandro and Graves give her presents every week, how Horangi and Rodolfo write her poetry and become straight up messes when talking to her, and how Alex literally KNEELED before her:

Laswell walking over to the door and opening it, revealing all the boys eavesdropping on them:

Them scampering away quickly:

141 Sweetheart: ...That still don't prove--

Laswell: It proves everything.

[saksukei]

saving simon ghost riley’s life

masterlist | angst, injury mentions, he's being a bitch

they say some instincts are good, some are bad. yours have landed you in hell though.

being part of task force 141 had its own perks which included borderline deadly missions, a whole lot of adrenaline and a shit ton of risk taking. so that's exactly what you did when you saw a gun aimed at your lieutenant, more specifically, simon ghost riley.

you jumped in front of the gun without any hesitation, disobeying his orders to stay put. he was your senior, someone you definitely respected and looked up to. you were absolutely okay with letting yourself get injured for him. something about loyalty, right?

“a word, sergeant,” he interrupted your train of thought, his presence overwhelming the nurses present in the med bay as they stitched your wound.

“yes sir?” you thought he was gonna thank you for saving his life. apparently, he had other plans.

“who gave you the fucking right to disobey my orders?” he growls, his eyes piercing through your very soul. you imagine what it would be like if he didn't have his mask on, the very mask that is acting as a shelter from his rage.

you blink in confusion. “i beg your pardon, sir?”

“i said, who gave you the right to disobey my orders?” he repeated, his tone stern.

“i–sorry lieutenant,” you reply curtly, confused at his rude behavior. but then again, simon isn't known for his niceness.

“sorry isn't going to cut you the slack,” he retorts, voice laced with venom. “you are going to be reprimanded for failing to comply with your superior’s orders to stay put.”

and while you desperately want to argue, give him an explanation or maybe yell at him that you did save his life, you ignore and nod.

“i don’t hear a reply sergeant,” his voice booms.

“affirmative sir.”

with that he walks out.

the next couple of days are hell. rather than being treated like someone of your rank, the lieutenant decides to treat you like a rookie, making you run almost triple the amount of drills, ignoring the fact that you’ve had an injury.

when captain price decides to finally intervene on your behalf, he promptly replies about how insubordination must be set straight and that he's doing this his own way. soap and kyle both also try to intervene, but they can't seem to change the lieutenant’s mind.

you don't seem to fight it either, just silently accepting whatever task he's given. you know that there's really no room for disagreement given your current circumstances.

today he had pushed you too much though. drained, as you went back to your room, collapsing on whatever shit excuse of a bed you had. you couldn't even get up. the three firm and calculated knocks you heard on your door made you groan. who the hell was it at this ungodly hour?

“come in,” you yell out.

and in walks the man you've been dreading to see the most. the lieutenant himself.

you immediately stand up and salute him, ignoring the pain your body is in.

“at ease,” he mutters, as you sit down on your bed. the air is awkward between you to say the least, but boy does it get worse, when the lieutenant kneels and lowers himself right at your feet.

“what the hell–lieutenant?” you question.

“quiet,” he orders, his tone stern. you have no choice but to comply and watch, as he takes out a bandage from his side pocket. “your feet are bruised,” he mutters. why was he acting like he didn't know the reason? that he had been making you run triple the amounts you normally do.

“permission to say something grossly insubordinate sir?” you ask, trying to control your seething anger. what the fuck is his problem?

he nods.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell and it catches him off guard, his warm green eyes meeting yours. “first you punish me for saving your life, make mine a literal hell and then you come in here and act like you care?” your voice raises without you even realizing.

he sighs. he doesn't have a response. you're right. he has been in the wrong but he didn't intend to punish you that far. it just sort of happened. he was so angry, not with your disobedience of course, but because of the fact that he had missed a corner and let you get hurt. he was at war with himself on this one.

so simon does what he does best, ignore your anger filled speech and continues bandaging your feet.

“s–stop it,” you try and push him away. he doesn't budge and you feel yourself reduced to tears. when he does look up and see your eyes coated with them, he stops and says words he hasn't said to anyone in years.

“m’ sorry,” he admits, softly. tears begin to slide down your face, no matter how much you try and hold them back.

and out of instinct, simon reaches out. for the first time, simon riley scoops up someone into his arms, rubbing your back, muttering a thousand apologies for his behavior. god, it would be better if you had let him get shot that day, than seeing you cry like this.

he had made you cry.

“m’ really sorry,” he whispers in your ear. “i was just so upset that you got hurt because of my stupidity, sweetheart,” he tries to explain but his persona is crumbling. he's been so unmerciful to you. “i was wrong, so wrong for doing this,” he repeats again. how could he be so rude to someone he loves so dearly?

he keeps you in his arms. his hand, running through your hair, with his gloves long discard at the side.

you mutter something about how bad it is for you to be crying in the arms of your lieutenant and he tuts, saying that firstly, you should call him simon, and secondly, you can cry as much as you want.

you’re the only one he wants in his arms anyway.

[valliesworld]

You Mean Something

masterlist

simon “ghost” riley x reader, mentions of other task force 141 members

genre: angst

warnings; she/her pronouns, mature content, standard call of duty violence, cursing, kidnapping, mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of torture, starvation

synopsis; after a failed mission that left you in the hands of the enemy, you finally realise how much Ghost cares for you

Distractions came easy to you, even if you tried your hardest to stay focused, to stay alive and awake, your mind still thought of him while you were being subjected to such torture. You think about his eyes a lot, how in his eyes his his humanity was shown, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would that mask and military vest, when he would become the man the army demanded of him. But you saw it in his eyes that day in the sunshine, waiting for the cadets to finish training. You saw the humour that burned there too, the sort that stays for an eternity. There was something in his spirit that danced when he trains, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. You have seen it die too, the flames almost extinguished, when he was under the gun of guilt, shame and fear after a particularly hard mission. You know that isn't him, not the real version, the person you’ve grown to love with everything that is yourself. That's why you had to see his eyes before you go, to see the real him before you decided to give up and let death win. You wanted him to see you too, the girl who messes up, but would do anything in her power to keep him and the squad safe, to keep him emotionally healthy, no matter how deep his scars go. So when you think of him, you see a cheeky man who made cadets run laps til they turned green and hope to god he thinks of the vulnerable version of you, the one beneath the soldier.

In moments of silence, when your captors would leave you be, you would remembered the last conversation you had with your family. She had wished you well with tears in her eyes, making you promise you’d come back to her. Your father had been busting himself with house work, refusing to acknowledge that his youngest child was off to another suicide mission, just like he always did before you left. You had kissed your mother on the cheek as a goodbye, not promising a thing but granting her a smile, just in case that was the last time she��d ever see you again. Death wasn’t scary for you, you had accepted that you would die young, in your line of work death was not something that could be prevented, no matter how hard you might try. What did scare you though, was your nieces and nephews growing up without you, only seeing you in photos, it was your mother and father having to bury their youngest, it was your older brother and sister living without you. Death didn’t scare you, but the impact of yours on your family did.

You didn't know how long you had been held captive for, it could have been weeks, months, even years, at that point. What you did know was that the starvation they subjected you to as one last punishment had began to take it's toll on your body, your weight had dropped rapidly, leaving those metal cuffs loose around your wrists and ankles. At first it had been small strands of hair falling out from stress, then slowly it became more and more til you were left with thin strands to cover your head. Your body was always shivering, cold to touch, and you didn't know whether it was because you were forced to sleep on freezing concrete or if hypothermia was beginning. to settle within your bones.

Makarov had captured you for one thing, he had seen potential in you, wanted you on his side, and the only way he believed he could do that was if he broke you down into nothing, just to rebuild you as the soldier he always desired. He had watched from afar as you had taken down men three times your size, as you cleared bases by yourself, and how you lived up to your callsign. He knew you were young, younger than the other task force members, and with being young came being naive and impressionable, Makarov wanted to use those attributes and swing them to his favour.

In some of your exhausted delusions, you dreamt of your team, of your family. You had dreamt of your first Christmas with the task force, how you had sat in your room with the computer screen on, talking and listening to your family on the other line, wishing to be back home and apart of their celebrations, that was, until Gaz barged into your room and dragging you out for a Christmas surprise with your chosen family. You had dreamt of the day you accepted death, how you leant up against that brick wall, the rain pouring from above and mixing with your blood; red water sweeping the street. You had accepted your fate that afternoon, dying alone, until you knight in a shining skull mask whisked you off your feet and to survival. You dreamt of the day your nephew was born, how his tiny hands wrapped around your finger, chosing you to be his favourite person in that moment. You dreamt of many things, but one always kept returning. The delusion that Ghost would save you one last time.

"Fear is part of being human, Redback, it's the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. So feel it, own it, let it ignite your thoughts," Gaz's words echo in your mind constantly, they were one of the first words he ever spoke to you, and they resonated with her throughout her short years with the task force. They kept you alive at that point, they told you no matter how inhuman you felt, you were still alive, still breathing, still ready to fight.

Your cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there, and you were beginning to. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

You could hear the sound of feet slamming against concrete, though your eyes never opened, refusing to see what was coming to torment you that time. They had stripped you of everything, they took your weapons, and your dignity. They had left you to rot in the cell in cotton underwear and a white undershirt, though both items were caked in dirt, grim, and stained with your own blood.

The sound of keys jingling had caught your attention, and when you opened your eyes you kept your gaze away from the intruder. Instead, you found the bruises and dried blood on your ankles far more interesting. The person had unlocked your hands first, fumbling with the keys as if he were nervous, as if something had gone wrong, and that had been his first mistake. When your hands were greeted freedom, you finally looked over at the man, your knife, the one they had stolen from you, sat perched on his hip. They had stolen your gear just to use it against you, and that fact gave you more motivation than anything previously, you wanted your things back.

Without a second of hesitation, your hands wrapped around the knife, plucking it from his tactical belt, your tactical belt, and plunged it into his thigh. He cried out in pain, something you never gave them the satisfaction of hearing, as he doubled over from the fiery sensation in his leg you pulled the knife out again and plunged it into his neck, blood that was not yours finally coating your body again. As you let out all your frustration on the man, pulling the knife out just to slam it back in over and over again, you began to register the sound of gunfire, the sound of Russian shouting, and the feeling of panic the base you were trapped within was beginning to feel.

Once you were positive the man below you was dead, you began stripping him as they had once stripped you. You took the keys from his cold, dead hands, and unlocked your feet from the shackles, your ankles screaming in relief. You then took his clothing, albeit they were far too large for you, they were better than what you had been forced to stay in for your time as a prisoner. Tightening the pants around your waist with your belt, you felt somewhat okay, you didn't feel helpless or hopeless, you felt determined, determined to get out of there yourself, since there would be no rescue party for you.

Gripping onto the rifle, one that wasn't yours originally, you began your escape. As you made your way through the base, leaving a trail of bodies behind you, you felt like yourself again, you felt like the soldier once were. You had reminded yourself of things that were facts; you were one of the youngest ever recorded female members to join the SAS, you were an accomplished soldier, a sergeant before your twenty first birthday, you were a force to be reckoned with; those facts kept you motivated throughout your escape, you were all those things, and more, and you could get yourself out of any situation.

Sticking to the shadows, you took down over twenty soldiers, cornering them til they were alone, and that tactic had worked well enough, til your luck ran out. The corner you took was one of bad judgement, over fifteen men resided there, all on high alert for your whereabouts, and with no shadows to conceal yourself, you had no other option but to simply turn back around, though when you did so, you found yourself face with thirty other men, ready to pounce. Weighing your options, you knew that to surrender was your only choice, if you wanted to stay alive. Letting the rifle hang from your shoulder, you held your hands up, defeat running thick through your veins.

They didn't make a move though, not one soldier stood out of line, all of them waiting for you to make the first move, to do something unpredictable, until he sauntered out of the crowd. Makarov's second in charge, Yuri, grinned like a mad man as he gripped you roughly, pulling you in the direction of another room and dismissing the men on guard. You were no longer deemed as a threat as he led you into the room, far nicer than the cell you had grown accustomed to.

He stripped you of your weapons, though he was not thorough, leaving your bloodied knife within your waistband as he took the rifle and pistol from your body, turning the safety on and throwing them across the room.

"I thought we beat the need to escape out of you," he tsked, hands feeling your body in a way far less appropriate than simply looking for weapons. "But I now see that you have to be broken in a different way to get you to comply with our rules."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the five other men walked through the door, dragging their bodies with them. Three had a grip on Ghost's sluggish body, and two were struggling against Soap's protests. The men forced Ghost and Soap to their knees, Ghost having to steady himself by placing his hands in front of him to keep him from falling foreword. They had drugged him, most likely using the same one they had used to keep you compliant in the first weeks of your capture.

"Redback?" Ghost questioned softly as he looked towards you, confusion running through his mind.

"These two were found sneaking around our base," Yuri revealed, toying with a piece of your hair as he forced you to look at them. Soap held a look of distraught as he looked over at you, like he had just seen a real ghost, while Ghost's eyes held a look of resentment within them. You weren't sure who the resentment was pointed towards, but you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't directed at you. "And now you'll watch them die."

Yuri stepped foreword, his own pistol raised, pressing the barrel against Soap's head as he looked back at you. With a clenched jaw, you pulled the knife from your waistband and pressed it against your wrist. The sharpness of it caused a small speck of blood to dribble down your arm and drip to the floor, but despite the sting you kept it in place.

"Makarov wants me, you kill them and I'll die with them," You spoke clearly, despite your voice being hoarse from not speaking for days on end. "How would that look for you? Under your watch, his prized possession dies because you can't do your fucking job right."

Yuri let out a dry chuckle, "so loyal," he commented, looking towards the men knelt before him, "and where are your pleas? When she was taken from you, you left her. Maybe you two would rather her blood spill to cover your sins."

"Shut up," You hissed, their silence to his words were deafening, a heartbreaking scene as Ghost looked anywhere but at you.

"I want you to memorise this moment, they weren't here to rescue you," Yuri growled, "They were completing another mission, and you so happen to be here as well."

Ghost's eyes, despite hooded with the effects of the drug, widened slightly, struggling even harder against the three men that held him in place. Soap on the other hand, used the distraction as an ample time to escape. Taking the gun from Yuri, Soap pointed it towards the men holding him down and left off two shots, killing them quickly. You had taken this opportunity to throw the knife, watching with a sickening smile as it lodged itself into Yuri's chest. Ghost, regardless of being under the influence of a drug, took down two of the men holding him hostage while Soap let off another shot into the final man.

Ignoring the two men, you walked over towards Yuri, watching as he spluttered out in pain. Hovering over him, you crouched down, twisting the knife deeper into his chest. Pulling it out, you relished in the pool of blood that began to form.

"I want you to memorise this moment," You repeated his words to him as you dragged the bloodied knife down his cheek, smearing his own blood on his face, "that nobody is here to rescue you." and with that, you plunged the knife up through his bottom jaw.

Months had come and gone, and you had not spoken a word to anyone on Task Force 141 since you had been brought back to the. safety of your base. The wounds, the injuries to your flesh would heal long before you're able to heal your brain. You had gone through a lot, many scars now littered your body, your ankles and wrists having a permanent red line from the rubbing of your shackles, and your mind was in shambles. Laswell had told you that they hadn't looked for you once, that they assumed you were dead and had even informed your family of you being killed in action. You felt almost betrayed that they didn't even bother to look for you, that the mission was more important to them, to Ghost, than to see you still breathing.

The doctors had gotten you healthy again, gave you the fluids and sustenance you had been deprived on before setting you up with a physiotherapist. That man had retaught you how to do simple tasks, explaining to you that the only reason you were capable of such things during your escape was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It had taken you four months to get back to doing things on your own, and an additional three months before you were back to your usual abilities, and still within all that time, you refused to look at the men that had left you in the hands of the enemy. They had offered you leave, to go home and spend time with family, but if the mission was as important as leaving behind a team member, it only made sense to stay and complete it before gifting yourself with seeing your parents relieved faces.

The gym was quiet at three am, sleep no longer a need for you as it only plagued your mind with unwanted memories. The sound of your knuckles coming in contact with the rubber punching bag silenced your mind, created an inner peace within you as you assaulted the equipment. Nobody else resided inside as you continued to push your abilities, seeing just how long you could do this before getting tired. You used to be able to go for hours, but now, it seemed that you could only do half of that.

Your inner peace was quickly ruined by the sound of heavy footsteps, and before you could even register what was happening, his hands wrapped around your waist and pushed you against the closest wall. He turned you to face him, the hard skull plate from his mask was gone, his balaclava the only thing separating them from each other. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, the black war paint he usually sported was not there, leaving his expressions easier to read.

"You never threaten to kill yourself to save me again," His voice was rough, reminding you of a hot long black in the early of the morning, bitter and abrasive, burning your tongue. "I'd rather get shot ten times over than ever see you do that again."

Scoffing, you looked at him with a frown, "A few months too late for this revelation, Lieutenant."

"I don't care," He huffed, grip on your waist loosening, "You don't get to do that shit, not anymore."

"And you don't get too care, why do you even care? Huh?" You spluttered out, words dripping with venom, "You left me there to die, Laswell told me everything, told me how you all didn't even give me a second thought, told my fucking family I was dead."

"I watched you die," He growled out, "I watched as that bullet went through your chest, as you fell to the ground."

"And you didn't think to check? The mission that important to you that you can't go over to a wounded soldier and check if their heart is still beating?" You all but screamed at him, if you were anyone else, your yelling at a superior would go severly punished, "I was wearing a fucking chest plate, you saw me put it on, you checked I had it on before we started that fucking mission, and you still left me for dead."

"You don't think I don't remember that now?" He yelled back. at you, voice booming throughout the gym, "You don't think I wasn't awake every night wondering about you? Thinking of things I could have done differently? I completed that mission and went back for you, you were gone."

"Why do you care so much?" You hissed at him, "The first time we met you told me that I'd be another dead body at the edge of your boot because you didn't think I was good enough, why care now?"

"Because you mean something to me," He revealed, though his words were sweet his tone wasn't, it was like he resented the fact that you meant something to him, "you mean more to me every single day, that's why I care."

[nia-writes]

How they wake you up in the mornings~

A/N: this is based on them being off duty~~

Warnings: Slight NSFW in Prices, mentions of reader panicking.

Ghosty~

Normally: This man is up at 5am every morning, even off duty. Doesn't matter what time he slept the night before, 1am, 3am, 4am, he's still up. That being said, he won't wake you until later. Wake me up at 5am and I will fight. Unless you asked for him to wake you, he won't. But, if you did, he'd be gentle. Shaking you very lightly, and when your eyes open and focus on him, he's got a soft smile specially for you. He’s so whipped for you.

To be sweet: Simon can be very sweet~ especially once you've broken down his many, hard walls. At first, he would be unsure how to show you he loves you, so he makes you breakfast. I believe he would be a decent cook, and he would try his very best to make your favorite dishes. He would set the tray of food down on the nightstand, with tea of course, and gently start to kiss you awake. He will tickle if you refuse to wake up.

In a emergency: He's already thrown you over his shoulder and out the door before you even woken up- Doesn't matter what the emergency is, you are always his first priority.

To be a pain: Please tell me why I believe this man would just... *flip* the mattress over. Like, he'd place something on the floor so you don't get hurt, but test his patience and well.. you'll end up on the floor. He would make sure you're ok though, he's not that mean.

FOAP~~

Normally: He would always wake you up in a chaotic way. Tickling, dragging you out of bed, wrapping you up in the blanket like a burrito and throwing you over this shoulder, he does it all. He's always very gentle with you, before he attacks you in affection.

To be sweet: Johnny would be the the sweetest. He'd first start off by kissing and cuddling you, then depending on your mood, would order food or cook for you. Mornings like these are his favorite, he's a huge ball of affection and will suffocate you with it. RIP in peace

In an emergency: Oh gosh.. if you have anxiety, good luck. same bestie. He doesn't mean to overreact, but in a situation where your safety is in danger, his brain is empty as he picks you up and runs. He is very apologetic after, and will crush you with his love.

To be a pain: *Scottish music intensifies* For real, if you've still haven't woken up yet and he's having withdrawal symptoms from your smile- he will be the biggest pain. Along with the blaring music, he can, and will, starting singing loudly. He would also open the curtains and hold your hand above your head so you can't block your eyes. Good luck to you, just wake up.

John Price~

Normally: Price is a very busy man. On days when he's in a rush, he'll place a sweet kiss, rubbing your arms affectionately. But if he's home, he'll take his time. Holding you close to him, kissing your face, neck and shoulders.

To be sweet: He's extra needy in the mornings. Wakes you by caressing your body, nipping your ear. Saying soft praises while he thrusts gently into you. Afterwards, he would be super doting. Cooking, running a bath, whatever you need he will get it.

In an emergency: Very calm. It's almost creepy how calm he can be, as he uses his military voice to wake you. You know something has happened at his tone, knowing he rarely uses it with you. He's comforting still, if you're still sleepy, he will pick you up.

To be a pain: *Sighs* you won't need a shower because he's already given you one. If you ignore his warnings to wake up, he'll get a bucket, fill it to the very brim, and dump it on you. Yes, its cold water, yes, he is smiling so smug. Don't even dare to be mad with him, he warned you.

Kyle Gaz Garrick~

Normally: He would be lazy in the mornings, when he's on a mission, he doesn't get the chance to sleep or rest. He always wakes up first, smiling as he cuddles you tight. He kisses you gently until you wake up, whispering in your ear: "Mornin', love." Definitely stays in bed for hours.

To be sweet: Ah hes such a caring boyfriend~ He'd gently kiss you awake, once you've had a little soft make out session, Kyle would grab you like a princess and place you on the couch. He'd make you breakfast while cracking jokes with you. Always compliments you each morning, he finds you heavenly.

In an emergency: Very protective. He would still let you stay asleep as he picks you up and gets you to safety.

To be a pain: Bangs pots and pans together. May or may not eat your favorite food in front of you if you refuse to get out of bed, and when you do leave, he doesn't give you any. (unless you threaten to not kiss him) Or if you're a gamer, he'd tease you by saying: "Love, I'm about to play!" that would get me up so quick-

Alejandro~

Normally: This romantic, smooth man god i want him so bad. He's sweet every morning, bet he would leave the house early to grab you fresh flowers each day. He's just so in love with you. Always has to wake you with kisses, he's holding you so close to his chest. Your bodies are intertwined as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear~

To be sweet: Ugh. He's always sweet, especially in the mornings. But when he's feeling extra affectionate he writes you a love letter. You have a box fulled of them. He has so much love for you that it overflows so he has to write it down. Ale would run a bath for you, lighting candles and adding in your favorite scent. He will join you if you let him. Also needy in the mornings, but now as sweet as Price. who needs legs?

In an emergency: He is so calm when he wakes you, you'd have no idea that something happened. He doesn't want to scare or cause you to panic you so he, gently but quickly, grabs you and leaves. If you do panic, he is quick to calm you, calmly smoothing your back while whispering reassuring words.

To be a pain: I can never see him being a pain. Except for when he hasn't had your affection for a long time and you refuse to wake up. He'd lightly grab your ankle and drag you from the bed. Good luck if you're ticklish, he won't spare you. i can take him-

König~

Normally: At first, he would be hesitant to wake you. Even if you had asked him to, he would still be very anxious. He would also be scared to hurt you, he's a big tall delicious man, in his eyes you are precious. He would start by gently caressing your leg, whispering your name. And when you wake up and smile at him, he swears his heart stops.

To be sweet: He would leave early morning to get your favorite breakfast and snacks. Since he's home, he wants to spend the whole day with you, watching movies and not leaving your side. When he's back, he smiles as he caresses your cheek, his face turning red as he watches you slowly wake up.

In an emergency: Panics. He quickly calms himself and lifts you up with such ease, gently holding you as he runs. He reassures you everything is fine, not wanting to panic you, but he deals with the situation swiftly. There’s not many moments where he can spend with you, and he won’t let anything get in the way.

To be a pain: Never. He's the most sweetest amongst the men here, I can see him never being a pain to you, even if you absolutely refuse to wake up in the mornings.

[forensic420]

After Dark ✰

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!Reader

Ghost only finds comfort in one thing after a rough mission.

contains fluff, mentions of trauma, blood and ptsd mentioned

It was currently 2am, lights went out three hours ago. You lay on top of your neatly made bed still, hands resting on stomach and staring blankly at the ceiling. The fan is making you chilly, too engrossed with the images from the mission you recently came back from.

You sit slouched on the benches in the EVAC, head in hands. Trying to cover your ears seems to make what’re you’re feeling worse. You ache to weep and shed the flesh off your bones. Little ol’ you thirteen years ago would never to have expect being drenched in blood, face and clothes stained with the crimson liquid.

Then came a soft knock, almost quiet enough to never have heard. But not with your solider hearing. You glance at the door and think of who it could possibly be. Sitting up and sliding your legs off the bed you tip-toe to the door, grasping the handle.

You take a breath before opening it, peeking at the figure. Before you stood your lieutenant, eyes swollen and flushed. He sniffles and looks at you, “Can I come in..?” He asks, voice quiet and raspy. You open the door fully allowing him to walk in. “You weren’t asleep?” Simon comments, looking at you.

“Uhh…I was trying.” You sheepishly answer. Turning to him you notice how he’s crossed his arms. “Is everything alright? You seem upset.” You invite him to sit on the bed with you, which he graciously accepts.

What you and Simon have is different then anything else you have ever experienced. He acts so cold and brutal to everyone else, never to you. It took him awhile to finally comprehend his feelings for you, how you made him feel. Simon ached for what you offered him, comfort and reassurance.

You’re aware of how he feels about physical touch, only sitting about a foot apart. He stares at the ground towards his feet and you can see the silhouette of his side profile from the dimly lit lamp. “Simon?” Your voice soft, filled with kindness and compassion.

His eyes dart to you and he furrows his eyebrows. “Sorry…What?” Simon questions, turning his head. He observes your expression, it’s almost a frown. “I asked if you were alright.” You explain. Simon makes a understanding‘mmh’ to you. “No.” He replies.

A slide look of concern washed over your face, which makes his throat go dry. He swallows, wallowing in guilt. “Did something happen? Do you need me to talk to somebody-“ You blabber, which soon is cut off by a sudden, “Will you hold me?”, from Simon.

You go quiet. It fills the room so quickly it makes you sit up straight. He slides his pointer finger over the back of your hand that sits between the both of you, rubbing the skin back and forth softly. His eyes stares into yours. He almost regrets asking before you nod and slide to the top of the bed beside him.

You lay against the bed frame in a comfortable position, him turning towards you and laying on his side. Simon wraps his arm around your waist and snuggles deeper into your chest, sighing deeply into the cushioned area. Your left arm is on his back caressing it softly while your right is stroking his hair.

His grasp on you tightens, and you can hear a quiet and muffled sob from below you. The vibrations and tears soaking through your shirt makes you cradle and kiss his head. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay, I got ya’.” You reassure him.

Simon is aware of your struggles too. How he would hear you wail as you take a shower after a difficult mission, how you hated the sound of fireworks, how soulless and dull your eyes would look. He remembers the day when you walked out of the rubble and debris from a bombed building you were near. Your whole body was covered in white ash, clothes torn and dirtied. Eyes wide open as dark red liquid ran down your ghost colored face. Your stance is awkward as you stumble towards a rescue team.

You rock him gently, humming and continuing to kiss his head. “Love you so, so, so much, Simon..” You whisper into his hair. He slows his weeping and the tears decline. Every once in awhile he’d shudder and lean deeper into your touch.

After a moment, his breathing became slower and his grip on your shirt loosened. You leaned over tenderly and turn off the lamp on your desk. Sinking deeper into your pillow and allowing Simon’s warmth to spread over you as you close your eyes, soon falling into deep sleep.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

[tacticaldiary]

Sacrifices

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

They’re surrounded and she’s the only person who can pull off the stunt required for the extractions team to do their magic. Defying her Captain’s orders was well worth the punishment if that meant said Captain and her teammates left this hellhole alive. Even if there was the possibility that that would be without her. 

Masterlist

“The evac team’s swarmed, can’t land until the roof is secure!” Gaz yells out while barricading the door the three of them burst through for cover. Price grits his teeth, cursing. 

Gunshots ping in the distance. This was supposed to be a simple mission. Capture the leader of an enemy organisation and transport him back to base for questioning. 

The only issue was the intel they’d received had been compromised from the inside, an ambush waiting for them instead of their target. Gaz, Price, and her were the three people from the Task Force dispatched, the operation needed to be done without raising any alarms, after all. A smaller unit made sense. 

Until it didn’t. The ambush had been brutal. 

Gaz took a shot to the leg and Price, two bullets to the shoulder to his firing arm. She was the only one unharmed. The room seems to be for some kind of storage. Metal racks line the walls, a single light illuminating the space dimly. 

“The roof is their primary focus, they know that’s where they’ll try to extract us from.” Price says, leaning against the wall. He does not flinch, does not wince or show any signs of discomfort from his wound aside from the sweat on his forehead and the pale complexion of his skin. Gaz isn’t doing much better, lowering himself down to get his bearing and inspect his leg. 

“Our options are stay here until we’re found, or take a room full of uninjured, armed forces all at once.” Gaz grits out, rolling up his pant leg. 

She’d been silent this entire time, thinking about their next course of action. The other two were injured. They’d be expecting them to strike as soon as possible, knowing they were desperate to escape. 

The other two wouldn’t be any good standing their ground. Gaz couldn’t walk, and Price wouldn’t be able to shoot accurately. This was her family. Her teammates, yes, but she loved Gaz like an annoying little brother, and Price...

Well, he may be her Captain, but at the end of the day, he’s also her husband.

The decision comes without any hesitation. Grabbing her rifle, she checks her ammo and reloads, the clinking of the bullets catching the attention of the other two. She checks her knives, feeling their gazes on her, and when she finally straightens up and catches Price’s narrowed gaze, she knows he’s figured out her plan of action. 

“You’re not to act without orders, sergeant.” He says, low and authoritative. It’s his Captain voice, the one she and the others obey without question on the field. 

This is the first time she’s chosen to disobey it. 

“We don’t have a choice.” She says, slinging her pistol into its holster. “I’m the only one not out of commission. I can clear the roof, buy you some time at least.”

Gaz goes to interrupt but her husband beats her to it. 

“Stand down, Sergeant.” He orders, knuckles white around the shelf he’s gripping.

“Negative, Captain.” She responds calmly. 

“I’m giving you a direct order-”

“Yes.” She cuts him off. “I’ll get the evac team in, they’ll send backup.” 

“Sergeant-!“ There’s a hint of something other than his stoic command when she approaches the door, something akin to alarm and worry. Even Gaz snaps his head to look at the Captain. 

“Price. Gaz.” She nods to each of them in turn, then gives Price one last look. Her rough, professional exterior cracks for a moment, the sad but determined smile she offers him might be the last one he sees, and the thought makes his heart plummet hard. “I’m glad to have worked with you.” She turns to John. “Love you.” 

He abandons her title and calls out her name angrily instead, pushing off the wall to march towards her. She knows he’s going to grab her, force her to stay and think of something else if he caught her. Hell, he might even decide to go out there instead of her and that was simply unacceptable. She slips out the door, slams it shut and bolts it closed from the outside, trapping them in. 

Two pairs of arms pound on the door, two muffled voices call out her name, one frantic, the other fearful and angry.

She leaves them behind, extracting a frag grenade from her belt. Stealth was one of her specialties, and even more so now that she’s working alone. Slinking back, keeping to the shadows, she finds her way to the staircase leading to the roof. Cracking open the door, she peers out to assess the situation. 

Counting 15 men, armed and alert, she takes a deep breath, pulls the pin out of the grenade, throwing it out. 

The moment it explodes, she throws open the door, takes three men out, and dives for cover behind a stack of sandbags. Men bark out shouts and orders, bullets rain around her. Another grenade sails over the bags, taking out a handful of them.

Hauling herself over the bags, she shoots down a few more of them, lunging to change covers. 

A sharp pain stings straight through her forearm. 

Another one through her right calf. 

Biting back a cry, she situates herself behind the second stack of sandbags. Less than half the men left. She could do it. She wasn’t doing this for herself. She was doing this for Gaz.

She was doing this for Price. For her husband. 

The person who loved staying in bed with her on their off days, the man that treated her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Price was someone she would never find again, and she was grateful for every moment they spent together. In bed lazy, taking a walk outside, lounging around at the beach, cuddling on the couch. Every moment with him was special, and she would not, she could not let him die like this. 

Trapped in a fucking setup. 

Summoning up the will, she throws her last grenade and opens fire, dropping man after man. Bullets scrape across her skin but she barely feels them. 

She aims for the last man, the roof bloodied with corpses when he throws down a smokescreen. Eyes watering, she coughs, moving to get out of the cloud, when she feels an arm lock around her neck. 

The man snarls, grabbing her in a headlock and squeezing. She chokes, scratches at his arms but his grip is relentless. Dark spots dot her vision, and she can feel her thoughts slip away. 

‘Clear your head’ John would have told her. ‘No situation is inescapable, you just need to figure out the routes to escape.’

Escape. Get the evac team in. She was so close. 

She reaches down and grabs at her legs until her hand curls around the last knife she has tucked away. Yanking it out, she jams it into the man’s arm and shoves him away, stumbling to increase the distance between them.

Cursing, the soldier points his gun at her with a sneer, hatred clear on his face. Unarmed, she looks for a weapon; her gun had been dropped in the struggle. 

There’s a beat of silence where neither of them move, then the soldier bark out a laugh and pressed the trigger. 

The bang makes her flinch as she ducks, preparing for the incoming second shot that would take her out. 

Nothing comes. 

Nothing but the thump of a body and arms pulling her up to her feet with an exclamation of her name. She starts to put up a fight, but then realises that the hands that hold her do not hurt, but are familiar and warm. 

“I’ve got you.” A smooth, gravelly voice. “Easy does it.” 

“John?” She gasps out. Over his shoulder, Gaz limps in on the scene, declaring it clear. A hand pressed to his ear, contacting the evac team via comms.

Now that the adrenaline starts to ebb away, she feels the full effects of her decision hitting her hard. She’s bleeding from a lot of places. 

Her cheek, her calf, her forearm, the side of her stomach. Scraped and bruised, still gasping for oxygen from being choked. God, she just knows there are going to be bruises around her throat tomorrow by how sore it is. 

Her knees buckle, but Price catches her, lowering them both to the ground. “I’ve got you, love.” He mutters, laying her down and looking her head to toe to chart her injuries. “Bloody hell.” He curses at her state. “What the hell were you thinking? Took us ages to break outta that goddamn room.” He snaps, glaring down at her. Among the anger, she can see worry and panic swimming in those eyes of his. 

“Needed to get the roof clear.” She breathes out, clutching onto his wrist. “Did it, didn’t I?” A weak laugh that Price does not find amusing at all. 

“We need a medic!” He yells over his shoulder to Gaz, who nods and relays the information over. “We’re talking about your actions later.” He informs her firmly, eyebrows drawn tightly together. “But you’re alright for now. You’re gonna be fine, you hear me?”

All she can bare to do is nod, squeezing her eyes shut, her entire body hurts and-

“Shit, ouch.” She hisses through her teeth, eyes flying open. “Did you just pinch me?” She says incredulously.

“I need you to stay awake, love.” Price says firmly. “Eyes on me, yeah? Keep talking. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

“Is that an order, Captain?” She tries a weak smile. 

“It’s one you’ll listen to, that’s for fucking sure.” His grumble pulls out a small laugh from her. She doesn’t have to wait long, it seems because the humming noise of the chopper fills the air soon enough, the evac team lands safely on the roof. A swarm of people rushes out of the chopper towards them. 

The three of them are loaded onto the helicopter, medics on them, shouting to each other and measuring out syringes of medicine. 

Price looks at her the entire time, watching her as if she might disappear again. She knows she’ll get a talking to when they land, a harder one from her Captain, and a more worried one from her husband, but she can’t bring herself to care. 

They were all alive. 

Price could berate her as much as possible, she’d never regret saving their lives, even if it had meant trading her own. 

Requests Are Open!

(17/06/2023)

[shoot-the-oneshot]

SUGAR DADDY

MODERN WARFARE MASTERLIST

Simon Ghost Riley x reader I can’t explain it but he just screams sugar daddy vibes you just know he doesn’t spend his money on himself why not spend it on you? Warnings NSFW minors dni this is my first time writing smut so be warned.

Despite practically living his life on the battlefield Ghost was more up to date on things than the 141 would expect, but this however he had no idea about until he overheard two privates that were sharing a plane with them that he heard about sugar babies for the first time.

“It's great all I have to do is buy a little gift and take her to dinner to keep her happy she never asks where I’m going or when ill be back it's perfect, especially for this job.” That was exactly what he needed and he knew just where to look.

“It’s just to pay my rent, I know most girls expect big gifts and vacations, but I don’t.” You stressed your point to the man over the phone, being your first time being a sugar baby you didn't know if that was normal or not. But having heard about how busy most of the men are that do this kind of thing you didn't think twice about the arrangement.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, we're both getting something out of this right, just be there when I call and we have a deal.” His deep voice soothed you as much as it excited you, that was one of his terms, you never call him just wait for him too, which you didn’t mind.

For months that’s how it went, he’d call and direct deposit your rent at the beginning of each month, it was easy money. Then slowly things changed he’d call late at night, voice straining as if he was in pain as he practically begged you to talk about anything to distract him from the war you didn’t know he was fighting.

It would span from a song you heard on the radio you liked to embarrassing stories from your youth.

“I don’t believe you.” His gruff voice sounded almost playful through the obvious tiredness you could hear.

Laying back against your pillows ignoring how unbothered you were at him interrupting your sleep. “No seriously I’ve never had a real boyfriend.”

“You’re too beautiful for a man to not even try to make you his.” He spoke as if he knew it as a fact. The compliment made your breath hitch hearing it come from him. Shaking your head at how ridiculous you sounded, you’ve never even seen him.

“How do you know I’m beautiful?” Your question made him speechless, he’d forgotten you weren’t supposed to know he’d seen you. Luckily for him, your sweet, innocent little laugh saved him from answering.

“But no, no flowers no one to open my door or make me my favorite meal after a rough day.”

“One day, one day you will princess.” His deep timber voice washed over you settling his spoken promise into your bones.

Over the next few months, you had almost daily calls when he was free with some weeks of radio silence with only the occasional flowers and takeout from your favorite restaurants to remember him by.

You’d even call him your friend if only you didn’t imagine how good his voice would sound calling you his good girl as you begged him to make you cum wishing it was his fingers inside your drenched pussy instead of yours.

Moaning out his name as you circled your clit, hips raising off the bed chasing the pleasure, biting your lip hard enough you tasted blood trying not to scream out as you came, your fingers not losing their rhythm as you pretended he was easing you through your release.

Your shivered coming down from your high, your phone ringing made you jump as you rushed to answer it not noticing the name through your haze until the same voice you had imagined only minutes before met your ears.

“Simon!”

“You alright love, sound out of breath?”

Slapping your hand over your mouth not realizing you were still panting you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat. “Yeah just went for a run.”

The next day there were flowers on your doorstep crystal vase sitting next to a new set of curtains.

“Oh my god are those all Vivian Westwoods?!?!” Your friend shouted as you sat down for the weekly girls' night. Grabbing your hands, she examined the gold rings that went from your fingertips up to your knuckles the metal bending with your movements.

“Yeah, Simon got them for me.” Was all the details you gave, taking a tentative sip of your drink. to them he was your super mysterious boyfriend who showered you in gifts which to be fair wasn’t that far off. Just the title and the fact you’ve never seen his face.

You were so oblivious you never noticed the man in the corner, face covered by a dark balaclava. Silently watching over you like he did when he had time off. Ghost smirked under his mask as the warm feeling of pride filled his chest watching them fawn over the rings he meticulously picked out after seeing a man get too close to you one night.

He knew you’d pack a harder punch with your knuckles covered in the metal. Not that you knew the reason behind the gift.

Not being able to help himself he pulled out his phone sending you a text. ‘Call me when you’re free’ -Simon.

He smirked again watching you slyly smile at your phone typing before setting your phone face down on the table.

‘Okay daddy’

you blame the alcohol for the newfound bravery. After his text, you couldn’t wait to get out of the bar and immediately dial his number the second you got to your car. Making small talk until his voice got serious.

“I want you to meet me.” He spoke spiking your heart rate. “You can’t see my face but I want you. I’ll text you the address call me when you get there.” Your phone was still pressed against your ear after he hung up. Was this it were you finally getting to live your fantasy?

You couldn’t help but laugh pulling up to the adult store windows all blacked out a part of you hoped he wasn’t just going to have you pick out a toy so he could listen to you fuck yourself with it. You don’t remember quite when it happened but the voice on the phone has dug his way into what felt like your soul making you listen to every word he said.

You paused as your phone rang. “I’m here” “I know listen carefully.” You felt the excitement build in your stomach at the thought of him telling you what to do. “Go inside and go to the back room second door on the left and get comfortable.” You wordlessly nodded forgetting he couldn’t see you. “Can you do that for me love?”

“Yes.” “Good girl now go.”

Pushing your way inside you realize the windows weren’t blacked out, the store was just closed the only light came from the back lighting up the hallway he mentioned. You swallowed your nerves noting that this was how every horror movie started but for some unknown reason you felt safe.

Opening the second door you see a table backed up to a hole in the wall momentarily confused until you hear his voice from the other side of the wall.

“Don’t be shy love get on the table.”

“Fuck” you breathed out already feeling your pulse in your pussy. You listened to him and climbed on the table nearly moaning as you saw his hands through the hole wrapping around your ankles rubbing the thin skin with his thumbs.

“Remember we can stop anytime just say the word soap and I’ll stop.” Despite the haze in the air you couldn’t help but ask why soap. He huffed rolling his eyes on his side of the wall. “It will remind me of something annoying and make me stop.” He growls out yanking your legs through the hole up to your waist. You yelped in shock as he paused letting you get relaxed in your new position.

“Please.” You begged feeling his hands running over your thighs, squeezing and you hoped he’d leave bruises so you’d know this really happened and wasn’t some fever dream. “Please fuck me.” arousal fogging your brain. You don’t even care that you’ve technically never met you felt more secure and protected by him than you ever have before.

You recalled him telling you that no one has seen his face and that you couldn’t either but you wanted nothing more than to run your hands through his hair. Your thoughts distracted you enough that you didn’t notice he had stripped your pants off and cuffed your ankles to the wall spreading you wide open for him.

“Simon.” You moaned feeling his hot breath against your lacy underwear, breathing you in he groaned wrapping the flimsy material around his fist.

“Can I?” He asked between clenched teeth holding himself back with little restraint. “Yes please yes!” With your approval he ripped your underwear apart lifting the shredded lace to his nose moaning, stuffing them in his cargo pants pocket for later.

Your legs jerked against the cuffs as his hot tongue softly slid through your slit flicking your clit. Looking down seeing the top of his head dirty blonde almost brown short hair and thick arms wrapped in muscle and tattoos dug into your thighs and hips, pulling you closer and digging his face into your pussy as his licks got more confident the louder you moaned and preened.

Your head fell back against the table as you felt a thick finger rub around your entrance. Your mumbles of pleasure made him smirk against you, slowly pushing his finger inside you. The sloppy sound of your spletching coming from your wet hole as he pulled his finger in and out almost made him cum in his pants.

“Come on my fingers love, then I’ll give you what you want.” He breathed out adding two more fingers making you whine at the stretch and doubling down on your clit sucking it between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

“Come for me, come for me.” The vibration of his voice rolling up your spine from your pussy making you explode in pleasure grinding your hips into his face the best you could. “Good girl just like that.” He spoke against you. “Yes Yes YES!” You screamed.

Just like you imagined he didn’t let up as you came, his fingers still moving riding out your high, as he stood up if you were paying attention you would’ve heard the zipper and shuffling of clothes.

“Tell me you want this.” He demanded slapping the heavy head of his cock against your sensitive lips. “Please Simon.” You whine, being ready to slide through the hole in the wall and beg on your knees if he wanted.

Choking on air as he pushes into you, his groan loud enough it felt like it was right next to your ear. His thumbs rubbed your waist helping you relax around him. Pulling out so just the tip was left then snapping back in with all the strength he possessed, pushing your body up the table.

Your moaning was making it hard for him not to rip through the wall separating you and pull you into his arms fucking your mouth with his tongue like he was your pussy. Pressing his forehead against the was he picked up his pace the sounds of his cock filling you over and over and skin slapping was pornographic.

“Give me one more love, now.” He growled. Your body obed practically coming on command you screamed clenching down on his cock milking him and making his hips stutter as he shook with his release. Slamming one of his hands against the wall.

After some time his hands softly ran up and down your legs almost massaging them from their stiff position as he caught his breath. “You okay love?” Kissing each of your ankles he uncuffs them. “I’m perfect.”

When you got home there was a gift box filled with the most luxurious bath salts and bath bombs and a still warm box from your favorite pizza place.

A few weeks later the 141 was at their go-to bar, sitting in the corner ghost was keeping a sharp eye on his pretty little bartender. As his teammates go shot for shot.

“Ghost help me with this round.” Glaring at soap he follows across the bar standing next to Soap as he tries to flag down the other bartender. Simon tunes them out keeping a subtle eye on you while you mixed drinks a wide smile on your face as you made jokes with your customers. He glared harshly at his teammate when he felt a rough hit against his arm.

“If you stare at her anymore you’ll freak her out.” Soap spoke patiently waiting for the tables shots and beers. “Wasn’t staring.” Was his retort. Making Soap laugh. “Sure LT…”

The conversation ended when your coworker set down the drinks, ghost grabbing his half while soap struck up another conversation with the bartender.

“So my big friend over here hasn’t quit staring at your coworker any chance you can tell me her name.” He asked making ghost tense “Soap!” He barked but quickly deflated as your coworker yelled to get your attention. ‘Shit’

Ghost was used to making himself look as big and as scary as possible to the enemy, but that all went out the window the closer you got he shrunk in on himself trying to appear less menacing.

“Y/n they were asking about you.” The bartender said patting your arm as she moves to the other side to take more orders. You looked between the two men with a small smile completely ignoring the balaclava covering his face.

“hello beautiful, I’m soap. excuse my friend here he’s not as much of a talker as I am but he’s been staring at you all night and this seemed less creepy than you catching him doing it so ghost, there you go.” Soap nodded toward you while ghost glared at him like he was imagining every way he wanted to kill him. To be fair that was probably exactly what he was thinking.

Your eyes shot to his making him swallow. He’d never seen you up close before, well not your face anyways your eyes sparkled in the low light of the bar making his cold heart skip a beat. Ghost lifted a single hand and shook it resembling a wave, Making you smile.

“I’m sure you’re a great guy but I have a fiancé.” Your words snapped him back to reality ‘a what now’ glancing down at your fingers finding a small diamond ring replaced the jointed metal ones he got you. his eyes hardened, grip on the bar top nearly breaking as he holds himself back from finding the man and breaking his neck. Does your fiance know you’re sleeping with him? How do you talk so late into the night for hours with a fiance?

“Of course, we will leave you be.” Soap nodded grabbing the drinks ghost abandoned and dragging him along back to the table. “I get she has a fiancé but a wave was the best move you had? No baby ghost running around soon huh?”

His words made Ghost snap, grabbing Soap by the collar and pulling him up to his face. “Leave it!” He growled, pushing soap back to the table where the 141 were now standing from watching their Lieutenant and sergeant toe to toe. Not that they would get between them price would be the only one ballsy enough to pull ghost off.

Pushing Soap back, beer sloshing out of the glasses onto the floor and his shirt. ghost stormed off to the other side of the bar finding a dark corner to brood in.

Words of “Was all of it a lie, did she play me, how did I not see it coming, I knew it was too good to be true.” All went through his head as he stared holes through the phone in his hands. The first photo you sent him staring back at him the same wide smile that was on your face on the other side of the room at that very moment.

How could she be smiling when she hurt me like this? ‘She doesn’t know it’s you dumbass’ his inner monologue spoke making his eyes roll to the back of his head in frustration. Deciding to completely ignore your presence lasted all of five minutes before his eyes darted up at a loud slap, finding you right in the middle of it.

He watches your shoulder raise and fall with a large breath, shaking your head you went to take a step away from the table full of rowdy college frat boys.

“Hey!” You yelped when the one that smacked your ass grabs a hold of your arm when you walked away, dragging you back.

“Where’s the fire sweetheart why don’t you take a seat.” The leader leaned back patting his thigh with a lazy smile across his face.

“I really need to get back to work.” Nervously laughing you tug at your hand trying to pull it out of his grip, only pissing him off. His smile dropped and he leaned closer yanking you into him causing you to stumble and fall onto his lap.

“I think you’re right where you need to be, right boys?” The table erupted in laughs as you struggle to get away grabbing the fork on the table and jabbing it as hard as you could into his arm. Making him exclaim and push you off.

Snarling he looked between you on the floor and the fork in his arm. “Fucking bitch!” You scrambled backward as he lunged for you. Closing your eyes you braced for impact.

Your eyes shot open with a gasp as shouting erupted throughout the bar. Only seeing a broad back standing between you and the table.

Simon didn’t know what came over him but the second you were manhandled into the man’s lap he saw red. His eyes scanned you on the floor for injuries as he moved between you and the men.

“Shouldn’uv done that” he gruffed out, nearly laughing as two of them stood to take him on grabbing them both by the collars he rag-dolled them to the side throwing them to the floor. Frat kids against a trained pissed-off soldier, it was too easy. Out of the corner of his eye Ghost saw his team move in to take the rest brave enough to stand up.

Ignoring the chaos around him ghost zeroed in on the one that shoved you. Wrapping his gloved hands around his neck pulling him close enough ghost could smell the fear rolling off the man in waves as he was face to face with ghost.

“You’re coming with me.” Dragging the struggling man screaming to be let go outside. This was exactly what ghost needed to let out his frustration.

Meanwhile, your view of the two men headed outside became obstructed by the man that called himself Soap earlier crouched down beside you.

“You alright lass?” He asked helping you off the floor as your eyes slowly met his and nodded. Soap led you to the bar and sat you gently on a barstool. Checking you over. As he looked you up and down you did the same.

His eyes shot back to yours as you laughed softly, “what’s so funny?” He asked, scrunching his eyebrows. By now the bar had cleared out and was quiet once again. “A Mohawk really?”

“A fork really?” He relates his accent sounding thicker with his deadpan tone. His question snapped you back to reality making you scan across the wreckage of the bar. Shattered glass all over, the floor covered in alcohol you’re sure you even saw a broken chair.

“Where’s your friend?” You gasped looking back to Soap and grabbing his arm. “Which one?”

“The one in the mask.” Soaps lips made an O shape before laughing to himself. “He’s fine I promise bastard has handled a lot worse than a few jackasses in a bar.”

For some unknown you were filled with panic at his words nearly toppling off the stool in your haste, rushing across the bar and out the door a small huff escape your lungs as you run into the masked man’s chest.

His arms wrapped around you catching you before you fell. “Easy.” Your breath caught as you locked eyes, dark swirls behind the balaclava stared back at you.

Ghosts arms slowly released you like he was clinging to the feeling of having you in his arms, with a sigh he dragged himself away from you and leaned back against the cold brick wall of the building.

“Um thank you for that in there.” You stammered fiddling with your fingers as he stares ahead at nothing. The only recognition that he heard you was a nod of his head as silence hung between you both. “What did you do to him?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Was his curt response after a few moments he sighed not being able to help himself. “Are you alright?”

Your brows raised in shock at his question. “No, I’m ok.” He looked unimpressed “He handled you pretty rough for a soft thing like you.”

“I had it handled.” You barked feeling the need to defend yourself even if you definitely didn’t have it handled. To your surprise, he chucked the deep rumble sent shivers down your back.

“I saw, doubt he will ever be able to look at a fork again.”

You smiled rubbing your arms up and down trying to warm up. “No, I’m not cold.” You lied watching him start to unzip his jacket and take it off. He didn’t utter a word just shook the jacket dangling from his hand until you took it.

The rich smell of whiskey and gunpowder and something just pure man filled your lungs wrapping around you so tightly you didn’t think you’d ever smell anything else again. You missed the way his eyes softened and filled with possessiveness simultaneously, seeing you in his clothes.

Then the bitter reminder bubbles up seeing your left ring finger. Speaking through a clenched jaw. “Your fiancé should’ve been here to protect you.” The silent ‘like I would’ hung in the air.

You laughed shaking your head as you moved to lean your back against the wall next to him. “I’m not engaged, Simon. It’s a fake to keep creeps off”

“Then why-wait what.” He stammered for the first time shock filling his body as you called him by name. Shyly looking up at his towering figure you nodded your head to the unasked question. “Your voice.”

Falling back heavily against the wall he pondered his thoughts the way you were gazing at him made it difficult. “What now?” He asked for once not feeling in control. “Well, I’d really like it if you took me home.” By the time you finished your sentence, he was already moving to lead you to his truck with a large hand warming the small of your back.

“You’ve got it, love.”

“Wait what about your friends?” You asked pointing behind you as he held the passenger door open. “Fuck them.”

Hii!! Hope you liked it let me know in the comments I wanted to write more of this but it was getting long so who wants part 2

If you liked this check out my other ghost works here

cod taglist request open

@sandinthemachine

[granddaughterogg]

would men of Modern Warfare let you hold their weapons?

John Price: Noppity nope, and pleading will get you nowhere. "Honeyyy I can handle this!" "No, you can't." He will stick his lighted cigar into your mouth if you're being mouthy, too. Truth of the matter is, in his heart of hearts he fears the day you might get attacked *because of your ties to him* and forced to actually hold your own in a fight. He believes that he is the one who should protect you at all costs, so he can't even bear to think about it.

Gaz: "Babe, come on now...that is just daft. You might get hurt."

Johnny "Soap" McTavish: You know damn well that he's the one who not only smuggles home all the stuff that he shouldn't (Great Britain has strict gun possession laws - nobody is allowed to conceal carry, and even real life SAS operatives can actually get in legal trouble for bringing foreign guns home as souvenirs!), but also lets you paw at all of them. Under his supervision, of course.

Ghost: You never even dared to ask. Yet one day you walked on him dismantling and cleaning a handgun on the kitchen table and couldn't hide your fascination. To your utter surprise he actually asked you if you want to learn how to put it back together and then showed you how to dismantle it again. You had to repeat the whole process a few times under his watchful, dispassionate eye. Hell, he might even take you to the local shooting range if you ask nicely. Unlike Price, Ghost doesn't have this insane protector complex; he is aware that he can die anytime and he'd rather leave you behind with a means to protect yourself.

König: That is a nein. He might let you hold one of his knives though...and for him it will be as morbidly intimate - that is to say, exciting - as if you touched his flesh.

Philip Graves: "You can touch deez nuts."

[callsigndragon]

Mistrust

Captain John Price x gn!reader (Reader is called Mace)

Warnings: typical COD violence and gun stuff, Price being wary and protective over his team, Soap being a little shit (like always, but we love him)

word count: 1.3k

A/N: This is my first time writing for Price and actually writing for this fandom so bear with me, I'm still learning heheh

As a captain, it was Price’s job to make sure that every single man or woman under his command is not only in their best shape to perform a mission but can also fit in with the team. So when he gets a call from Laswell in which the CIA agent explains to him that she has sent a new member for his team, his first instinct is to grunt a dry ‘no’ and hang up. Which he does.

But then you appear at his office the next day, and he has to restrain himself from picking up the phone and calling Laswell. She must know something that he ignores. Price knows that Kate is one of the few people he can trust without question. So if you’re here, it’s because you are a valuable asset for the team, right?

“What’s your name, Sergeant?” He asks, getting up from his desk, and walking slowly around it, sitting on the edge in front of you, without once stopping to make eye contact. 

“Y/n L/n, sir. But everyone calls me Mace.” You respond, looking at him. He had seen many men shiver under that same gaze that he is using to look at you—a test that he had perfected over the years. But you don’t move. Not even an inch. 

You’re tough. Point for you. 

“Let me introduce you to the others, Mace.” 

When he introduces you to the other members of the unit, he is quite surprised to see you exchanging words with Ghost. Riley, with his skull-covered face, turns his whole body in your direction, listening intently to your every word. That’s not an everyday occurrence. 

“Ghost.” Price calls the Lieutenant, watching as he approaches and you move to talk with Soap, who cracks a few jokes that make you smile. That’s a cute smile. 

Wait, what?

After a few moments, Ghost, who had been standing next to Price, raises his voice a bit to make sure that the Captain hears him. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“What do you know about ‘em?” 

Ghost turns his head in your direction, chuckling when he sees you holding Soap in a headlock. “Mace is good, Cap. I worked with them a few years ago, and like you, I didn’t trust them much at first.” 

“And now?” 

“I’ll trust ‘em with my life.” Ghost’s words make the captain look at him, with an eyebrow raised. “You won’t regret it, old man.” 

“Are you vouching for them?” 

“Yes.” 

Price takes a deep breath, stroking his beard while patting his pockets and looking for his cigar. “If they do somethin’ dodgy, you’re dealin’ with it, Riley.”

“Trust me, they won’t.” 

A few weeks later, Task Force 141 gets deployed for a simple mission. In and out. Get in, don’t get caught, get what you need, and exit the building as quickly as you entered it. 

It was easier said than done. 

Because, as simple as this mission was supposed to be, the information that was given to Price, was false. And the room in the basement that was supposed to be empty and unprotected, was full of enemies who were not very glad to see you. 

In the heat of the battle, Soap, Ghost, and Price create a diversion so Gaz and you can get closer to the computers and retrieve the information from them. That was the main objective of this mission. 

“You get the data, I have your back.” You tell him, raising your voice to be heard over the sound of the weapons being fired. 

“It’s gonna take me a few minutes.” Gaz says, typing on the computer like a madman. 

“We don’t even have a minute, Gaz. Make it count.” You respond, changing the magazines in your pistol and your rifle. These are your last magazines. 

It doesn’t take long for you to run out of ammo. It seems like whenever you take one man down, two more appear, cornering you more and more into the farthest place in the basement, where there is not even a fucking window you can use to crawl out of here. You’re trapped, you’re low on ammo, and you have to protect Gaz. 

“Mace, you copy?” 

“Yes, sir.” You mutter over the radio once you hear Price’s voice. “I’m out of ammo.”

“We’re movin’ to your position, hold tight! We'll get you out of there.” 

“Sir, I don’t think we have all the files.” You protest, grabbing the knife once you hear someone moving closer to your position. 

“Those files are not worth two lives, Sergeant.” 

“But- Fuck!” You grunt, running towards the man who has just turned the corner, tackling him down, and driving the knife up his throat. 

“Mace? Mace, you copy? Gaz, where the fuck is Mace?” Price is practically yelling now, and you can hear Soap swearing under his breath because of Price’s tone. 

“Mace was protecting me while I got the data. But I can’t find- Oh shit.” 

“What now?” Ghost groans, already tired of this mission and the amount of things that are going wrong. 

“Mace took out three enemies with just a knife.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, Mace.” 

“I think what you mean to say is ‘you’re welcome’. Room clear. Can we fucking leave now?” You get the pistol from one of the men lying on the floor and make your way out of the room, with Gaz close behind you. 

Later that day, when you knock on Price’s door to give him your report, he glances at you with a mixture of pride and tiredness in his blue eyes. 

“Sir… is something the matter?”

“What you did today…” 

You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence, feeling his reprimanding tone. “Captain, I know that I should have answered when you called, but I was a bit occupied. It won’t happen again.”

He chuckles, watching as your whole body tenses up while you explain your actions. “Next time, let me finish first. I was going to say that you did a hell of a job and that I’m sorry for mistrusting you when you first came in. You proved yourself to be a good asset.” 

“So…you’re not mad at me” You say, trying to make sure that the captain is not messing up with you. 

“Quite the opposite.” He chuckles, and you’re sure it’s the first time you've seen him show that emotion. At least with you. Is he letting his walls down now that he trusts you? 

You smile a bit, ready to tease Price. “You didn’t trust me, huh?” 

Price lights up his cigar, a shadow of a smile over his lips. “I didn’t. Why would I? I didn’t know shit about you.” 

“Fair enough. But now that you know me, do you trust me?” 

Price flicks the ashes onto the tray after a few moments of deliberation. “I do. You might have to teach me some of those moves you did.”

“Knife training sessions with you? Are you flirting with me, sir?” 

Choking on the smoke of his cigar, Price coughs a few times while blushing profusely. “Get the fuck out of here before I kick your arse.” 

“Kinky, aren’t we? You want to spank me in the ass. Do you have a rank kink too, captain?” You tease him, clearing your throat so as not to laugh out loud.

“Out. Now.” He grunts, covering his face with his hands as you leave the room. 

And just when he thinks he’s safe from your antics, you appear at the door again, leaning against it. “Don’t worry, sir. I can keep a secret. Nobody will know that you have a tiny little crush on me.” 

“I don’t have a-” 

And as if the stars had aligned against John Price, Soap and Ghost appear behind you, their reports in hand. 

“You have a crush, cap?” Soap smirks, moving his eyebrows in fast motions. “It was about damn time, I really was starting to think that you were an emotionless rob-”

“Get the fuck out of here. All of you!” Says Price while walking to the door and closing it. “Bloody hell, these three idiots are going to be the death of me.”

[inkbybambi]

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

one thing you love about simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. strong, steadfast, there when you need him. even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

not that you’ll tell him that.

you hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

except for simon.

which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. you don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. you've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

but losing simon? you don't think you'd ever get over that.

it's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold your tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

your call log is all simon.

some appointments here and there, but simon everywhere else.

fuck.

you hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

you don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

he answers before the third ring.

"i'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. you take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired.

“no, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. you’re only half-convinced.

"i'm sorry," you begin again. your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. you're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "i didn't know who else to call, and i lost my tram pass, and i don't have an umbrella, and — "

“dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. you ache.

"i can just walk home, i-i'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone.

“darling,” he says, a little stern. not angry, never angry. trying to focus you. “what’s wrong?”

“u-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "i waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "messaged him too, y'know. but he just. didn't show."

you think you hear simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick.

“where are you?”

there's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. you manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking.

“twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “sit there and be good and patient and i’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. you make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

you can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

he says your name gently. you take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. he's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. assessing you, worrying.

"i'm sorry," you croak out. you can't help it. it's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. he doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. his eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "you know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

you can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. he hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"this is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. you were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "you really think i'd let you stay home alone?"

his eyes are so fucking bright. it startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"i..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. his eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "i was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"as if i don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. you scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

you hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

his flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

well.

you might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. it's a you're a bit clumsy thing. simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

his bedroom is familiar as well. which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

you take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. you’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

as you pad back out to the living room, simon’s already on the couch. your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. but you’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

his balaclava is off. the last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv already ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“am i that predictable?” you mumble, a small ‘thank you’ as he hands you a bowl.

he doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

the silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

you blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. you can’t read his eyes. something hot twists in your gut.

“i-i don’t know, simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “maybe?”

he doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “depends how the date went, i suppose. doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. his gaze hasn’t changed. “why?”

his jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “you deserve better ‘n that.”

a confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “i know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

he seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. you feel sick.

dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. you bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. relationships aren’t easy. being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

you never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. you don’t deserve that kind of attention. after a while, they’ll get tired. you’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

it’s easier to be by yourself. the only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“love.” he tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. how hasn’t he tired of you yet?

a hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“what’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

you swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “no one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

frustration burns the back of your throat. isn’t it obvious? you can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. how can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? how could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“you wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. you crumble back into the couch.

“make me understand.”

heat flashes at the nape of your neck. he takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“how aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. you look at him. hesitant. scared.

the silence is loud. his frown deepens. it takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“you know i’d do anything for you, yeah?”

your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“because you do the same for me,” he continues. you doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

his touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. he slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips where the waistband of his boxers start.

you slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. firm and broad and safe.

“you apologize so much. you worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. one hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“you’re allowed to ask for help.”

you shake your head, a “no” caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“oh, love.” he cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “you have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

he lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. but his cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. you’re so tired.

his lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. you’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

[multific]

Pink Flags

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Warnings: smut, unplanned pregnancy, angst

Summary: After a night of passion, you face Simon with the consequences, however, his reaction is far worse than you could have ever imagined.

You were always good at what you were doing.

Comically good. The way to take down terrorists was like a dance. A melody you create by murdering them.

What you weren't so good at were feelings. Especially your own.

No matter how tangled up you got with them, you always found a way out.

You promised you won't become attached to anyone. Attachments are dangerous.

But you did find yourself entangled with your LT.

Which wasn't good.

You knew it was unprofessional but the moment his lips hit that sensitive spot on your neck, you lost all sense and only came back to it the next morning.

When once again, you lost all senses when you felt his bulge rub against your ass. It was all a mess.

You should have seen the red flags. But you chose to ignore them all.

Simon Riley for one was a huge red flag.

The entire man was a secret and you loved it. It was so exciting and interesting for you.

You knew Simon wasn't the relationship type of guy so you knew what to expect. You were ready for rejection at any given time.

But of course, it never came.

Not once did he reject anything you did, ask or told him to do.

Not even on the battlefield.

Simon knew you were talented so why would he question it? But now, now he had a question, a question he was afraid to get an answer to.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm pregnant."

Simon saw many terrible things, and done some himself, but that one word was the worst he had ever experienced.

A word that will change both of your lives and he wasn't ready for that. He was dead. Only a ghost, an idea, a machine.

Not a father.

"Get rid of it." he would reply in his panic. He honestly didn't even realize he said it out loud if it wasn't for the hurt in your eyes, he would have believed he didn't.

But he did. And it hurt.

He then turned away and left.

You promised yourself it would be the last time you saw him.

Because now, you finally could see all of his red flags.

All of them came crashing down on you.

But you also knew you won't 'get rid of it'. No, you will keep this baby.

And after getting a note from your doctor, you retired from the army, focusing on the baby and yourself instead.

Fuck Simon and his attitude.

Fuck him for not stepping up when you needed him.

Fuck him.

You will do better without him.

---

Living in a small apartment in a quiet place in London might have been the obvious choice.

But it was your choice.

You wanted to prove that you can provide for your child.

Thankfully you were smart enough to not spend the money you earned while in the army.

So, you had enough money for now.

Not for very long, but you could still get a little nursery done in your home.

You went to all of your appointments with that doctor.

Hearing the heart of your baby beating was like magic.

And then the announcement of the century, you were having a little girl.

A beautiful little girl who is yours.

Your daughter.

You needed many days to let that sink it.

Being pregnant and alone was a nightmare.

No one was there to rub your feet or to help with your cravings.

You told yourself you don't need anyone anyway… After all, who would want a woman who is pregnant with someone else's child?

There might be a couple men out there but you didn't need them.

You just needed you and your baby.

And that was enough.

When the time finally came, you could only stare at her, sleeping in her bed next to you in the hospital.

You swore to protect her from everything.

You swore to be enough for her.

You swore to love her forever.

For she was the love of your life.

Your little bundle of joy.

You gave her a name, a name you always wanted to have yourself, so you let her have it instead.

A healthy little girl.

Your daughter, Emily.

Bringing her home was possibly as challenging as it was magical.

You ordered some food for yourself before putting her to sleep.

You tried your best to remember everything the doctor and the nurses told and taught you.

There was a knock on your door, you stood up and walked to get your food.

But of course, instead of your food, a man stood in your doorway.

Simon.

"You got to be fucking with me." you said as he looked at you.

"Nice to see you too, Lass."

"What do you want?"

"I believe you have something of mine. Half, mine."

"Go fuck yourself Simon. This is all you can say? 11 months and this is the best you can do. Leave."

And you slammed the door into his face.

When your food finally arrive you did catch a glimpse of him still waiting in the hallway. But you didn't care.

Who did he think he was?

Half of his?

Fuck him.

How dare he?

---

From that day on, he was everywhere.

In the grocery store, in the park, in the restaurants. Wherever you and Emily went, Simon followed.

One day, you were sitting on a bench, Emily sleeping in her stroller when he suddenly sat down next to you.

"I'm sorry."

"That's a better start." you said, not looking at him.

"I was a complete idiot when I told you to…" he looked at the stroller as you watched him, you understood what he meant. "I have been watching you for a while now. I found you when you were five months along."

"So, you have been watching me for 6 months now?"

"About that much, yes. I died the day my family died. I am a ghost, a baby didn't fit into that."

"Then wear a condom." you said with a harsh tone, he knew he deserved it.

"I am not father material. I am a soldier. Having a child is… not for me."

"Why are you here Simon? Are you here to tell me, this time nicely, that you want nothing to do with me or my daughter? Fine, have it your way. Leave, I didn't need you then, I don't need you now."

"You were the best of us. 141 isn't the same without you. Price often said that you will be the end of me. He always joked about you and me… a quiet life, but I don't think he meant it as a joke. You fascinated me always. You are so beautiful and kind."

"Simon-"

"The day you were told you are having a girl, you were so happy. You went to a restaurant and ate so many things, then you went to the ice cream shop. The lady looked at you funny when you asked to only eat the pink ones. I followed you, I watched you."

"Why are you here Simon?"

"Price told me to find you, he told me to make things right, but he only spoke the words I have been meaning to do. I knew I needed you the moment you joined the team. I let you go because of my own doubts and fears. I do not know what I would do if anything happened to you or her."

His words were sincere. His eyes were filled with guilt and regret.

You would be lying if you said you weren't attracted to him. You always were and will be.

"I can't let you in Simon if you are only going to leave us." is all you could say, your voice, barely a whisper.

Simon was about to say something when Emily started to stir and cry.

You grabbed her and put her on your chest, slowly bouncing and calming her down. You looked at Simon whose eyes were glued to your little girl.

"She has your eyes." you said as he looked at you and then back to her. You moved her slightly, making her face him.

"She looks like you." he said. "Beautiful." it was something he wasn't meant to say, you could tell easily. "I don't want to leave, but I have to. It's what's the safest for you two."

"It's not enough. I am not going to just send you photos of her for every anniversary. I'm not going to tell her that her father wants to see her but can't. It will break her and me. Either you have us Simon or not. I'm not doing the tango with you."

"You were always the all-or-nothing type." he chuckled. He was looking at Emily and you could tell it wasn't an easy decision to make. But you couldn't let him have it his way. As if to help your case, Emily reached out her small hand towards Simon, you smiled at her but waited for his reaction.

He lifted his hand and let her touch his fingers.

Simon will never forget the feeling of his daughter's first touch. It was so warm and innocent. Her little fingers played with his much bigger ones.

Simon came with the intention of letting you go. But he couldn't.

When he first saw you, you were radiating.

Your belly was showing as you walked from store to home. Simon should have known it was a done deal after that.

He should have known he will never be able to let go.

"I will make this right." he said as he let Emily wrap her tiny fingers around his thumb.

He couldn't believe just how terrible he was towards you that day. Telling you to 'get rid of it', of his daughter. He will forever regret his words. No matter how much he will do in the future. You offered him a small smile and a simple nod.

You knew he will be able to make things right, the two of you will be able to figure this out.

Simon Riley might be a walking red flag with a tragic past, but when you handed him Emily, his eyes filled with love and suddenly, in the bright daylight those red flags looked more pink to you.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[hunterbunter3000]

141 Sweetheart, looking at her hand: Damn, I need to fix my nails again.

Ghost: Here.

141 Sweetheart: Ghost what the hell--

Ghost, with a wad of cash in his hand: For your nails.

141 Sweetheart, touched: Oh sweetheart no, I don't need--

Ghost, shoves the money in her face: Nails.

141 Sweetheart, taking the money and sighing: Thank you.

Ghost: B)

--

Lil Bonus!

141 Sweetheart: Ghost this is really sweet, but I don't need this! I do my own nails.

Ghost: That's really cool an' impressive, but still keep the money.

141 Sweetheart: Oh my fucking god--

[soapskneebrace]

to rival the sun

Pairing: Gaz x f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: virginity loss, established relationship, praise kink (kind of), discussions of contraceptives, gratuitous use of italics, a metaphor perhaps stretched too thin, really just a lot of gooey sweetness, only one editing pass so be gentle Author’s Notes: Listen, I am not a Gaz girl, but this thing just came out of me.

Now on AO3!

You’re in the middle of making out on his couch when you tell him.

You’re straddled across his lap, arms hung loosely around his neck as his hands slide soft and soothing up and down your back. Something is burning low in your belly, something you’ve often felt but never shared with anyone else, and his mouth is warm and eager on yours.

“Can’t ever get enough of you, feels like,” he’d said to you, early in your relationship. He’d meant it as a joke, at the time, referring to the near three-solid days you’d spent together between deployment. You hadn’t even done that much—one or two outings to a cafe had only punctuated longer stretches given simply to sharing each other’s company. You’d still been getting familiar then, the both of you, still sharing kisses that were more shy than anything else.

Kyle is not shy now, and neither are you. His entire body is warm, and almost pliant beneath yours, but you can feel a kind of tightness that always seems to be there when the two of you get into these positions. It’s in his shoulders, pulled taut along the muscles of his trapezius, and as you tease his lower lip with your teeth you knead circles into the meat of it with the tips of your fingers.

The massage does the opposite of helping, though—he intakes a sharp breath, and pulls away from you, hands tight on your waist as he breaths hard. His eyes are closed, and the warm brown of his cheeks is made warmer by a tinge of red.

“Maybe we should slow down,” he says, sounding like that’s the opposite of what he wants to do. The grip he has on you seems to agree.

“If you want,” you say, but making the offer feels like pulling your own teeth. That low burn is beginning to spread, but insecurity suddenly threatens to poison it. Does he not want you?

It’s been a little like this throughout the span of your relationship. Even without any admissions, you know it’s pretty obvious that you don’t have much experience. And for the most part, his attention to the slow pace you set has been nothing but a relief—people could get weird about your needs, about what you hadn’t done, but Kyle makes you feel like the rhythm you set isn’t a strange one to dance to at all.

“Do you want to?” Kyle asks, opening his eyes to meet yours.

The insecurity dissolves. You can see it all over his face, in the crease of his brow—he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep you comfortable, even if he ends up unsatisfied. You feel like his expression is mirroring yours perfectly, painted stark and hot with aching want, and settling into that shared feeling is like sinking deep into a warm bath.

“No,” you whisper, hands moving to frame the sides of his neck.

He inhales again, less sharply. “Just say when, yeah?” he whispers back. The words are accompanied with a shift of his hips, a flutter of his hands on your waist.

“There isn’t a when,” you say, and then without thinking, “I want you to be my first, Gaz.”

He goes still. Blinks at you. “Oh.”

And instantly you regret opening your mouth. Your hands fall away, sliding down to his chest, curling into embarrassed fists. You look down. Of course it’s weird. Who was a virgin past eighteen these days? You know Kyle is experienced, unlike you—you’ve felt it every time he’s touched you, every time he’s slung an arm around you with the casual ease of someone who knew how to be with someone else. Shame and disappointment flood you, and that burn in your belly rapidly banks.

But his hands—broad, strong, and gentle—are on your face, bringing you back to him. “I would’ve thought—god, I mean, people must have thrown themselves at you!”

He’s smiling, wide and joyful, and it’s like seeing the sun rise. As quickly as it came, the embarrassment flees.

You smile too, the relief making you laugh, and refrain from correcting his generous assumption. “It just never felt right.”

He kisses you, swift and solid, but suddenly pulls away again, but you know this time it’s because he’s thought to say something. “And it feels right now?”

You nod, hands going back to his neck, lashes lowered a little demurely. “You feel right, Kyle.”

He surges forward again, lips finding the corner of your mouth and working toward your jaw. “Tell me the minute I do something you don’t like. Promise me, yeah? Promise.”

“I promise,” you gasp, as suddenly his teeth find the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You don’t think, in that moment as the burn suddenly roars back to life, that he could do a single thing to make keeping that promise necessary. “Kyle, that feels good.”

His lips part from your skin with a wet smack, move to give the hickey he’s just sucked into your skin a companion. “That’s the idea, love.”

Your hands find the expanse of his back as he presses you closer, fingers spreading over the flex and stretch of taut muscle, and you dig your nails in as a little moan leaves you. The tension you’d always felt is gone, and when you realize that it’s been there because he’s been holding back for you the entire time, your breath leaves your lungs.

“That feels good, too, love,” he says against your neck, smiling up at you when you look at him. “Always feels good when you touch me. Always. Didn’t want to scare you with that.”

You melt a little. “I’m never scared of you, Kyle.”

You don’t have the words to describe his expression. The smile has dropped away, but it’s been replaced with something you think borders on beatific. His eyes, warm and brown and soft, are seeing you against a backdrop of something else, something you know is bloody and ugly and a place of no pride. You don’t know the details—you don’t have the clearance—but you know enough.

You take his face in your hands as he pulls back. “Never,” you repeat.

His arms tighten around you like vices, and he leans forward again, kissing you hard. His tongue finds the edge of your teeth, licks into your mouth as his hands flex across your back and your fingers find the collar of his shirt. It feels illicit to delve beneath the flimsy cotton, to trace the shape of his muscles with your nails, but the purr of satisfaction he gives against your mouth tells you it’s exactly the right thing to do.

“Off,” you say between kisses, and the fabric complains as he yanks it up, pulls his arms and head out, and throws the thing away without a second look. You splay your hands across his chest, digging your nails into the swell of his muscles as he claims your mouth again, and his skin is blazing to touch. You think there’s a fire burning inside him, too, and in the back of your mind you wonder if his flat could burn down just from the two of you being together like this.

His arms sink lower around your body, traveling from waist to hips, and abruptly he’s pulling you forward, hands splayed across both ass cheeks, as he shifts his hips and settles back against the couch. The new position has your mons nestled against an interesting bulge at the front of his pants, but he doesn’t give you much time to blush or fluster about it.

“Ride me, love, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, the deep dark of his eyes alight with the firestorm whipping up between you.

You grasp his shoulders and lean in to seal your mouth over his again. His fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, hot on the already warm skin of your back. Encouraged, you pivot your hips a little, experimentally, and in synch the both of you groan at the sensation. His erection is almost perfectly aligned with the clothed seam of your pussy, the drag of it made simultaneously just perfect and not enough with the fabric’s friction. You grind down again, pressing your mouth harder against his, whimpering when his jaw opens and his tongue finds its way into the space beneath yours. He shifts his hips, pushing up into you a little, grabbing you by the ass again as you bear your clit down hard on what feels like it could be the head of his cock.

“Christ, love, that’s fucking perfect,” Kyle gasps, tendons in his neck pulled completely taut.

“Gaz, it feels so good,” you whine, pressing down harder, dragging against him, the need suddenly feverish.

His hands leave your shirt and wedge themselves into the back of your pants, eliciting a sharp gasp as he kneads the flesh. “This okay? You want these off?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, Kyle, please.”

It’s a clumsy job, and they end up hanging from one ankle because you cannot be bothered to do more than get them out of the way. Somewhere in the back of your head you want to laugh at how slapdash the both of you must look—him shirtless but still in sweatpants, you naked only from the waist down—but the rest of your mind is an inferno. As you settle back onto his lap, there’s only his clothes separating you from him now, and when you press your mons against him again the heat coming from his cock is breathtaking.

“We need a condom?” Kyle asks, spreading his big hands across your thighs.

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur, grinning at his foresight, blessing your lucky stars that you’d thought to take precautions as early as the first time you’d made out with him.

“Fuck yeah,” he enthuses, grinning back. “Option’s always open though. If we need it.”

That has you kissing him again, burrowing your hips into his, swallowing the sharp moan he gives as his fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. You can almost imagine him throbbing against you—or is that your own pulse you feel, beating a rhythm between your folds? Heat floods your face at the thought, and a needy ache blooms quickly from your center.

You separate from him. “Kyle—touch me. Please?”

His hand goes to your sex like he’d been waiting for you to ask. Suddenly you’re fighting your own body, because your hips jerk away from him when his fingers slide through folds that you’re only now realizing are dripping wet. The pleasure is not dulled with fabric this time, not under the rhythm of your control, and it’s like flames are licking at your bare skin with the sensation of his touch. Every nerve is alive, alight with awareness.

“Sorry!” you gasp. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

But he’s got a steady arm around you. His grin reappears, satisfied and almost smug. “That good, is it?” he teases, a lighter touch dragging again through the creases of you, curling his fingers into a sticky squelch that has you blushing furiously. “Shit, that is good.”

“Kyle,” you beg. “Please.”

He forms his mouth around your pulse, the tip of his middle finger circling your clit without actually making contact. “You want my fingers, love?” They brush around the borders of your entrance. “Want me to get you ready?”

“I can take you,” you say, bearing down, trapping his hand between your pussy and his cock. “I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too much. I promised, didn’t I?”

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, and searches your gaze. You don’t know what he sees, but his mouth finds yours again. “Jesus, darling. Fuck. You’re fucking perfect.”

He withdraws his hand, and scoots you back a little by the hips. You can’t help staring as he pulls his waistband down, showing a small dusting of curly pubic hair, and pulls his cock free with one hand. The burn almost peaks then and there, because the sight of it standing like that, rigid, the head of it smeared glossy with precum, is almost too much to take. He’s hard, hard because of you, hard because of what you’d been doing together.

Your trace your fingers along its length, almost lightheaded, before remembering that he’s been so good about staying at your pace. “Is this okay?” you ask, your touch lingering at the base. You want to show him the same consideration he’s shown you—want him to know how precious it has been by giving him the same.

His breath comes out unevenly, and he presses his forehead to yours—you think he understands. “Better than okay. Fuck.”

You stroke him again, lingering at the dip between shaft and corona, and your brows shoot up when his cock twitches in response. Your breath is suddenly shaky in your chest, shallow, and your throat feels dry when you finally speak. You hadn’t known that could happen. The implications have the blood roaring in your ears.

“How—” and you have to lick your lips, “—how do we do this?”

You look up at his face again, and his lips part in a smile that’s so tender it makes your heart hurt. “Come here.”

He helps you lift up on your knees, and you want to whimper at how easy it is for him to hold you steady with one hand while the other takes ahold of his cock. There is barely any space between the head of it and your folds. You swear you can feel the heat of it radiating out toward your skin, as if it’s stretching out to find you.

“Help me in, alright?” Kyle murmurs, hand tightening on your hip, the pressure comforting.

You grip his bare shoulder with one hand and reach down, finding your entrance—you’re familiar enough with that—and spreading your folds. As you lower yourself, trembling less than you might have without his support, you feel the head of his cock pass between the splay of your fingers, spreading them wider, and then your entrance surrounds him.

“Good,” Kyle breathes, “so good. You’re doing amazing.”

Lower. You feed him into yourself in centimeters, carefully, but it’s like you were made to take him—your body gives no resistance, the dripping slick you’re coated with welcoming him eagerly, hungrily. You toss your pace to the wind and push down, taking him to the root.

The moan that leaves you is long and loud as he hisses “Fuck!” in your ear. The hand that had been around his cock slaps against your ass, and you feel him go rigid beneath you, feel his shoulders go tight, feel his thighs flex beneath you as his grip on your body turns to iron. He’s hot and thick inside you, and deep, deeper than your fingers have ever been able to reach. You’re sure of it now—you can feel the his pulse in you, thrumming against your walls like the beat of a drum.

You find your breath somehow as the two of you sit motionless for a heartbeat.

Then he’s huffing a laugh. “Warn a guy next time, love! Shit, you feel incredible.”

You laugh too, and it’s followed by a gasp as you can feel yourself laughing around him. “Told you I could take you!” you pant.

He grins at you, showing his teeth, and nips at your jaw. “Fucking minx. Take the rest then, too, aye?”

You pivot your hips, already practiced from before, and give a cry as you finally register the stretch of your walls around him. It’s a good stretch, a burn that you’re sure is going to sear you from the inside. Your thighs are shaking a little, tight with a building pressure that threatens to combust, and Kyle gives a push upward with his hips.

“I got you,” he says, and his voice is low and breathy as he wraps both hands around your waist. “Go ahead. Take what you need. We’ll get you there.”

You pivot again, and pleasure radiates from your core from where your bodies are joined. You don’t need to think about it too much as you roll your hips, back and forth, falling forward to drape yourself across Kyle’s chest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders for leverage. One heavy arm loops around your back, and you’re squealing as his free hand is at your sex again, two fingers pressing into your clit as his hips rock, as ever, to match your rhythm.

Your breath is coming fast. The heat between your bodies is humid, heavy, settling slick across your skin as you move together. You rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering, panting, grinding your hips down as the muscles in your back and thighs pull tighter and tighter, as something in your core winds itself up with so much tension you wonder how far it can actually go. You’ve come before, with a vibrator, with your own hands, but it’s never been like this.

“Kyle,” you say, and it comes out as the neediest whine you have ever heard yourself make. “I’m so close, oh my god…”

“I can feel it,” he says, thrusting up into you with new momentum. “You’re almost there, love, it’s alright—shit, you feel good—come on, darling, come for me—Fuck!”

The tension snaps. Your breath escapes you in one sharp, long gasp, carrying a wordless cry out of your mouth, and then you can’t make any sound at all. Your orgasm floods your whole body, fireworks of ecstasy lighting up across your nerves in a sweeping crescendo, bursting to life behind your closed eyes, dancing for moments before winking out to make room for more. For one, singular moment, you feel every nerve ending beneath your skin blaze with pleasure, and wonder if this was how stars came to life.

You finally cry out, panting hard against Kyle’s skin, when you regain the use of your voice. He’s pistoning into you from below, and you only have a little time to gather yourself to watch his face before his hips shove up into yours, almost lifting the both of you completely off the couch, as he comes with a strained growl.

The expression he’s making is indescribable. Everything you’d felt in that climax, you see playing out in the draw of his brows, in the hang of his jaw. Had he looked like that the whole time? You experience an unexpected moment of disappointment, as the pleasure ebbs. You’d been very focused on you. You’d missed what was happening to him.

You’re both breathing hard. You tighten your arms around him, stricken suddenly with that old shyness, when he starts to pepper your neck with soft little kisses, and that eases the disappointment. You come back to yourself, to the both of you, as his hands are traveling across your back, splayed wide, stroking the sweaty fabric of your shirt. His body is still warm beneath you—still warm inside you—and for now, it’s enough.

“That was incredible,” Kyle says into your skin, “Christ, that was perfect. You were perfect.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “So were you,” you say, soft and a little tender. He turns his head to look at you, still resting against his shoulder. You realize you’re smiling, when he smiles back—and you lift your head to press your brow to his. “Thank you,” you whisper.

His lips find yours, soft and sweet. You know he understands.

You’re both sticky, glistening with sweat, and a little dizzy from the climax. This isn’t so unfamiliar a feeling—you and Kyle were known to exercise together—but when the two of you finally break apart, as he slips out of your body, you discover two things.

One, you feel horribly empty without him inside you. Your belly is still thrumming, and you realize that low burn has not gone out.

And two, Kyle is nowhere near flaccid. It isn’t the rigid mast it had been earlier, but like you, Kyle isn’t quite sated.

He sees you studying him, still on the couch after you’ve stood up, and smiles at you. You know what he’s about to say even before he says it.

“Told you I can’t get enough of you.”

You give a breathless laugh. Because now, you’re very interested in going at his pace instead.

[ghostssimp]

The Death of Peace of Mind//Simon Ghost Riley

A/N This one is smuttish a..lot? I took some time from writing, because I didn't have anything in my head. No inspo. This is what came with a song; Bad Omens; The Death of Peace of Mind I hope you enjoy.

I made another mistake, thought I could change Thought I could make it out Promises break, need to hear you say You're gonna keep it now

You and Ghost were fuck buddies, nothing more. That was until you both started to feel something towards each other. That's when you begged Price to give you other tasks, to send you on different kinds of missions. You were avoiding him. He took notice of that, and it made him feel mixed emotions.

This was finally the longest that you were on a mission. The last time the two of you saw each other was 6 months ago. The last time you two had touched each other was 9 months ago. It made you only crave for the man more.

I miss the way you say my name The way you bend, the way you break Your makeup running down your face The way you touch, the way you taste

Those hot nights, where you would whimper his name. "Simon, please Simon." Were the whispers that you could moan out from all the pleasure he gave you as he pushed deep into you from the back, one of his huge hands holding your waist as the other was between your legs, making you grind against his cock more.

His groan echoed in the room. "That's right. Keep that mouth full of my name. That's the only one you will remember for some time." His deep voice could be heard behind you and it made you arch your back even more for him. "Yes, sir!" You cry out feeling closer and closer to your high.

His hand would catch the grip on your hair and pull it, so you would look in the mirror. You saw your red face that was wet from the sweat. Your eyes are in a haze as you look at him and how he thrusts into you. Each one was harder and harder. All you could see was his mask. "Look at yourself. Look how much of a good girl you are being for me, hm?" He would grunt into the night.

When the curtains call the time Will we both go home alive? It wasn't hard to realize Love's the death of peace of mind

You walk back, feeling a little tired and sore from the flight back. You go straight to Price's office. As you enter, Price is already in a room with someone. Your heart skipped a beat and your mouth dried.

"Y/N! Good to see that you came in one piece back home." Price told you, not feeling the tension rising in the room. When you met Ghost's icy look, it felt like you couldn't move. Like you were frozen in place as all those feelings came back to you.

You're in the walls that I made with crosses and frames Hanging upside down For granted, in vain, I took everything I ever cared about

Being on such long missions always meant that you were alone with your thoughts. What did you think about? Was it Simon?

Every night, it felt like he was next to you. It felt like his fingers traced from your lips to your pussy. It felt like he pumped them in and out. The feeling your fingers did, it just wasn't the same. You needed him. You needed his touch so badly. You moaned his name every night, trying to get yourself off at the memory of him.

It all just made it worse for your feelings towards him.

I miss the way you say my name The way you bend, the way you break Your makeup running down your face The way you fuck, the way you taste

You could still remember when the two of you came back from an undercover mission. You had to dress up and make the mafia boss fall for your charm.

When Ghost heard your soft whispers, when he saw your soft touches when he heard your low chuckles.. It made him go mad. His cock twitched. On the other hand, you were doing it all a little bit more to piss him off. He knew it.

So when he called you to his office, you were pinned to the wall. "Let's see how can you make it up and apologize with that pretty mouth of yours."

You were on your knees for him. At one point, his hands held your head as he fucked your mouth.

He pulled you up and bent you over the table. His hands held yours behind your back as he fucked you raw on his table. Your dress was ripped apart. Your whole body was screaming for more of him as you tried to keep your moans and screams in. "I'm gonna make you forget every man, this cock is the only thing that will be in your mind for a long time, love."

When the curtains call the time Will we both go home alive? It wasn't hard to realize Love's the death of peace of mind

After you filled Price in, you stormed out of his office, trying to run away from Simon. You can't do this now, because you're aching for him.

You even went pass Gaz and Soap with a quick 'hi'.

When the curtains call the time Will we both be satisfied? It wasn't hard to realize Love's the death of peace of mind

The fight between the two of you was still clear in your head.

You were holding your head in your hands as you were seated on the bed. Your heart was beating fast as you thought of what to say to him. The door opens and you look up to see tired eyes behind a skull mask.

He didn't need a second to see that something was wrong. "Y/N, what's going on?" His voice rang in the room and it made you feel even worse.

"I- I have to go Ghost." He was silent, but you could tell that there was a frown behind his mask. "Wha-"

"Ghost I have to go away from you. We have to stop." He took a few steps towards you. "We're in too deep to stop." You put your hand up and he stopped in front of you.

"No, you don't understand Si, I'm falling." With one look in your eyes, both of you knew that you were fucked.

A moment of silence, and then the chaos got out. A lot of words were said that weren't meant. A lot of feelings got spilled out and it ended with you storming out and slamming the door.

You come and go in waves Leaving me in your wake You come and go in waves Swallowing everything

He was always there, in the back of your head. No matter what you did, no matter what you tried. He was fucking you and loving you in the back of your mind.

Are you satisfied? Love's the death of peace of mind Mind, mind

Was this what you wanted? To be alone? To be left alone by him?

When the curtains call the time Will we both go home alive? It wasn't hard to realize Love's the death of peace of mind

As you were walking through the hall, a pair of strong arms pulled you into an empty room. His body was pressed against yours as he pinned you to the wall. His skull mask was already moved a little so his lips crashed against yours. The need for him screamed in you as you pulled him closer, your breathing getting heavy.

When the curtains call the time Will we both be satisfied? It wasn't hard to realize Love's the death of peace of mind

You whimper. "Simon-" He smashes his lips again against his as his arms explore your body. "Shut up and let me give you all the love you have missed in these months. I'll make you mine again and you're not fucking runnin' away love." His gruff voice was heard and you did it. You let yourself to him. He was the one you craved so much. He was your need, your drug.

Love's the death of peace of mind