#☆ ghostaholics

[bits-and-babs]

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 : “post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how ridiculous or non-descriptive. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it.”

thank you @ghostaholics & @luuvbuzz for the tag. it was really interesting to look back at these wips, some of which have been hanging around in my folder since midyear 2022 !! luckily, i am extremely stubborn, so i don’t have many. they are all oneshot fics, usually over 3k words.

please feel free to push me for any fics you’re particularly interested in !! i need motivation <33

𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 ⁞ 18+ || simon ‘ghost’ riley

a flippant comment from soap begins a three way competition to discover whether ghost is blonde or brunette. chaos ensues. 

𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⁞ 18+ || johnny ‘soap’ mactavish / santiago ‘pope’ garcia

a frank and honest conversation with the boys about their sexual activities exposes you to one of soap’s/pope’s interesting kinks

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 ⁞ 18+ || dark!joel miller

joel’s silent warpath to washington dc is interrupted by a persistent presence that seems hellbent on joining him on his bloody crusade. 

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐠𝐮𝐧 ⁞ 18+ || simon ‘ghost’ riley [what if...]

held captive by al-qatala terrorists in st. mark’s basillica, venice, you must work with the mancunian man on the radio to negotiate a deal for your safety. putting your life in the hands of a stranger is hard enough, but your saviour refuses to tell you anything about himself, or go by anything other than ‘ghost’. 

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⁞ 18+ || nathan bateman

devastated by his brush with death, nathan searches for something. what he finds amongst binary code turns his entire belief system on its head. 

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐞 ⁞ 18+ || miguel o’hara 

fresh to his new abilities, miguel doesn’t quite understand the extent of his mutations. 

tagging: @foxilayde @glassbxttless @polakina 

[halfmoth-halfman]

Congratulations on 3k🥳 🍾that’s so exciting to hear!

⚰️#2?

–ghostaholics

i think i'm still kinda surprised, like i def didn't think i'd keep up with writing for this long, but i'm having a blast with you guys!! 💜

⚰️ the retirement home

#2 - so this was like peak Ride the Cyclone era for me and i was talking about tropes with a few of my friends and one of them mentioned the "you come back, but you come back wrong" trope and thus this was born:

they found my body (but not my head)

reader works with the 141 and soap and reader are in an established flirtationship, together in like every sense except without the title because they both know how dangerous their job is and because they don't really need to label anything. they know what they mean to each other. reader is super upbeat, very optimistic, likes to joke around (when appropriate) and has very much younger sibling energy with the rest of the 141 with a fun little habit of leaving little notes for soap to find in his journal. eventually he gets them their own.

a mission goes wrong, and reader chooses to stay behind to get the rest of the 141 to safety, telling soap in a very joking but obviously scared manner that they know he'll rescue them.

and he does!! it takes longer than he'd like but they get reader back and aside from a few new scars, they seem perfectly fine like nothing's happened. reader is given a psych eval (and passes) and is cleared to return to work but that's when the cracks start to show. they take up smoking (or st similarly self-destructive), are caught staring off into space during tasks (like filling their coffee and overfilling the cup), have a hard time responding to their callsign and even their name, so on and so on. soap tries to be there for him, but they won't let him in, instead pretending like everything's fine when it clearly isn't.

they're allowed on one mission, supervised by soap who's trying his best but st happens (maybe they run into one of the people who held reader captive or they come across an old base that reader was kept at, i hadn't figured that out yet) and reader fully shuts down, goes almost catatonic and they have to pull out of the mission. they go back to base and isolate and soap finds them in their room talking to themselves and scribbling nonsense in their journal. he sits with them, talking and trying to comfort them until they go to sleep and he goes through their journal which is filled with scribbles and codes and he spends the whole night deciphering everything where it's revealed exactly what kind of mental and emotional torture reader when through when they got captured.

i wasn't sure how to end it, i knew i'd have reader go through another psych eval and obv be made to get the proper help but i didn't know whether or not they would break up with soap to heal on their own, if soap would step away from the 141 to help them, if he'd let them stay at his place while they got help, or st else, but if they had broken up they still would've stayed friends because they love and care about each other even if they aren't involved romantically.

[jolapeno]

can you imagine meeting ghost off-duty. no mask—just a regular man, in a bar close to where you’ve just moved. the two of you begin talking, don’t swap anything about the other, no work talk, just one weekend—one night, really. all nail scratching, teeth digging down into his shoulder to stop your new neighbours complaining. then he leaves, enjoys one mug of tea before his boots are on and he kisses your cheek goodbye.

you don’t think about him.

not outside of the ache he’s left between your legs and the marks that’ll take time to heal. you stuff it into a basket in your mind as you begin packing your bag, heading to the place where you’ll be meeting a new team—become the latest recruit to something more off the record, than on.

you’re sized up, and you size them up back. don’t linger on the pair of eyes behind a balaclava that digs into you with more venom than gratitude. you exchange no words outside of the necessary, completely keeping yourself to yourself where you can—not wanting to miss out on this, an opportunity not handed so often.

so it isn’t until you’re back from the desert, removing sand from wherever it has tried to find a home, that you see your Lt hovering in the doorway. sliding the fabric up, exposing a pair of lips that make you frown, before he speaks.

and his tone isn’t gruff, isn’t as low or as formal as you’ve heard through the radio. if anything, it’s reminiscent of a voice from weeks ago, one buried into your ear, one burned and soldered to your skin as you took and you took and you took.

you get confirmation it’s him when he makes a comment, one that makes you ice cold and full of fire all at once. before now, you’d never thought that “nice work out there” would have the same effect on you as “you can take it”.

sorry, not sorry to @ghostaholics who I woke up with this thought hahahah.

[moondirti]

gorgeous header by the ever talented @ghostaholics

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ;

˗ˏˋ miguel o'hara x ‘wraith’ f!reader ´ˎ˗ enemies to lovers. emotional slow burn. angst AO3 mirror

⁀➷ main series – ONGOING

[ a dive into the polarising dynamic between a girl who can slip through matter and the man determined to catch her. ]

one. CAT AND MOUSE || two. PURSUIT || three. BITE || four. FREEFALL || five. APOLLONIAN || six. YOU/ME/WE || seven. PROPOSITION || eight. VICES || nine. INTROSPECTION || ten. RESILIENCE || eleven. SUCK IT UP || twelve. PUSH / SHOVE || thirteen. A CHALLENGE || fourteen. WANT

68.7k WORDS

⁀➷ tags

[ for inquiries, rambles, and fan art. ]

GENERAL. || FAN ART.

⁀➷ playlist

follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs to be alerted of future updates!

[allllium]

🖤 Best Simon "Ghost" Riley Fics on Tumblr 🖤

Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

Fluff

° High

Gentle Hands

↳ @hyperactively-me

Unmasked Love [Dad Simon]

Homeward Bound

↳ @springtyme

Simon Taking Care of Reader

Physical Touch

Drabble [Dad Simon?]

Drabble [Dad Simon]

Drabble

Drabble

↳ @starstruckmiraclekitty

Drabble

Birthday Boy

Bimbo!Reader

↳ @yawnderu

Showering

Simon Buys You A Gift

↳ @stargirlrchive

° Simon Needing to Hold You After a Bad Day

Girl Dad [Dad Simon]

↳ @thexsilentxwordsmith

Soon

Smitten

↳ @tojisun

Physical Affection

Drabble

Curly Haired Gf

Laugh

↳ @sunsetsimon

Roommate!Simon

Baby

↳ @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

° Soft Moments ~ @mockerycrow

Drunk!Reader [Mafia Simon] ~ @cordeliawhohung

Bone Tired ~ @tacticaldiary

Vulnerable ~ @velvetures

Headcannons ~ @thephant0menace

Taking off the Mask ~ @empresskylo

Picture-Perfect ~ @ghostaholics

Mockingbird [Dad Simon] ~ @bejeweledblondie

Fatherhood || [Dad Simon] ~ @lundenloves

° Melting ~ @qtboni

Casual Affection ~ @erosology

Lieutenant Ghost Hates Admitting hes Fallen for you ~ @shadowspromise

° Pregnancy [Dad Simon?] ~ @xmy-love-to-youx

Hush ~ @kivino

° Clingy Simon ~ @colonelarr0w

Dad!Simon [Dad Simon] ~ @aethelwyneleigh27

Husband Simon with a Baby [Dad Simon] ~ @ahqkas

The Dog Protects you [Dad Simon] ~ @the-froschamethyst4

Sassy ~ @lxvvie

Physical Touch ~ @prettyoatmeal

Dad!Simon [Dad Simon] ~ @ragingbookdragon

The Ghost Distribution System ~ @ghouljams

Too Good [Dad Simon] ~ @dammn-dean

° Just Play Along ~ @rileyslibrary

Sick!Simon ~ @suimon

Mood Swings, Cravings, and Breakdowns ~ @midnightcrw

Bathing ~ @dmitriene

Snow Angels... Kinda [Dad Simon] ~ @bagofshinyrocks

Sweet cheeks ~ @maskedmenmakemeferal

No Glass ~ @certifiedfreec

Simon as a Father ~ @circlebuttons

Drabble ~ @skyrigel

This Tornado Loves You ~ @ferritins

Ghost!Ghost ~ @idreaminphosphorescence

Plus-sized!Reader ~ @cumikering

Touching ~ @celestialprincesse

Tattoo Artist ~ @rememberwren

Shocking ~ @lxvvie

[ghostslillady]

She's gonna have the night of her life.

Also, where did she find a husband who's willing to do this!!!!

@homicidal-slvt @deadbranch @juvenillia @ghosts-cyphera @mysticalgalaxysalad @kneelingshadowsalome @actuallyhiswife @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @writeforfandoms @ghostaholics @mykneeshurt @anitalenia @konigsblog @random0lover @sweet-as-an-angel @luminousbeings-crudematter @blingblong55 @loneghostwolf @tacticalanklebiter3000

[charnelhouse]

mausoleum (2)

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (other pairings later) Wordcount: 4.5K Warnings: gore. ptsd. references to captivity and torture. implied cannibalism. implied sex. there are mentions of hair. blood transfusion. needles. Summary: Red is grievously injured. 141 races against the clock to save her. A/N: Many thanks to @sprout-fics and @moondirti for reading through this because my damn eyes were crossing. Also, huge thanks to @ghostaholics who helped me with all the blood transfusion nonsense and ghost thots in general

Chapter 1

The rain continued to pour down with a violence. The pharmacy was cold-the kind of cold that was trapped in the linoleum and sunk into Price’s skin. Red’s hair had fallen out of its binding-spreading across the dirty floor. The blood was syrupy and dark as mud. Her eyelids hung heavy; her lips parted around uneven breaths. As if time had shifted, Price was suddenly seeing something else: Red Fox lying on that metal table in Kursk, her wrists bone-thin and strapped down. Her face so swollen it was nearly unrecognizable. 

It had only been a month. How could they have done the damage they’d done in a single month? 

But Price wasn’t an idiot, and he hadn't been an idiot then. He knew their enemies would have seen Red as something worth destroying. The sounds the men of 141 had made at the sight of her would never quite leave him. Incredulity. Shock. Rage. A wellspring of sadness had taken up residence within their circle. Red had been precious to them. Perhaps it was unfair to say that, but it was true. Regardless of what her and Simon had been, she’d also embedded herself into each of their lives and refused to move. She fought well. She survived better. 

Having to witness her be completely broken had destabilized them. It was as if the sky had cracked and fallen. The stars had collapsed against them and they could not push them back up.

Now, she had been nearly killed again.

Soap’s low cursing brought him back to the present. Johnny was hovering over her still form, his fingers gently pulling at the blood-drenched scarf Ghost had wrapped around her shoulder. 

She was conscious, but her coloring was worrisome. Soap worked on her vitals, revealing a penlight from his vest to check her eyes. The backdoor to the pharmacy jingled and Ghost whirled around, gun aimed. It was only Gaz.

“They had nothing,” he said, stalking down the aisle. “Guns had no bullets so it was all for show.” 

Price rubbed his jaw, feeling the tender hump of a bruise from a hit he’d taken outside. Cannibals. He hadn’t been surprised, though he felt like it was too soon for that level of desperation. They were probably the individuals who’d always wanted to-unafraid to commit something that barbaric when cans of food remained on the shelves. He’d seen men like that, especially in the military. They were the ones who signed up because they wanted a license to kill. 

He glanced to his left where Red’s attacker lay, his head twisted at the wrong angle. 

Good riddance.

If they hadn’t gotten here sooner…fuck. He didn’t want to think of that. She’d certainly been through enough with Kursk only a year or so before. Truthfully, it felt somewhat cosmic. Price was a logical man. He believed in what he could see, taste and feel. But after the outbreak, he had lost contact with his reason. 

Today had been lucky.

“Christ!” Gaz exclaimed once he spotted Red on the floor. “She alright?”

“Obviously,” Red replied before Price could. The words were faint, whistling past her lips. “Hi, Kyle.”

“Hey, darling.” Gaz’s eyes swung to Price. His expression worried. 

“Captain,” Soap murmured, turning to look up at him. The “captain” had stayed though Price had told them that they were all on equal footing. He supposed it was easier for them to remain in their positions. It allowed order. Familiarity. 

The fact was that there were no clear plans left. There were no predictable outcomes. Everything was belly-up, ass backwards. Fucked beyond comprehension. It made his teeth itch and his chest hurt. 

“What is it?” Ghost asked, striding past Price and crouching down beside Red. His gravelly voice was cut with a vulnerability he didn’t bother hiding. Ever since Red had been placed on leave, Ghost wasn’t himself. He’d been less cautious and more aloof if that was possible. He took mission after mission and then hid away in his room. Price watched as Ghost’s hand automatically went to her shoulder, his thumb finding her jaw to stroke it briefly before he moved it away. Another memory from Kursk shuddered through Price’s head. 

“You know what they fucking did to her,” Ghost choked out. He was losing it, completely falling apart. “You saw the reports. What the doctor said. What she said. She fucking remembers everything and-and I wasn’t there.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You know it is. If I hadn’t run…fuckin’ hell…if I hadn’t run…” Ghost couldn’t finish the sentence. 

”I can patch it for now,” Soap explained. “But I need more supplies. We’re runnin’ low.” He chewed his lip as he glanced down at the black bag beside him. “Everything is soaked in rain water and mud. I’m nervous she’ll get an infection.”

Red suddenly lifted her head, fingers twitching against her stomach. “House,” she rasped, lashes fluttering. She coughed and Ghost wordlessly curled his arm around her shoulders before subtly maneuvering himself behind her so that she could rest against his chest. It was an intimate move. She was a little thing and Ghost was unnaturally tall and broad. With her collapsed against him, it emphasized how Ghost dwarfed her in every way. They fit well together.

“What’d you say, love?” Soap urged, nudging her hair away from her face. “Your house?”

She nodded weakly before looking at Price. It took her a worrisome amount of effort to move her eyes. “Up the road. We-we have supplies…Price knows where it is.”

“I do,” he confirmed. “Soap—bandage her shoulder and we’ll get her there.”

“Aye,” Soap said as he began to rummage through his bag. Abruptly, he stopped. “Did she say we?”

***

The rain spat at them while the dense mud packed their boots. Thank god for the road. Gaz sat on the horse with Red, his arms secure around her waist as she rested against his torso. They’d swamped her in their dirty, sweat-soaked jackets to keep her warm. Beneath her hood, the tip of her nose and strands of her hair were the only things visible. 

The path was eerie, cloaked in a veil of mist and shadow. Price had seen the occasional body off to the side, rubbery limbs hidden in the grass or trees. He’d experienced a lot of fucking death in his life, but the kind he was witnessing daily made him prickle. It was wrong. You expect corpses on the battlefield, but not outside a quaint village and wearing giraffe-print galoshes. 

They walked in a single file line. He took the front with Soap. Ghost at the rear, shadowing the horse holding Red and Gaz.

“So,” Soap began as he inched closer to Price. “Have you been to her home before?”

“No,” Price’s fingers itched for a cigarette. “She recently inherited it from her parents. Before she left, she gave me the address.”

“It’s big I presume?”

Price chuckled. “It’s got its own wikipedia page.”

They’d come here for a few reasons. One-he’d wanted to find Red. She was part of their group. She was his family. She was vital and he wouldn’t leave her out here. Truth be told, he’d been scared. He knew her mental state when she’d been put on leave. She was in perpetual rigor mortis—her mind completely brutalized from what had happened to her in Russia. Even he didn’t know everything they’d done to her, though he could guess from her medical records. When he’d sat beside her hospital bed, she’d been so raw that he’d been terrified to say the wrong thing. He’d attempted to be a physical presence, offering her quiet words of comfort, but then she had left. She’d been effectively kicked out and Price wished he’d done better by her. 

It was why he’d been so adamant to find her. 

The idea of Red in isolation as the world ended left him stricken. He’d called and called, attempted to find her on the radio, but had only been met with static. 

The second reason was that he figured moving away from the cities and into farmland was their best option. Many of the great castles and estates had been running since the middle ages. They’d be ideal shelters when modern infrastructure ceased. No gas. No electricity. They’d go old school. 

He hadn’t really asked for the other’s opinions when he’d made the plan. 141 had been forced to flee the barracks, seeking refuge in one of their previous safehouses outside Edinburgh. After he was unable to make contact with Red again, Price had walked into the room, ready to declare the mission, but Ghost had beaten him to it.

“Red?” he’d asked, his mask pale in the dark. His head bent forward with his massive shoulders hunched. Ghost had been a fucking mess, forlorn and deeply angry. 

That was all he had to say. Red. The rest didn't matter. Where else would we go? What else would we do? Because they couldn’t move forward without confirming if she was alive or dead.  

“Yeah,” Price had replied. “We’re going to find her.”

We’re going to find our girl. 

In the distance, Price could see the road split. The entrance to the estate was to the right. He could make out the looming iron gate. There was so much greenery, overwhelming foliage.

Before they’d left the pharmacy, Red had described the traps she’d set up around the property. 

Be mindful of areas with too many leaves. Also, a bunch of trip wires. You’ll get your head shot off.

“God,” Soap drawled. “I missed you.”

“Such a sicko,” Gaz snickered, reaching out to take Red’s hand. 

Slowly, but surely the enormous house came into view. You could only make out the tips of the estate's spires rising above the trees. Red’s family crest gleamed from the center of the gate’s bars.

Soap whistled. “That ‘duchess’ nickname was a little on the nose. Thought Simon came up with that.”

“He did, but I don’t think he really knew Red was-” He gestured vaguely in front of him. “-all this.”

“Captain!” Gaz shouted and Price whipped around, gun raised and ready. Even from a distance, it was apparent that Red had gone boneless, head lolling forward. 

Simon was already beside the horse, his hands disappearing beneath Red’s hood to engulf her face and lift it up. Soap cursed and sprinted toward them.

“She wasn’t responding to me,” Gaz hissed, voice tense with unease. He grimaced as he lifted his arm to reveal the front of his shirt awash in blood. “I-I didn’t realize-everything’s fuckin’ soaked from the rain.”

“Open her jacket,” Soap ordered and Ghost ripped at the top of it, pulling it away from her body. Crimson sheeted down her chest, soiling her thin shirt. Ghost’s hands slipped from her arms to her cheeks, cupping them and incidentally smearing blood across her jaw and chin. 

“Jesus fuck, Johnny!” Ghost’s tone was one Price had heard only a few times in his life. It was wrinkled with nervousness–unhinged fear. “Did you not wrap it right?”

“I did!” Soap sealed his hand to her shoulder, but it was impossible to see shit in the rain. “Could have nicked an artery and we just—just didn’t know.” She was ashen, a waxy sheen clinging to her pallor. 

Price steeled himself. “How much can she lose?” 

He wouldn’t crack. Not here. He couldn’t afford it when everything was already bad enough.

“Twenty to thirty-five percent?” Soap checked her pulse. “Her heart rate is accelerating.” 

“God damn it,” Ghost growled, his eyes darting from her shoulder to her rapidly deteriorating color. “Red?” He shook her gently and her head lolled. She made a soft, whimpering noise before going quiet. “C’mon, Red—wake up for me.”

Her brow furrowed, her lids parting a crack before they shut again. Simon swallowed thickly, the muscles in his neck spasming. The hem of his black mask had ridden up to reveal blonde hair stained dark from rain and sweat. 

“Simon–” Price tried before the larger man suddenly straightened, snapping to attention.

Wordlessly, Ghost repacked the sodden gauze into the wound and rewrapped her shoulder. He shoved his gun at Soap and lifted her clean off the horse. He maneuvered her into his arms, cradling against his chest. 

“I can take her, Simon,” Gaz protested.

“No,” he replied flatly. “Have to avoid the trip wires and you can’t see shit from a horse.” He began to move toward the house. “Price-be my eyes here. Don’t want to get shot. Johnny–what do we need?”

 He was holding her like she was a fragile egg, stalking towards the looming iron gate without jarring her. Soap and Price jogged after them.

“Needle, blood bag, a rubber tube,” he replied. The storm had picked up again and Price wondered if God was fucking with them. “A donor.”

“I’ll give it to her,” Ghost said without skipping a beat. “I’ve done it before…” he trailed off and the rain washed out the rest of his words. 

***

Simon couldn’t think, at least not in a straight definitive line. Not good. He was capable of coldness on the field. He could patch one of his teammates up with one hand while shooting with the other. 

But, Red? Different. So fucking different. 

He’d broken the man’s neck in the pharmacy, but too little too late. She’d still been hit and she was now close to death. He rushed through the front gate, stepping over the wires that Red had described before she’d gone quiet. He should have been more aware. He should have been watching her the second she’d stopped speaking on that damn horse. It was torture as he attempted to race toward the front door of the estate while keeping her comfortable. He felt as if he was straddling a knife edge, kicking up gravel as rain water sluiced into his vision.

The air was frigid. The wind was biting at his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured through the wet seal of his mask. “You’ll be alright.”

 Simon hauled ass up the stone steps just as Soap barreled past him to open the door. It was locked.  

“Fuck,” Soap punched the wood before turning to Ghost. “We can break a window?”

“Ghost,” Gaz shouted–a warning. 

Soap punched the door again, his knuckles splitting. 

“Ghost!”

“What?” he roared, whirling around to find a woman aiming a gun at them that was far too big for her. She glared, long dark hair falling in limp strands around her face. She was dressed in only shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Her green rain boots were covered in mud. 

“Who the fuck–” Her eyes fell to Red and she blanched, her mouth gaping in shock. “Oh my god!” 

Soap stepped in front of Simon and Red. “Alright, lass-” 

She lifted the gun higher. “What did you do to her, you fuckin’ assholes.”

Gaz slid around her, hands up. 

“Nothin’,” Gaz defended, voice steady and calm. “Look–we’re friends of Red’s. She got attacked in the village and she’s bleedin’ out-”

“How do I know you didn’t do it yourself?” The girl's lip trembled. “You-you could be using her as bait and-”

“WE DON’T HAVE FUCKING TIME FOR THIS!” Ghost bellowed. The girl flinched and Gaz slipped between them. Always the voice of reason. 

“She’s dying,” he explained. “Please let us in-”

Price appeared behind her and seamlessly snatched the gun from her hands. “Safety’s still on, love.” 

Startled, she nearly stumbled backwards over the steps before Gaz grabbed her by the arms, tugged her to him, and locked her against his chest. “Will you open the door now?”

Simon was done. He felt real fear begin to pour out of him, his whole frame shivering with it. He was taking on water too fast. He was sinking. Rage. Terror. He could not accommodate them both. He glowered at the woman, vowing to kill her if Red died. “Open. The. Door.” His threat spurted between his clenched teeth. His tone was frigid-dark and unyielding. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay–Slim–Slim said never to open it for anyone even if-if-”

Gaz released her and when she stepped toward the door, Simon realized she was crying. The rain had disfigured her features. 

“Just open the door, love,” Price murmured. He squeezed her shoulder and guided her closer. She winced when she brushed past Simon.

Visibly shaking, she pulled a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked it. 

***

It was utter chaos. They’d placed on the table, her injury no doubt staining the expensive wood. Simon scanned the kitchen and found it unadorned. It was all stone and wood, enormous and obviously meant to be utilized by an entire staff. He assumed that only the appliances had been updated, the rest was centuries old. He blew out a breath, feeling uneasy. The corners of the room were shadowed by the storm that howled outside. The windows provided little light and the woman-Bambi-was lighting several candles. Price and Gaz were searching for medical supplies in the storage closet across the room. Red had apparently invested in a plethora of equipment and tools long before the pandemonium had begun. 

Good girl - Simon thought. Red had always been one to prepare rather than wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“What happened?” Bamb was hovering beside the table, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. She looked dazed, eyes focusing on the crimson-drenched bandages at the base of Red’s neck. Soap removed a pair of scissors from his bag and began to cut through her shirt.

Bambi winced. “Oh-don’t-she doesn’t have many-”

“It’s fucked, lass,” Soap replied bluntly. “You should maybe sit in the next room.”

“I can handle it,” she returned with conviction. “I’ve…” she swallowed. “I’ve seen worse.”

Soap shrugged before removing the bandages. Heart thundering in his chest, Simon watched as Red’s blood spilled in rivers, pooling beneath her. Immediately, he flattened his palms to the wound.

 “Steamin’ Christ,” Soap rumbled before yelling at Gaz to bring him more gauze. He turned to Bambi. “You have small hands.” He gestured to the large first-aid kit on the table. “Find the sewing kit, clean and thread a needle for me.” 

There was red up to his elbows, everything drenched and slippery. The room stank of pennies. Tasted like he’d licked a metal instrument. Blood had never bothered Simon before, but he was beginning to feel lightheaded. That’s fear. 

“She’ll be alright,” Soap muttered, glancing momentarily at Simon before focusing on Red’s face. “She’s survived worse, yeah?”

Simon steeled himself, aware that he couldn’t lose his head here. It was bad. Her coloring was frightening and how could they have been so stupid to not have realized she’d been fading out? 

“Foolish girl.” Simon grunted as a deep, unsettling frustration began to simmer beneath his skin. Typical Red. Fucking martyr. Probably, felt herself losing consciousness, but didn’t want to be a bother. 

Anger was an easier emotion to carry. Anger had been the feeling he’d harbored when she’d told him about her condition right before Kursk. He’d run away from her. He’d been an immature fucking child and left her. He’d been inexplicably pissed at her and for what? Something totally out of her control. A complete accident that they were both responsible for. 

“We can figure this out, Simon,” she’d told him. “We don’t have to make any rash decisions. We don’t-we don’t even have to go through with it.”

“I-I just need some time,” he’d said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back and we can-we’ll talk.”

He’d gone on a mission. Left her. It was only supposed to be for a couple of days, but she’d been so upset and desperate for her own distraction that she’d taken on a mission herself. A simple recon assignment. 

He had never forgiven himself when she didn’t come home.

“Simon,” Price had said, meeting him the second he’d stepped off the helicopter. “Simon-”

His stomach had dropped. He’d known it was about her by the look on Price’s face. 

“Where is she?” he’d growled and Price’s expression dismantled into something distressed.

“We don’t know,” he replied. “There was an explosion. She got separated.We-we think the Kursk faction took her.”

Next to Red, Price had always been Simon’s anchor in certain situations. He was reliable and he withstood every horrible disaster thrown at him. But when Red had been taken prisoner, the Captain had been visibly shaken. 

“Alright-shit’s about to get really messy,” Soap said as he yanked on a pair of latex gloves. 

“Here!” Bambi passed Soap the threaded needle. Soap had become the resident medic only because he had nimblest hands from dismantling bombs. He’d also picked up quite alot when he’d been fucking one of the nurses a few years back.

“Hopefully she doesn’t feel this,” Soap murmured before he poured rubbing alcohol over the angry slit.

Red’s eyes flew open, mouth slanting into a gasp. She twitched and moaned before attempting to shove Soap away. 

“Hold her, hold her,” Soap gritted. “I won’t be able to close it.”

Simon placed one hand on her uninjured shoulder and the other on her face. His palm encased it-spanning the entire side of her cheek and temple. Price appeared at the end of the table and held her legs down. 

Simon said her name softly. Her real one. He said it the same way he used to say it when it was just them and the morning and her shitty narrow bed and they’d probably just had tender, desperate sex. Her eyes found his and Simon smiled before realizing she couldn’t see it due to his mask. 

She hiccuped, her chest hitching. She was beginning to cry. 

“She needs to calm down,” Price barked. “Simon-”

Fuck it.

Simon ripped off his mask and threw it somewhere. Even though all of his enemies were likely dead, the mask still served as a crutch. It was still his armor.

But Red needed him.

Simon readjusted his grip and lowered his face so that it hovered over her own. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he demanded. “Look at me.” She blinked at him rapidly before she seemed to focus. Her lips twitched into what could have been a smile. It broke something inside him. 

“I’m here, alright,” he continued. “We’re all here. We’re just sewing you back up so we need you to relax.” The stench of blood and disinfectant wafted from the table. It stained his boots and hands. He drowned in it. 

Her mouth moved, but he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. 

“Only a flesh wound, duchess.” His voice was dangerously close to cracking. He couldn’t find his direction. He couldn’t find much of anything when she looked so fragile. 

It’s fine. We’re okay now. Out of the woods. 

And then shit went south. 

Red’s lashes fluttered, her eyes rolling back. Simon reached down to grip her wrist. “Her pulse is elevating, Johnny.”

Soap cursed. 

“What’s happening?” Bambi asked. Simon took a deep breath in an effort to hold it together. He jammed his aching terror into his guts because he knew Red needed him strong. She needed him to be solid and dependable. 

“She’s going into shock,” Soap explained before he continued to stitch her now that she had gone fairly still, pinned to the table by Simon and Price. He was sewing faster than Simon had ever seen him do before. It would be a mess, but it would save her life. 

“Thatta girl, Foxy,” Soap cooed even though she was hardly cognizant. “Doing beautifully, lass.” He cast Gaz a sharp look over his shoulder. “Start on Ghost. Price can help me.”

Simon didn’t need to be told twice as he dropped into one of the chairs. It creaked violently beneath his weight. He ripped at the buckles and straps of his vest before removing it and his jacket. 

“Lucky for us, Red apparently stole multiple sorts of kits.” Gaz lifted an oven tray with a catheter set, elastic and needles. 

“She raided the medical facilities nearby before anyone even knew what was going down,” Bambi said. “Went a little overboard.”

“Typical.” Soap grinned as he poured antiseptic over her shoulder. She was unresponsive, which caused him to frown. “She used to tell us what she’d do in a zombie apocalypse. The girl was ready.”

Gaz slid next to Simon and lifted his left arm, flicking at the inside of his elbow. Simon curled his hand into a fist while Gaz secured the elastic around his bicep, the black rubber blended into the ink scrawled across his skin. It pressed deep into his Fox tattoo. 

Her gaze was locked to the top of his bicep. She squinted, her tongue darting along the cracked flesh of her lower lip. With a gentle finger, she traced the tattoo, her expression melded into a soft sort of wonder. After a moment, her eyes watered and she blinked it away.

“A fox?” she murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Is that for me or another lady?”

He scowled. “Don’t be cheeky, duchess.”

Undeterred, she grasped his bicep and kissed the tiny fox. His declaration for her. He couldn’t help the shudder that vibrated through his bones. The warm, wet pressure of her pretty mouth. A devastating feeling burned through him as he watched her, small and beautiful and his. He must protect her, curl himself around her. Destroy everything else. Start at the root and tear it from the soil. Any fucking threat to her safety.

Well, he had failed her. Spectacularly. 

Gaz pierced Simon’s vein with the needle before directing it into a tube. He sighed, shaking away the dizziness. He was dehydrated and hungry and on no sleep, but it hardly mattered. 

Soap took the other needle and elastic before tying it around Red’s right arm. The IV catheter sat between Simon and Red as the dark - nearly black blood - was transferred between them. 

Simon studied her intently, feeling that if he looked away she’d die. Her heart would stop right on that table and he’d never be able to speak to her again. 

Red had been human for him. He’d watch her cry after a tough mission and she’d allow him to hold her. Burrow her face into his chest, cling to him and sometimes they’d fuck and sometimes they wouldn’t. Simon demanded her tears. Give them to me, love. Let me take your pain and I’ll never fucking forgive myself for being so late—for being unable to find you when you needed me most. Yes - he had failed her spectacularly and it felt as if he’d failed her again.

Your heart is soft, duchess. 

It is not.

Soft as Soap’s.

Soft for you, maybe. 

Gaz taped the needle to his arm, helping Simon elevate it just enough. Simon braced his elbows on his knees as he studied her skin and its new scars. He hadn’t even realized she was completely bare on top. He felt a weight drop in his gut-a basket of stones turn over beneath his ribs. Most of those marks were from Kursk. He swallowed. Rage. Again, rage. It set his nerves on fire and made his muscles spasm. 

You killed them. You killed all of them for what they did. You tore them apart. 

Suddenly, Simon reached out and took her hand. Due to their size difference, it was utterly dwarfed in his grip. He dragged his thumb across the vein in her wrist and felt the delicious thrum of it. 

“Her color is coming back, L.T.,” Soap acknowledged before finally stepping away from the table and dragging both hands down his face. He exhaled loudly. “Christ–I think I’ve lost a year off my life.”

Bambi glanced at him. “She’ll live?”

“Looks like it. Just pray she doesn’t get an infection.”

Simon prayed. 

***

Please share/reblog your thoughts, babes!

[mayflora-18]

What I did: went onto Pinterest and typed in my web name + “core”

First nine results:

@nrdmssgs @tojisun @astraluminaaa @ghostslillady @loving-azerath @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @homicidal-slvt @deadbranch @ghostaholics @kneelingshadowsalome @ageless-aislynn @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @anitalenia @konigsblog @imsilay @fartybraind @prodigy-from-pluto @rowarn @katz-chow @diejager @sofasoap @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot + anyone else who did/wanted to participate

Side note: I didn’t know if you guys meant web name or real name, so I’m doing both because the first one was kinda fun 🤩

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi :) I just wanna say that I love your writing style, with things like how you chose not to do the name inserts, it makes yours works flow so well, and how you’re not afraid of a high word count or gore/agnst- really just the overall vibe of your writing.

And I was wondering if you have any blogs that you recommend for cod that have similar writing styles to you, or blogs with styles that you are a fan of?

~thx <3

Hello! Thank you so much - yeah, name inserts were never my thing lol. I always felt like the whole 'Y/N' placing really brought me out of the writing experience, so I imagined it would be the same for some people while reading. (No shade to people who enjoy that, it's just not for me).

But for similar writing styles, I'm a bit at the disadvantage for that - I don't actually read fanfic, just write it, so I'm sorry but I don't think I'd be able to help in that aspect.

But I do have some lovely mutuals I can recommend for you that write for CoD! I know that they do some amazing stuff so definitely check them out: @halfmoth-halfman, @uselsshuman, @ghostaholics, @deadbranch, @luuvbuzz, @homicidal-slvt, @writeforfandoms

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

WIP ask game!

Fall from grace? I have a feeling it's gonna be extreme angst.....

I hope i am wrong * sob*

It does have a little bit of angst to it!! @sofasoap

I based it off of @ghostaholics and @tacticalanklebiter3000 prompts about a guardian angel in the 141. It basically follows the reader protecting Simon but because the reader fell in love they lost most of their angel powers. I’m a sucker for those types of stories but I don’t think it’ll be fully angsty there will be a happy ending

…unless?

[bits-and-babs]

𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader ('boa')

summary: you give ghost a parting gift before a mission

warnings: [ 1k words ] secret relationship, dirty polaroids, (m) masturbation, mentions of (f) masturbation, nipple play and voyeurism, ghost fantasising about deep-throating with reader.

notes: much love to @ghostaholics for all the love and support you give me.

Ghost’s fingers twitched with trepidation as he tapped the leather of his wallet against his palm. Gunpowder coats the grooves in his hand, clinging to his lifeline as a reminder of the lives he’d smothered that evening. The deathly silence that throttled the base at Al Mazrah each evening was a breeding ground for the guilty conscience– but Ghost had forsaken his ethics a long time ago.

Delicately peeling open the pocket of his wallet, Ghost peered inside at the little white envelope you had handed him before deployment. It sat firmly amongst his military-issued counterfeit documentation, grains of sand clinging to the back gum. The paper was crushed in the corners, creases wrinkled the face of the cover where his name lay inked in your handwriting.

Ghost recalled the way you’d handed it over to him, choosing to hang fire on your gift-giving until he was about to leave– the most inopportune moment. He’d had one foot on the plane, its propellors roaring as it awaited its final boarder.

“You better not look at it unless you need to, Riley.” You’d arched a brow accusatorily, like you knew he’d wanted to shred it open the moment you had handed over the flat parcel. Peering curiously at it, Ghost had aimed a pointed expression of intrigue at your smirk.

“What’s in it?” He’d shouted over the roar of the plane’s engine, turning it over to assess the swirls of your writing in blue ink. Blue. Of course you’d choose blue just to annoy him.

“Well, it’s obviously not a bomb, Riley. It’s a gift,” you’d smiled, a spark of something playful swirling in your pupils as he gazed at you, his mild irritation evident despite what little access you had to his expression.

“I’nt much of a gift if I can’t open it when I want to!” He’d attempted to reason with you, but you were already stepping away from him, “How will I know when I’m meant to open it?!”

Pointing to your ears dramatically and pretending that you couldn’t hear him over the propellor blades, you’d grinned from ear to ear as you shouted at the top of your lungs. “Good hunting, Lieutenant!”

He hadn’t liked it, but he’d followed your orders for fear of whatever nuclear-grade repercussions you had up your sleeve if he didn’t.

Though, the nights were growing longer and hotter. Week three of this mission and, irritatingly, Ghost was beginning to miss you. Not miss you, not really. It was more that he’d grown accustomed to your presence constantly irritating his eardrums… The quiet had begun to grate on him.

Thumbing open the envelope, Ghost glanced inside. A single polaroid lay within, the image side facing away from him. Plucking out the picture, Ghost notes the, again, blue ink scrawled on the back. ‘Boa xxx’. Your callsign.

He huffs, turning over the image and glancing at the print.

Surprise lifts his eyebrows, caught off-guard by the lewd picture you’d gifted him. You’re naked, fingers plunged deep inside your cunt that glistens beneath the light of the camera’s flash. So distracted by the curve of your breast, he very nearly failed to note that you’re settled back on his office desk, his nameplate situated right beside your head. ‘Lt. Riley’ hovered over your shoulder as though it labelled you as his.

Damn right, you were his.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell. Filthy fuckin’ girl,” Ghost groaned to himself, immediately palming himself through his uniform trousers. He’d already grown half hard, the thought of you settled across his desk while knuckle deep in your cunt sparking something disgustingly wanton in him. Anybody could have walked in on you– and it excited him as much as it apparently aroused you.

Shit, the more he looked at it, the better it got. Your nipples were pert and slick where you’d clearly moved your fingers from your wet cunt to your breasts, smearing your cum across the sensitive skin. Dwindling, plum-purple bruises littered your collarbone, remnants of the last time Ghost had dragged you into his dorm to fuck you.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he rumbled, unzipping his trousers and working his cock from his boxers. Already he was leaking, pearls of precum beading at his slit. It’d been weeks since Ghost had seen your body, longer since he’d had it. “Jus’ wait ‘til I get back.”

A shuddering gasp wracked his chest as Simon swept the pad of his thumb over his cockhead, smearing his precum across the velvety tip just as you always did. He loved it, your last act of tease and denial before finally taking him into your hot, wet mouth.

Fisting his cock slowly, Simon relished in the way he throbbed against his palm and how his abdomen clenched. His eyelids, smudged with midnight-black grease paint, fluttered closed as he imagined your throat taking him deep, the swirl of your tongue against the mushroom-head shape.

“Hah-shit–“ Ghost choked, his hips stuttering upwards to chase his palm each time it withdrew. He wouldn’t last long, his balls already drawing up tight as he squeezed the head of his dick in his fist. He could imagine it; your head hanging off the edge of his desk, crumpling his paperwork beneath your body weight as you took him down your throat. He’d make your body jolt across the surface of the table with each heavy thrust, his palm stretched across your throat to feel the bulge of his cock in your throat.

“Fu-ugh- fuck–“ Ghost hissed, barely managing to yank the hem of his t-shirt over his stomach before he spurted thick ropes of cum across his knuckles and over his rippling abdomen. Your polaroid pinched between his fingers, Ghost blinked the post-orgasm bleariness from his eyes to take a final look at it.

Your thighs spread wide for him, your thumb pushed up against your pretty, swollen clit; Ghost’s eyes had been drawn to the image instinctively. It was only now, his cock softening in his hand, that Ghost spotted the tiny note in the margin of the polaroid. It was scrawled in your writing, barely legible, with the letters all packed into a minute space.

“I knew you thought about me on missions xxx”

join the taglist here:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art

[halfmoth-halfman]

your writer's commentary to my reblog was wonderful thank you so much <3 that fic lives in my head rent-free and it was neat to read about the process as well as the reasons for including certain details that make it such a wonderful story💕

—ghostaholics

omg thank you!!! i'm still in awe of your comments, i keep re-reading them when i need motivation LOL i just look at my phone like

[jolapeno]

i like the way you masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

“just thinking, I could help you solve it—if you didn’t find me so repulsive.” Frankie stares. “I don’t—I don’t find you repulsive.”

key themes: best friends! friends with benefits. smut. idiots falling in love. series warnings: banter. friendship. frankie has a key to your house. smut. p in v. fwb!rules and set up. smut (i know i said, but there's actually a fair bit of it) dedication: none of this would be possible without @ghostaholics

COMPLETED Spotify playlist

CHAPTER ONE.

CHAPTER TWO.

CHAPTER THREE.

CHAPTER FOUR.

CHAPTER FIVE.

CHAPTER SIX.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

CHAPTER NINE.

CHAPTER TEN.

[moondirti]

thank you for tagging me @yeyinde <3

WIP GAME

post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how ridiculous or non-descriptive. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it.

[ animalic ; chapter 6 ] miguel o’hara

[ the dionysian ] kylo ren

[ a burning hill ] kylo ren

(i was revisiting my star wars fixation before spiderverse came out, if it isn’t obvious)

no pressure tags: @pettyprocrastination @sprout-fics @ghostaholics @honeydjarin and anyone else who wants to give it a go<3

[hummingsposts]

10 Mutuals I Would Like to Know Better

Thanks to @deadbranch and @floralpascal for the tags :))

Last song I listened to: Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex

Favorite content to watch: Suits, Star Wars, The Righteous Gemstones, The Office

Favorite games: anything not too stressful or plot heavy, but I play Spiritfarer and Animal Crossing on the switch frequently!

Favorite color: pale yellow or lavender

Favorite animal: dogs

Favorite food: fettuccine alfredo

Sweet, spicy, or savory: sweet!

Current obsessions: any of the 141 men (depending on my mood lol), Benny Miller (thanks @ghostaholics)

Last book I read: A Long Petal of the Sea by Isabel Allende

Last thing I googled: baskin robbins flavor of the month

Relationship: in a long term relationship

Fun fact: I like candy corn, but Brachs makes these little pumpkins that are my favorite Halloween candy (even though they’re still just candycorn).

No pressure tags (let’s pretend there are 10): @mirthlxss @aeoncss @random-thot-generator @macravishedbymactavish @ghostaholics

[jolapeno]

late night texts masterlist

javier peña x f!reader summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

key themes: set in 2000 aka nokia 3310 vibes. text message fic. romcom vibes. series warnings: fluff. flirting. banter. idiots falling in love over text messages. eventual face-to-face meeting. phone sex. smut. (will update as things proceed but these are the main ones)

COMPLETE Spotify playlist

AO3

MAIN SERIES

i. prologue

ii. chapter one

iii. chapter two

iv. chapter three

v. chapter four

— bonus scene: phone sex

vi. chapter five

vii. chapter six

— bonus scene: wicked games you play

viii. chapter seven

ix. chapter eight

x. chapter nine

xi. chapter ten

xii. chapter eleven

xiii. chapter twelve

epilogue

ONE SHOTS

come away with me and we'll kiss on your one-year anniversary, javi takes you to a photo booth to recreate the first one the two of you did. he just can't keep his hands to himself.

the angel + the devil (halloween fic)

“You may be dressed like that,” he says, dropping his voice “But I know how dirty your halo is.”

stockings and stars (christmas fic)

Still need the star putting on the top of the tree. ive got other plans for you Because I’m the star? yeah you're my star and youre not going anywhere but on your back

moodboard - made by anon

moodboard - made by @ghostaholics

post-epilogue pretty - made by @scenaaario

moodboard - made by @agentmarcuspike

collage/wallpaper - made by @joelsgreenflannel

gifted moodboard - made by @missredherring