#just appreciate pretty bloody simon
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
simon again
#actually dont even mention how god awful this perspective is i don’t care#just appreciate pretty bloody simon#art#my art#simon henriksson#cry of fear
155 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, you mentioned MOB and Simon do movie nights. What kind of movies do you think they'd watch together? I can picture him stomaching a cheesy rom com because he knows how much she loves them but I can also kind of imagine her surprising him by choosing something like a horror movie. I'm probably way off base. Idk why and this might just be me but I find that certain horror movies put me in a bit of a cozy mood lol
mail-order bride
"simon, did you get the popcorn?"
you hear what sounds like a grunt in response. you keep rummaging through the cabinet on your toes, frowning, pushing aside the cartons of stock and bags of rice as you look for the box he supposedly picked up.
"simon--?"
you jump when you feel two big hands on your waist. you gasp when he drags you backwards, pressing your ass against his front, reaching up over you as he slides the corn starch aside to pick out the box you were looking for. he drops it into your hands, giving the side of your neck a warm kiss before pulling away.
"you put it up there on purpose," you giggle, turning around to face him. he makes a face, feigning ignorance, and he puts a hand over his chest.
"dunno wot y'r talkin' about, luv," he mutters, touching your chin gently. "did y'pick a film?"
you nod, and he takes the box from your hands.
"mmm. i'll get it ready for ya. you get it started on the telly," he nods his head behind him. you give his cheek a light kiss before making your way behind him. you curl up on the couch, throwing a blanket over your legs. you watch as the cat slinks into the room from the corner of your eye, padding into the kitchen where she smells the popcorn. when simon comes back into the room, she's following him closely, staring up at the bowl in his hands as he takes a seat next to you.
he glares down at the cat as she takes a seat in front of his legs. she hops up onto the coffee table, sitting on the edge, and she blinks as he snarls at her, putting a piece of popcorn in his mouth and crunching down on it rather obnoxiously as if to taunt her.
"wot are we watchin'?" simon asks finally as you click the remote. you lean your back against one side of him, settling the blanket over both of you as you reach into the bowl and take a few pieces of popcorn.
"terrifier."
"ya wanna watch somethin' scary?" he chuckles, raising a brow. "didn't think ya'd fancy somethin' so..."
"so what?" you smile up at him, turning your head. "gory? you should know, i happen to appreciate low budget, indie films that feature lots of blood. besides, i heard people literally got sick from the second one, so we have to catch up."
simon snorts, bopping your nose with his thumb.
"y'r bloody hilarious, baby," he mutters, nudging his nose against yours. you put a hand on his chest and push him backwards, giggling.
"oh, no," you warn him, shaking your head. "we're not doing this again."
"doin' wot?"
"we haven't finished a single film in the last few weeks because you can't keep yourself off," you laugh, turning back to the tv.
"don't know wot y'r talkin' about," he murmurs, his eyes honed in on your mouth. the curve of it, how you wet it with your tongue, the cherry gloss that's still lingering from when you put it on earlier.
you lean up a little, whispering against his lips, "i mean..." you kiss him softly, "like last night..."
he chases you when you pull away, his breaths heavy as he stares down at the low neckline of your shirt, the peek of the bra he nearly tore off of you just a few hours ago. he meets your eyes, humming.
"mmm..." simon licks his lips, "fuckin' hell..."
you smile, big eyes, all soft.
"i really, really wanna watch it, simon," you whisper. "can you do that for me? pretty please?"
simon sighs, scrunching his nose a little before nodding his head.
"woteva y'want, baby. can have woteva y'want."
you crunch on more popcorn as you turn your head around. simon throws his arm around you, pulling you closer, and he narrows his eyes as the cat jumps onto the couch beside him. he relents finally, picking off a small piece of popcorn and setting it down in front of her.
simon nearly throws the entire bowl when she merely sniffs it and walks away.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#order up
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
It's a Match! || 141 x reader
[ Chapter 3 ] || [ Chapter 5 ]
Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.6K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
Chapter 4: John?
The lads sat in the common room of their floor at the base. Gaz and Soap had just finished a round of Gran Turismo on the PS4 they had set up, while Ghost sat at a table in the corner on his work laptop.
“Ye think the Captain’s married?” Soap mused aloud once he set down his controller on the coffee table.
“What kind of question-” Gaz quipped in confusion as he turned to look at Soap.
“He never talks about a missus Price...” Soap explained. “or second mister…” He added.
“That’s not a question you want the answer to.” Ghost said in a dismissive tone from his corner.
“Why not L.T.?” The Scot grumbled.
“People’s lives are private for a reason, Johnny.” Ghost said with a shrug and a tired look.
“Ye, but the Captain’s not like you, L.T.” Soap retorted with a chuckle.
“If anything, he’s worse, Johnny.” Gaz remarked as he looked at the two other men. “Simon’s reserved but Captain Price is pretty open.... except for that side of his.”
Soap went silent for a long moment, seeming to ponder what the other two were saying.
Then, the Scot shook his head. “If he was married, he’d be easier to deal with, I reckon.” He grumbled. “And I think I’ve heard of him going out and getting laid before.” He added. “Last year, especially.”
“You’ve heard that too?” Gaz asked as he bounced a bit in his seat and straightened up, intrigued. “Fuckin’ hell, I thought it was just me. I’ve been dying trying to keep my mouth shut about it!” Gaz added.
“So d’ye think he hasn’t gotten laid lately, then?” Soap asked. “He’s been bloody moody since early last year with Shepherd and Graves…” He added.
“Oh, he definitely has a major case of blue balls.” Ghost remarked, drawing both the other men’s attention to him and causing their jaws to drop.
“L.T.!” Soap said with a surprised chuckle. “That’s bad of you! You’re not being the Captain’s good ol’ boy…” He joked.
“Oh, piss off. Just saying. It’s obvious the boss’ pent up.” Ghost remarked.
“I say we get him laid.” Soap remarked with an impish expression.
“And how do you suggest we do that? We hire him a prostitute?” Gaz asked with raised brows.
“No? Obviously not!” Soap said with a head shake.
“Good, can’t imagine the Captain appreciating that very much.” Gaz added.
“No, but we’ve gotta think of something! He’s impossible to deal with.” Soap remarked.
“I’ve told ‘im to his face and he asn’t done shit to fix it yet.” Ghost remarked from the corner.
“You’re kiddin’? L.T. you told him to get laid?!” Soap gasped in surprise.
“No, I’ve told ‘im to get ‘is ‘ead on straight.” The Mancunian quipped and shrugged, turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him.
“What about a dating app profile?” Gaz suggested and the Mancunian and the Scot both turned to look at Gaz with intrigued eyes.
“I’m getting my spare phone!” Soap announced as he got up and rushed out of the room.
“He has a second phone?” Gaz asked Ghost who simply shrugged.
-
It took almost an hour and a half and a few beers in their systems (thank God they were on break for the evening), but eventually tey had set up a fake profile for Price.
Sure, the pictures were grainy at best, but they worked well-enough. Courtesy of Soap having a habit of taking covert pictures for his snapchat and sometimes catching Price in them... (and other times just taking pictures of the man directly).
It had been mostly Soap and Gaz doing the work, however when it came down to writing the bio, Ghost gave quite the helpful input… By the time they were done, it genuinely looked like it had been Price writing it.
The lads high-fived each other. Even Ghost joined in! He looked to be in a good mood… Maybe it was the beer, or maybe something he was doing on his phone. Gaz had spotted him texting someone and chuckling to himself.
As Soap began swiping mindlessly across all the pictures of people on the Swiping page, Gaz sat next to him, peeking over his shoulder.
“People are going to read the part on the bio that says we are not Price, right? Because I don’t want ‘em to feel like we’re catfishing.” Gaz remarked.
“Don’t worry! If they don’t, we’ll unmatch!” Soap announced as he kept moving his finger repeatedly and quickly to the right. He was liking everyone, in order to get a fairly good sample size for Price. They didn’t know what kind of person the Captain liked after all…
Just as Soap’s finger is slowing down due to the amounts of profiles he liked… He spots it. And then Gaz does.
“No way!” Soap interjects. “I know this person! I matched with them on my own account!” He remarks as he clicks on your profile.
“Bloody hell, me too.” Gaz remarks, causing Soap’s head to turn and his jaw to drop.
“Wait, ye’ve got a Tinder too?” Soap asks to which Gaz nods.
“Yeah, to get laid.” He says with a shrug and a mischievous smirk. “Our chat was bloody funny.”
“Mine too!” Soap quips and chuckles. “Had a right laugh with them earlier.”
“Let me see?” Ghost asks, curious, and he slides over, bending over the back of the couch to look over Soap’s other shoulder.
“Small world. They matched with me too.” He remarks dismissively.
Both Gaz and Soap turn to look at Ghost like they’ve seen, well, a ghost.
“YE’VE GOT AN ACCOUNT TOO, L.T.?!” Soap shrieks, louder and more high-pitched than a grown man with his natural timber should.
“I’ve got a life, MacTavish.” Ghost retorts.
“No, we know that, sir.” Gaz says softly.
“Just didn’t think ye’d be on dating apps.” Soap nods.
Ghost simply shrugs and pulls back, walking back to his corner, in an armchair which he took as his own in the last hour.
“Was that who was makin’ you laugh earlier, Simon?” Gaz adds.
Ghost simply gives him a look that can be interpreted as a tired ‘Yes’, before he looks away to keep working on his laptop.
“Should we Like their profile, then?” Soap asks with a chuckle.
“Uh… yes?” Gaz adds, laughing along. “I can’t wait to see their reaction to it being us behind the screen.” He adds.
Soap clicks the green heart button to Like your profile and then immediately hops on DM once it presents a Match. Before he can write some nonsense, Gaz steals the phone from his hand and starts typing on the cracked screen.
John: well hello again you: hello? you: how can it be again though? you: never saw your 'captain' before in my life. John: no but uve seen US John: sorry! allow us to introduce ourselves formally
“Sir, does your profile have you listed as Simon?” Gaz asked as he raised his eyes from the screen. Once Simon nodded, he resumed typing.
John: our names are kyle john and simon
“Johnny, not John, mate.” Soap corrected Gaz right after he hit send.
John: johnny* sorry
They could only imagine the look on your pretty face as you realized who they were.
you: get out! you: no way!!!!! you: all three of you?! John: ye you: wait is this what simon meant when he called himself a traveling consultant? is he a soldier like you?
“L.T. they’re already accusing ye of lying to them.” Soap quips, causing Ghost’s eyes to shoot up from his laptop.
“Lying? Huh?!” He asks in confusion as he puts his laptop aside and rushes over to the couch. He sits on the armrest next to Gaz so he can look at the screen.
He then snatches the phone from Gaz’s hand, pulls off his right glove, and types a reply with now bare fingers on the cracked screen.
John: I wasn’t lying. John: I just omitted the truth. I don’t go about bragging about my career. you: sure sure sure ‘John’. you: sooo you: is this some kind of weird joke? are you playing a prank on me all matching me individually and then using a fake account?
Gaz snatched the phone from Ghost again.
John: kyle here and no John: we really want our boss to get laid John: he’s miserable you: well im not the one night stand type really you: its why i didnt accept to get together with any of you.
“L.T. YOU TRIED TO SLEEP WITH THEM?!” Johnny asked with another gasp.
“So did you!” Ghost retorted.
“I never thought you were the type!” Soap said with a smug little smirk on his lips.
“Oh piss off, they rejected us all.” Ghost retorted. “So it shouldn’t matter.”
As they kept bickering, Gaz remained laser-focused on texting you and, just as they got heated, he spoke up: “They accepted.”
“Wait wha-” Soap said as he whipped his head down to look at the screen, just narrowly dodging Gaz’s nose and Ghost’s head.
“Bloody hell they did!” Soap yelped as he pulled his head back.
“They wanna go out with Price and ‘see where it goes because he seems like a nice man that needs a break from the three of you’?” Ghost read from the DMs on the screen.
“Ow.” Soap quipped in mock-injury.
The three men raised their eyes and met each other’s, before all their faces morphed into confusion.
“Did they… Did they just reject all three of us for a man that isn’t even aware of this account?” Soap asked aloud, undoubtedly voicing the thoughts in all their minds.
“It seems that way.” Simon said as he looked away.
They all went quiet, each of them quietly contemplating all their life’s choices that led them to the moment they got rejected for a person that isn’t even ‘real’.
After long minutes, Gaz spoke up. “How are we going to tell the Captain he has a date?”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
IF THE GIF DOESN'T WORK FOR YOU: CLICK HERE
taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe
#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic#cod modern warfare#cod fanfic#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#text story#cod x reader#call of duty x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
K-9 — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Chapter I
Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.
1 2 3 4 5
Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two
or
Simon Riley is crushing on an uninterested, tired medic.
''I don't mean to be rude, but I'm getting tired of seeing you here.'' Your blunt words are met with a quiet chuckle, the masked man looking up at you with pure amusement in his eyes.
'' 'M trying not to get injured, bird.'' Oh, but he isn't. He's actively getting injured just so he can drop by and get your help. It's stupid, really, how his obsession with you began. He thinks about the first time he saw you, standing right next to Price, an unamused expression as he went on and on about his team, telling you stories of their missions and time together and despite how bored you looked, your attention was solely on him.
He took that chance to look at you, to truly admire you, noticing the way you pull up your glasses every few minutes even when they're not sliding down your nose, the way your eyes were focused only on Price, paying attention to no one but him, legs crossed while sitting next to Price, your face resting on your hand.
''Clearly not trying hard enough.'' He can't help the way his cock twitches at your bored tone, the small frown on your lips just making him think how pretty you'd look with his cum all over your face— he shakes his head softly, trying to get his mind out of the gutter, focusing on the fast and professional work you're doing on his injured arm, pulling the skin back together with a beautifully done stitchwork.
''It's hard being out there.'' He tries to make conversation and all you can do is hum in acknowledgement, gaze focused on the way the needle digs into his skin, coming out of the other side just to be pulled back together with the thin, transparent thread.
''Y'know Gaz was hanging from a chopper by a bloody rope?'' He knows you're close to Gaz, he has seen you talk to him often, and so he tries to desperately make conversation again.
''Scared the shit out o' the old man.'' His efforts work as a small snicker escapes your lips, stopping working on his stitches as you collected yourself. You look up at him with an amused glint in your eyes, nodding your head. God, he has never seen something quite as beautiful.
''Cap told me about it. Poor guy had his whole waist bruised.'' You let out another small laugh before turning your attention back to the deep cut in his arm.
''If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're getting injured on purpose.'' His heart almost stops as your cold eyes look back up at his, an eyebrow raised, yet there's a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you notice his lack of response.
'' 'M not.'' Is all he can say, the knowing look you give him enough to make his blood boil, traveling all the way down to his throbbing cock, thankful for the black hoodie sprawled across his lap to prevent the blood from leaking into his jeans. You ignore all the... beige flags, knowing he's not stupid enough to actually get injured on purpose. You finish stitching him up, throwing away the tools used and the bloodied gloves.
''Keep the wound dry for 24 hours, if any of the stitches come off or the wound opens, come to me.'' You softly pat his shoulders, a small yawn escaping your lips as you look up at the clock on the wall; 0200.
''Tired?'' He asks sarcastically, earning him a way-too-hard pat on the shoulder. Simon woke you up at 2 in the morning, claiming his wound couldn't wait. It wasn't even as bad as he made it seem, though you appreciate your work with the TF141 more than you let on, so you decided to help him. It isn't the first time he wakes you up at outrageous hours, claiming to need help for things ranging from a pathetic paper cut to a gunshot wound. This time, his arm was the only thing affected, a cut big enough to need stitches.
''Very. Now get out.'' Your hand sneaks into the back of his uniform, tugging softly and he gets the message, standing up and allowing you to guide him out of your office like he's a child. He doesn't care if it's you.
''Goodnight, Simon.'' You can barely keep your eyes open and he feels a slight sense of guilt at keeping you up, knowing you'll have to be awake again in less than 3 hours.
''Night, Doc.''
[NEXT]
#cod mw2#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#simon riley#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#simon riley x you#ghost call of duty#ghost simon riley#simon ghost riley imagine#ghost x reader#ghost x f!reader#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#medic reader#ghost x medic!reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x medic!reader#mw2 ghost#mw2#call of duty#cod modern warfare#cod#call of duty mw2
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! Hopping on a train of opened requests! Ican't get over your drabble "simon riley loves himself a chubby girl", you wrote it so good and wholesome, i've reread it at least 10 times already. Can you maybe give us some more Simon x chubby!reader fluff or (fluffy) smut? Anything written by you will be absolutely DELICIOUS but if you could add some comforting and reassurance from Si for his insecure girlfriend i would REALLY appreciate...
Hope it's not too much, never made any requests, not sure how it work. Wish you a wonderfull day, week and life! Love your writings! <3
author's note: hello darling @ioshk-chan! thank you for your words, i'm so glad you liked my writing that much and especially on such sensitive topic, so i'm happy to write another chubby reader thing for you!
there's huffing words of adoration that drips down simon's tongue like honey, mixed with rough curses that accompanied by the way he growls on top of you, calloused fingers pawing at the softness of your breasts with each uttered word — “just' look at' yau, my sweit' doll, all pretty on my cock lik' that'„
there's pooling adoration in his dark eyes, as if he were looking through you, gaze piercing and making you melt even further into the cold silky sheets, your soft body churning hot with every wet squelch that resonates through the room.
you've never seen other people look at you like that, eyes full of raw admiration, fluttering behind simon's blond eyelashes everytime his broad hips roll forward, slow thrusts inside your gooey warmth that makes your body jiggle slightly, chubby stomach and squishy tits bouncing with each shallow movement.
you're too fucked out to utter a single word besides breathy mewls, head lolling back with the way everything before your eyes blur, and that's before you realize there's warm tears rolling down your cheeks, sheets rustling as simon's hips shift against your legs, and you feel how his cock slips deeper, your gummy walls latching around his meaty shaft snugly.
— “shh, it's alright', luv, i'm her', it's fin'„ simon's smoky voice drawls somewhere against your ear, when you feel his warm lips pressing against your moist cheeks, kissing each single tear that shines against your pretty face, the one he cradles carefully, slipping his right hand from your breast.
you're not sure why you're crying, but you know it's his words, so careful and warm, whispering in your ear how beautiful, how wonderful you are with each time his weeping tip catches your spongy spot, pressing and making your sloppy pussy puls around his meaty cock.
it's the way his scarred hands caress you, rough in all their being, but cradling your body with utmost care — rubbing against your sides, where all the naked softness welcom him, every chubby curve and dip that he squeezes and caresses feels ticklingly warm.
and when simon moves his hand lover, where he longed inside your pulsing, sopping cunny to brush against your peeking clit, his eyes flutter between your legs back towards your face, studying, only to see how you smile at him through glistening eyes.
that's enough to draw him mad, making his body bend on top of yours further, till his pale lips brush against yours, foreheads brushing together as simon breathes raggedly, losing himself in the way you look at him all pretty, before whispering, literally purring out — “so bloody perfect', my girl, my perfect' lovely girl„
he is always admires you, has been and will be, always.
✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.
#.𐙚july's writings#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon riley fluff#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley comfort#simon riley x female reader#simon ghost riley fluff#simon riley comfort#simon riley x you#simon ghost smut#simon ghost riley#ghost x f!reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#ghost x female reader#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost x you#simon riley drabble#domestic!simon#domestic!ghost#simon ghost riley drabble#ghost thoughts#simon ghost riley headcanons#simon riley headcanons#chubby reader
440 notes
·
View notes
Text
in his eyes
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader
Type: Fluff
Summary: Gaz swears that there’s something going on between you and Ghost. Soap refuses to believe it until he sees it for himself.
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: explicit language, slight Gaz x Reader, i wrote the first draft w/o my glasses in the dark while listening to airplane sounds so forgive any typos
A/N: nothing is more humbling than hungrily fishing for pickles with chopsticks. also yes i wrote this instead of part three of awuass. anyways, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated, enjoyyy :)
“Soap! Wait up, man,” Soap heard from behind him. He stopped walking and turned to see Gaz chasing behind him.
“You need something, mate?” Soap asked, confused. It wasn’t that he and Gaz weren’t close or anything — they were — but he had never seen Gaz so desperate to talk to him. He waited for Gaz to arrive, shooting him a concerned look when he had to stop and catch his breath, which Gaz just waved off. “Where were you coming from that’s got you all out of breath like this?” he asked.
“The training room,” Gaz said, taking another deep breath. “I sprinted here just to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?” Soap was confused, he couldn’t think of a situation that was urgent enough for Gaz to come chasing after him, but not urgent enough for Price or one of the higher-ups to find him.
“You know Stick?” Gaz asked, one of his eyebrows cocked upwards. Soap was even more confused, of course he knew. You were Stick. You had gotten the nickname after you kept asking the guys to look for chapstick while they were on missions. Apparently you had lost the one you packed when you first arrived on base, and since then you had always been on the lookout for it. Soap had been the first one to call you it, although he called you Chapstick at first. Somewhere down the line though, it had been shortened to Stick and no one really questioned it.
“Yeah, what about her?” Soap asked.
“I just saw her and the lieutenant down at the training room, they were sparring together.”
“You mean Ghost?
Gaz nodded, which only left Soap more confused. Perhaps it was a little odd for you to be sparring with the lieutenant, given the general height and size disparity, but it wasn’t completely out of the question, and certainly not important enough to warrant such an extreme reaction from Gaz.
“Is that it? They were training together?”
“Of course not,” Gaz said, as if it were obvious, “I’m pretty sure there’s something going on between them. He was acting so weird around her, I’m telling you.”
Soap’s interest was piqued. “You mean you think they’re hooking up?”
“I don’t know about hooking up but there’s definitely something there, you can tell just looking at them.”
Soap hummed. You and Ghost, huh? On the surface, it wasn’t an absurd conclusion for Gaz to come to, the two of you did hang out together a lot, which held a lot of weight considering the kind of man Ghost was. But thinking about Ghost blushing over some school-boy crush on a girl just seemed insane. He was a 6’4 killing machine with more deaths under his belt than Soap could count; Soap just couldn’t see it.
“You’re reading into things, pal,” he said, punching Gaz lightly on the shoulder, “you really think Ghost’s got a crush on Stick?”
Gaz rolled his eyes, “I’m telling you man, there’s something there, for real. He was like a whole different person today while they were sparring. I swear to God he looked at her like she was the bloody Queen of England.”
“You think Ghost’s in love with the Queen of England?” Soap asked, smirking.
“Oh, fuck off,” Gaz said, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean. There’s something there, I’m pretty sure I saw him smile at her for a moment.”
“He took off his mask?” Soap asked, surprised.
“Of course not, you idiot.”
“Then how could you see if he smiled, genius?”
“I saw his mask shift.”
“You saw his mask— Are you messing with me?”
“Oh fuck you, Soap. You know what I mean. It was in his eyes too, like, he looked at her like he was in love.”
Soap snorted, that idea was even more insane than Ghost blushing. “Alright, good one, Gaz. You got me.”
Gaz sighed, “I’m serious mate, I swear. Tonight, at dinner, I’ll show you. Just watch him, see how he looks at her, there’s no way he doesn’t like her.”
Soap rolled his eyes and began to walk away, “Whatever you say, Gaz,” he said nonchalantly. But despite his incredulous behavior, he couldn’t help but wonder if Gaz had a point. He did see Ghost hanging around you a lot, but he had assumed it was just coincidence until now. That being said, coincidences didn’t just happen over and over and over again.
That night, he decided to take Gaz up on his offer. He went to stop by his room before dinner, but before he could say anything Gaz shushed him.
“Get in, quick. Ghost’s gonna be coming down the hallway any second now,” Gaz explained in a whisper as he tugged Soap into his room.
“You're stalking the lieutenant now, Gaz?” Soap asked.
“Oh piss off,” he said, “he always stops by her room around seven, and then they walk to dinner together. It’s been happening for about a week now.”
“So why’re you only telling me now?”
“Because I figured he was just reminding her of dinner or something. But after today,” he clicked his tongue, “no, there’s definitely something more there.”
Soap watched as Gaz creaked open the door ever so slightly, positioning himself so that he could just barely see out of it. Low and behold, Gaz was right. He heard Ghost walking down the hall before he saw him, but then he was there, just a few feet diagonal from them, knocking at your door.
He watched as you opened it, and said something he couldn’t hear, before closing it again. Ghost stayed outside of your door, leaning his weight against it as he stared down the hallway.
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Soap asked.
Gaz didn't answer, instead choosing to motion wildly at Soap as a signal for him to be quiet.
A few more minutes passed before you opened the door again. You looked surprised to see him there, but your surprise quickly morphed into a smile and the two of you left Soap’s line of sight. Gaz kept watching for a while longer, before shutting the door.
“See that?” Gaz asked.
“Did you hear what they said?” Soap repeated.
“He said something about dinner, and then she said she had to finish something up. I think it was a TV show or something. And then when she opened up the door she asked what he was doing there and that he didn’t need to wait for her.”
“Did he say anything in response?”
Gaz sighed, “I don’t know. I swear I heard him say he was happy to or something along those lines, but his voice is so damn low and his accent doesn’t help.”
Soap nodded slowly, “So he’s been doing this every day for a week now?”
Gaz nodded, “Usually he doesn’t have to wait for her though. They just go straight to dinner.”
Soap paused, staring at the ground for a moment, “Should we follow them? See if we can catch them doing something else?”
Gaz stared at him for a moment, his face thoughtful. “I’ll do you one better, Soap. How about you go up there and pretend to hit on her, eh? And then see how Ghost looks, I swear he’ll probably beat you up.”
“Why do I have to do it?” Soap asked.
“Because I’m not trying to get on Ghost’s bad side.”
“Well, neither am I,” Soap cried.
Gaz sighed, “Fine, I’ll do it. But you owe me for this. And you have to watch Ghost’s face. I’m not about to put my life in danger for nothing.”
Soap nodded, and the two of them made their way out into the hallway. You and Ghost had already exited, but it wasn’t hard to catch up. Gaz motioned for Soap to be quiet, and he watched as Gaz crept up behind you. He placed his hands on your shoulders, causing you to jump up in surprise.
He watched Ghost turn and glare at Gaz, and he could swear he could feel Ghost’s glower from a mile away. Soap ran to catch up to the three of you, just in time to hear you jokingly berate Gaz for scaring you.
“I swear to god, Kyle, if you didn’t have such a pretty face I would slap you right now,” you said, jokingly raising your fist at him. Soap immediately turned to look at Ghost, who’s eyes looked like they could probably kill. Soap took the chance to run ahead of you three, facing you guys as you walked down the hall together.
“Woah there, Stick,” Soap said, placing his hands out in front of him in fake concern, “we can’t have you threatening Gaz here, can we? I’d have to snitch on you to Price for that.”
“Oh screw you, Soap,” you said, laughing. Soap didn’t miss the way Gaz had managed to wedge himself in between you and Ghost, and he also didn’t miss the murderous glare Ghost was shooting towards Gaz.
“You guys going to dinner?” Soap asked, eyeing Gaz warily as he not-so-subtly put an arm around your shoulder.
“What is this? What are you doing, Gaz?” you snorted, holding up the hand that was wrapped around your shoulder.
Gaz opened his mouth to answer, but Ghost beat him to the chase. “She’s right, sergeant,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Get your hands off her, just because we’re off duty doesn’t mean you can just forget about the rules.”
Gaz clicked his tongue and nodded, slowly snaking his hand off of you. Soap didn’t miss the told-you-so look Gaz shot him as they made eye contact.
You laughed again, “It’s alright, Ghost, he was just playing around. It's all in good fun, right Gaz?”
“You know it, Stick.”
Ghost’s eyes flickered between you and Gaz. Gaz had been right, Ghost was different when you were involved. Before, reading Ghost had been harder than reading a text in a different language, but now he was an open book. Soap could see every emotion behind Ghost’s eyes, anger, annoyance, betrayal?
“Besides,” you said, looking at Ghost, “you’re still my favorite.”
And there it was. The ‘something’ Gaz wouldn’t stop talking about. Love, with an undertone of adoration and maybe a hint of disbelief. Soap was shocked. There really was something between you and the lieutenant.
“Alright, you lovebirds,” Soap said, curious to see how Ghost would respond. He acted how he thought he would, his eyes snapping off of you and onto Soap, and maybe, just maybe Soap could see the slightest hint of blush on the edge of his exposed skin at being caught. “Are you guys going to dinner or not?”
You turned to look at him, a bright smile on your face as you nodded. “You?”
“Of course,” Soap said, “you guys sitting with us still?”
He watched as you turned to look at Ghost, who also turned to look at you. Somehow, the two of you managed to exchange some sort of silent conversation, because when you looked back you gave him a sheepish smile and said, “We’ll see.”
Soap watched you carefully, “Right then," he said, “come on Gaz, let’s go while the food’s still warm.”
He pulled Gaz out from between the two of you and the pair headed towards the dining hall, moving as fast as possible to try and get far enough away that they could talk about what had just happened.
“God, I guess you were right, Gaz,” Soap said, as they entered the hall.
Gaz clicked his tongue, “I told you so. I guess all it took was me risking my life to convince you.”
Soap chuckled, “You were gutsy back there, you know? God, if you saw the way he was looking at you? You better be glad he wasn’t armed or he probably would’ve shot you right then and there.”
Gaz snorted, “Oh I saw how he was looking at me, scared the shit out of me too. You know, they should give me a medal for that level of bravery.”
“I'll say.”
He followed Gaz as they went to go get a plate of food, before finding a table near the center of the room to sit down at. “You think they’ll come eat with us?” Gaz asked.
“Why wouldn’t they? They always eat with us,” Soap said.
Gaz hummed, “Could you see how stiff he got when I was standing in between them?”
Soap laughed again, “Of course, I did. And when he yelled at you for putting your arm around her?”
Gaz snorted, picking at the food on his plate, “Oh god, you don’t know how fast my heart was racing when I did that. I was preparing my last will and testament and everything.”
Soap doubled over in laughter, but stopped quickly when Gaz tapped his shoulder repeatedly and hurriedly whispered for him to be quiet. He looked up, his eyes swiveling around before they landed on you and Ghost. He watched as you made eye contact with him; he let out a wave which you returned before moving towards the food. As always, Ghost was right behind you, but Soap could’ve sworn he was following a little more closely than usual.
“Is it just me or is he standing really close to her?” he asked Gaz, lowering his voice so they couldn’t be heard over the dining hall chatter.
Gaz shook his head as he pretended to toy with his food, “No, he’s definitely closer. Look at them, they’re practically touching hips.”
Soap watched out of the corner of his eye as you two finished getting your food. He saw you look over at Ghost and then nod your head in their direction, before you rolled your eyes with a smirk and went to follow Ghost to a small table in the opposite corner of the room.
“Did you see that?” Soap asked Gaz, his eyes flicking between him and you.
“I did, now stop staring before you get us all in trouble,” Gaz said, keeping his eyes focused on his plate.
“Why do you think they’re sitting alone?” Soap asked.
“Why do you think? Ghost probably thinks I actually fancy Stick and now he’s trying to keep her away so she’ll pick him.”
Soap hummed thoughtfully, “I think you’ve actually got a point there, Gaz.”
“Damn right I do.”
“Do you actually though?” Soap asked.
“Do I what? Have a point?”
“No, do you actually fancy Stick?”
Gaz stopped to think as he took a bite of his food, “I mean,” he said, swallowing. “She’s pretty, don’t get me wrong, and I’d probably try and at least ask her out under different circumstances—”
“But?”
“But if there's something going on between her and L.T. I’m not going to be the idiot that tries to get between them.”
“Really?” Soap asked, “what if there’s nothing actually between them?”
Gaz snorted, “Are you serious mate? After all this? I risked my life just to prove it to you and you’re still doubting me?” He shook his head. “There’s definitely something going on between them, get your head out of your ass. And — and maybe this is a controversial opinion — but I would like to return to my family when this is all done. I don’t have a death wish.”
Soap chuckled, tilting his head in agreement.
“Besides,” he said, gesturing for Soap to look at them again. He did, and through the mess of heads he could see Ghost cut off a piece of his food and feed it to you, a strangely domestic scene that went against everything he thought he knew about the cold lieutenant. “They’re kind of made for each other, eh?”
“Who’s made for each other?” asked Price, sitting down next to them with a groan.
“Sir,” Gaz said, stiffening, “didn’t realize you were listening.”
“It’s my job to listen, Garrick. Now answer the question.”
Gaz sighed, nodding his head towards your direction.
Price let out a sigh. “So you guys finally caught on, eh?”
“You knew about this?” Soap asked, turning to face Price.
“It’s not hard to notice.”
“Are they…” Soap paused, nodding his head suggestively.
“What? Dating?” Price asked.
“Sure.”
“Now that, I don’t know. I don’t think so though.”
“Do you think she likes him?” Gaz asked.
Price clicked his tongue, “Most likely.”
“Do you think he likes her?” Gaz asked.
“Most definitely,” Price said, snorting.
“Do you think he knows she likes him?” Soap asked.
Price chuckled, “MacTavish, I don’t think he even knows that he likes her.”
That comment earned a round of laughs from the three of them. But despite Price changing the topic, Soap couldn’t stop sneaking glances at you and Ghost. It was such a strange scene to see, you and him tucked away in a private table in your own little corner. He watched the way your eyes crinkled with laughter as you spoke; the way Ghost would interrupt you every so often with a piece of neatly cut food on his fork for you to eat it.
He could practically see the adoration oozing out of Ghost every time you rolled your eyes and took a bite; the way you practically stared at him with hearts in your eyes whenever he would ever so slightly lift his mask to take a bite of food. And for a moment, just for a moment, he swore he saw the corner of Ghost’s mouth twitch into a smile at something you said before he lowered his mask again. But even with his mouth covered, Soap realized Gaz had been right once more. Soap could see the smile in Ghost’s eyes. Soap could see everything in Ghost’s eyes, every single drop of love and reverence and adoration he had for you.
#bingoboingobongo.com#ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#ghost modern warfare 2#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#ghost fluff#ghost imagine#ghost drabble#ghost angst#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley cod#simon riley mw2#simon riley fluff#simon riley x reader#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Wild Horses
Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Doctor!Reader, Soap x Reader Part 2
Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4
A/N: Y’all have asked and y’all have received. Enjoy! Let me know what you guys think, I always love to hear your thoughts! Reblogs are much appreciated! 😊💜
Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.
Warnings: language, fluff, angst. This one might be a little sad and Ghost is a bit of an ass-jerk so be prepared.
As mentioned before, Ghost completely stays clear of your vicinity after stepping out of your office. It’s not that he hates you. He’s just slightly irritated. With himself? Or is it you and that pretty face of yours and your comforting voice and your goddamn politeness and your accent. To be honest, the whole team adores your accent. He can’t tell. Remind you, this is a man who has probably never been shown any affection or tenderness so don't expect him to fall for you on the spot. This man needs therapy, like a lot of therapy. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to go through whatever it is he is feeling, finding the whole thing to be an inconvenience really. And because he doesn't know how to understand or face whatever these emotions are, he just buries it. It's easier for him that way.
Poor dude couldn’t even sleep last night, staring at the ceiling of his room and haunted by the idea that he accidentally offended you. This man may have a cold exterior but your scalpels are colder and sharper than the devil's jawline. He almost couldn’t blame you if you decided to inject some foreign substance into his bloodstream and make the whole thing look like it was a stroke. Wait, could you do that? Bloody fucking hell. This man spends too much time with his thoughts I swear.
The man spends the whole night trying to assess his feelings, or rather his attraction towards you, convinces himself you're just another pretty face. The man may be touch-starved but he knows there are other methods to handle his needs, even though it's been a long time since he's slept with a woman, like a really long time. But even then, that situation was different. There was never any intimacy involved, like a quick business transaction that finished just as quickly as it started. It only left him feeling as empty as he was before. Not to mention, he doesn't do well with human interaction and that one and only moment he had with a woman daunted him more than it needed to, and so he has remained abstinent ever since. And if he were being honest with himself, you're just a distraction. And how do you handle distractions? You steer clear of them.
So what does this man do? He does what he intended to do. He avoids you at all costs. Oh, is that you walking towards their small, makeshift kitchen to fix yourself a bagel in the morning? Guess what, he’s doing a full 180 and lurking behind a wall like Michael Myers and his stupid hedge, waiting until you’re finished so he can make himself his morning tea.
Not only that but he makes sure to take extra good care of himself, Vitamin C supplements or multivitamins, whatever it takes to keep himself in best health. He even looks up on Google for extra tips to prevent himself from having to send himself in. He had heard of the saying “an apple a day keeps the doctor away” and goes out of his way to buy an apple during his morning runs. But the poor chap has it all mixed up because when you walk into your office the next morning, you're surprised to see an apple just sitting there on your desk.
Ghost doesn't know that it's supposed to be the other way around and that the apple is actually supposed to be for himself. He doesn't bother to search up the meaning, nor does anyone bother to tell him because they don't even know that he's doing it in the first place. So every morning he goes on his run, he goes out and buys an apple, and so every morning you find one placed on your desk.
The first time you saw the fruit sitting there on the table where you worked, surrounded by your scattered paperwork, you were confused no doubt. You picked it up curiously in your hand, inspecting the bright red fruit before giving a shrug and biting into it, after you wash it of course. You think it's just a small little token of thanks from one of the men. Possibly Soap considering how flirty he was yesterday. Alejandro doesn't seem like the type to give fruits. He's more of a red rose and a bottle of wine kind of man.
But as days go by, each day you find an apple sitting on your desk. And as thoughtful as this gesture is, at this point, considering the amount of apples you've eaten, you're either going to have serious digestive issues or die of cyanide poisoning, as if you don't already have IBS. So what do you do? You start to collect the apples each morning, deciding to throw in your own twist to this gesture until one evening, the men come back from one of their missions to find a freshly baked apple pie and a stack of paper plates and some utensils sitting out on a table for them, including a small little card with the handwritten words "bone apple tea". What in the hell.
"What in the fucks is bone apple tea." Gaz scrunches his nose at the writing on the little card.
They're all standing around at the table staring at the pie with confusion written across their faces. All except Ghost of course, the way his eyes slightly widen once he sees it. His gut is telling him you're behind it. Hm I wonder what gave it away.
"What’s this?" Alejandro asks, tilting his head at the thing.
"Looks like apple pie." Gaz answers.
"Yes I know that." Alejandro remarks. “But what is it doing here?"
"Doubt it's from any one of you muppets." Price speaks up. He knows damn well none of these men know how to bake. There’s only one person here whose hands are skilled or nimble enough to make the braided trim on that crust. Not to mention the detailing in the center, like the way you carefully placed little leaf designs made from the crust on top of the braided design. Yup this was definitely you, unless someone else here had a secret talent they had been hiding.
Literally why are these men acting like the pie has poison it. As if Graves sent it or something. Just shut up and eat the pie before it gets cold you himbos.
"So who made it?" Soap asks, looking towards the others for answers.
"This," Alejandro chuckles after finally realizing, "this was made by the hands of a woman."
"Who, y/n?" Gaz quirks a brow, you're the only woman here.
How in the hell did you get the means to bake a complete fucking apple pie in a place like this? They always heard doctors have skilled and steady hands but what the actual fuck.
"Well don't mind me." Soap literally cuts a big ass slice for himself before going off to devour the thing.
The boys watch Soap basically almost moan once he takes a bite of your pie as he goes off yelling out something along the lines of "well tidy scran", before helping themselves to a slice.
Ghost is the last one to cut himself a slice. He was hesitant at first before finally giving in, plus he also got back from a mission and he's hungry. So when he digs in his fork and has his first taste, it's kinda like that scene from Ratatouille where the food critic Anton Ego finally takes a bite of Remy's food and is reminded of his childhood, except Ghost doesn't have a childhood.
Let me tell you these men are obsessed with your pie and are practically fighting over the last slice like a pair of siblings so don't be surprised when you wake up the next morning to the see that the plate that your pie was in is completely empty without a single crumb in sight. Jesus. Did they lick the table down too?
Also I think you may have just given Ghost a newfound sweet tooth. When he went back to his room that night, he's debating on whether he should keep his daily routine of giving you apples, so far it’s kept you away. What he doesn’t get is that you made a whole damn pie out of the apples he gave you when they were actually supposed to be for you, or him, if you look at it from his distorted perception. But wait. What if you know it's him, and that's why you made the pie in the first place? A way to a man’s heart is not only between the forth and fifth ribs, but it’s also through his stomach. And as much as he wants to deny it, he also kind of secretly wants you to bake another one. It's almost as if he's completely forgotten why he placed those apples on your desk in the first place.
So what do you see when you wake up the next morning? An empty plate and yet another apple sitting on your desk. Okay what the fuck. You've let it slide all those times but now you have got to know who's pulling this shit. It’s not that you hate apples, but the conception that you have no clue who’s behind this is making you start to view the poor defenseless fruit as an object of taunting and torment. And to be honest at this point, you're beginning to think this is some kind of joke. So with the apple in your hand, you head towards the common area where the others are currently settled.
“Okay who did it?” You call out once you enter the area.
Crickets chirping.
All heads snap towards you to see you standing there with an apple held in your hand. They're almost stunned to see you wandering about. They rarely ever see you since you're usually locked up in your office or your room.
The men have done a lot of shit so just what is it that are you asking. They stare at you with not a single thought behind their eyes, that is until their blood runs cold at what happened last night. Was the pie not meant for them? Shit.
“Did what?” Gaz gulps, trying to play it off as nothing happened.
"Who keeps leaving apples on my desk like I'm about to host a county fair?"
"Come again?" Price asks, not that he didn't hear you, but it's probably the most anyone has heard you speak that isn't related to your work. Not only that, but they’re so used to hearing your “doctor” voice that your normal voice is a whole pitch lower and almost sounds foreign and alien to their ears. Not that they’re complaining because they honestly love hearing it.
"Someone has been leaving apples on my desk every single day." You repeat yourself more slowly. "And I'd like to know who."
So you're not mad about the pie.
Ghost immediately snaps his head away from your direction and nearly chokes on his tea. It's almost a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash from how fast he turns away.
The others are still staring at you, a tad bit scared of the expression that sat on your face. They couldn't make out if you were upset or not.
"Well?" You ask, leaning against the doorframe with your hand stuffed in your coat pocket while your other hand tossed the apple about in the air.
"Couldn't be me." Soap answers.
The others shake their heads as you squint your eyes at each and every one of them, trying to decipher the culprit. "Whoever it is, I will find out." You take a bite out of the apple before tossing it to the nearest person, who happened to be Alejandro, before starting to leave the area.
Alejandro catches the apple between his hands, staring down at the fruit with a chuckle to see where you had bit into it before taking a bite of his own.
Soap can't help but clench his jaw at Alejandro's cockiness. Ghost just turns away unbothered, it’s none of his concern. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.
"Wait you're not mad about the pie?" Gaz calls out after you.
"What pie?" You turn back.
Wot
"The pie....from last night."
"I have no clue what you're talking about." You put on your best innocent expression before walking away.
The men snap their heads towards each other. Have they been poisoned? The longer they stare at each other, the more panicked they get.
Alejandro glances down at the apple you had thrown in his hands and is so close to spitting out the bite he had taken.
"I'm kidding." Your voice nearly makes them jump out of their skin as they turn to see your head popped through the doorway. "The pie was from me." You walk away again before turning back around. "Oh, I almost forgot. I have your blood results so if you're free, come see me when you get the chance."
Shit. Ghost thinks to himself after hearing you mention the blood results. He is hoping his blood sample got demolished in some shape or form, but the way you didn't even try to pull him aside to break the "unfortunate" news tells him otherwise. He's just not going to show.
The men watch you walk away in silence after your little moment of humor. They almost don't know how to react. The way the warmth of your voice blended with the obscurity of your words threw them in for a loop.
All except Ghost have no clue who has been sending you apples, but whoever it is that is sending you the fruit, they think that person is trying to win you over. So what started out as some misunderstanding on Ghost's end has now turned into this whole peacocking ordeal. Now it's a competition of who gets you better gifts in order to gain your affection, mainly Soap and Alejandro and even Gaz, but mostly Soap. Price still shows you appreciation for your work and what you do in his own way.
Poor Ghost was just trying to manifest "an apple a day keeps the doctor away". So who’s gonna tell him?
Anyways, when you return to your office to work on your paperwork, the boys go out to get you a little something before meeting up with you to go over their bloodwork results. Despite Soap and Gaz's efforts, Alejandro is the first to leave and the first to return. And just as Soap returns with his little gift for you, Alejandro beats him to it, a smirk playing on his lips as he enters your office with a red rose in hand. Poor Gaz wasn't able to find you anything special so he gets you a cool looking rock he saw instead.
Soap is practically fuming. If you squint hard enough, you might see smoke coming out his ears.
You hear a knock on your door and look up from where you sat at your desk to see Alejandro stepping into your office, a sly smirk on his lips as he holds out a rose.
"Alejandro." You quirk a brow. "What's this?"
"For you, hermosa."
"Oh?" You cock your head back in surprise as you take the rose from his hands. "What for?"
"Oh just a little way of showing appreciation." Alejandro leans against your desk.
"Why thank you Alejandro" You blink, trying your best to push down the blush that tries to creep itself onto your cheeks.
"My pleasure."
You decide to place the flower inside the empty vase you had already set out from before when you moved your things in. "I had been meaning to get some flowers to brighten up the area."
"There's no need" Alejandro smirks. "I'm afraid the rose doesn't compare to you. You do that all on your own."
Little do you know Soap is listening in on the whole thing with a frown. If he pressed his ear any closer he'd fall right through the door. Sure the Scots have their special charm but Alejandro is different and has the most rizz out of all of them, and Soap is fully aware and has always heard they make better lovers and that only adds to his panic.
Now you're definitely not able to hide the heat that spread through your face. You can't tell if it's the state of being flustered or just social anxiety. Well they weren't wrong about Alejandro having a way with words. "Geez, thank you Alejandro. But there really is no need for flattery."
"For you, anything hermosa."
Omfg this dude.
You look away from his strong gaze, managing to shove your flustered state away and stopping yourself from releasing the sharp wit you inherited from your father. Clearing your throat, you open up his file. "Well that really is kind of you Alejandro. And since you are already here, I have the results from your blood work."
"Oh? Everything should be good yes?"
"Well yes, for the most part but-"
"But what?" Alejandro looks confused. What's wrong with his blood?
"Your cholesterol levels are pretty high." You open up his file and read over his results.
"They are?"
"I'm afraid so, but not at a dangerous level. You should probably cut out some of that fried food and red meat and watch your butter intake. Nothing too serious though. Add some greens into your diet, as well as some nuts and whole grains and definitely more fruits and veggies and you're good to go." You hand him a copy of his results before giving a look of grimace. "But watch out on the fiber though. Too much of it can lead to increased bowel movements."
"Increased what?"
"You know, a case of the shits."
The way Soap pulls his ear away from the door and slaps his palm on mouth to keep himself from letting out the most offensive laugh known to mankind. If only you could have seen it. Is he going to bring this up in Alejandro's presence? Maybe.
Alejandro looks over the papers you gave him. "Wait really?"
"Yeeaaah." You give the poor fellow a sympathetic smile. "But hey, everything you need to know is right on those papers, so as long as you cut out the foods mentioned and get a higher intake of the others listed, you'll be back to normal in no time."
"Oh uh. Thank you y/n. I appreciate it."
"Anytime Alejandro." You smile. "You know where to find me."
The way Soap nearly trips over himself as he backs away from the door after hearing footsteps, as if he wasn't eavesdropping on every thing.
Alejandro opens the door and walks out of your office, eyes glued to the papers while Soap is just standing there trying not to be noticed.
The moment Alejandro is out of sight, Soap goes over and knocks on your door.
"Come in." You look up and smile to see Soap. Over the course of the few days since you first arrived here, you were to quick to warm up to the young Scotsman, finding comfort and humor in his personality. You enjoyed hearing him talk about just about anything, and his accent always helped to make whatever he had to say all the more interesting. It really is a good thing he does most of the talking since you make a better listener and love to hear what others have to say.
Soap knows you don't talk much and how you prefer to listen and hear stories, so he always makes sure to keep you entertained. This man is 100% golden retriever energy. Also he calls you lass and lassie and you just eat that shit up, he loves how you blush and that small restrained smile appears on your face whenever he says it. Don't worry, so would I. "Soap! You can have a seat if you want, this will be brief."
"Oh uh, I've actually got you something." Soap hands you a small box.
"Oh?" You quirk a brow as you take the box from his hands? What is it with everyone giving you gifts? Are they in on something you're not? "What is it?" You ask as you open the small box to see a bunch of what looks to be biscuits.
"Scottish shortbread." Soap smiles, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "I brought them along with me from back home but I thought you'd like them with your morning coffee."
"Wait, are you sure you don't want them for yourself? I feel bad."
"Nah. I can always get more.......if-when I go back home. You keep em. It's for ya. Think of it as a welcoming gift.....for all ya done, and the pie ya made for us."
"Soap, I don't know what to say." You give the man a heartfelt smile. "Thank you.....really, it's very thoughtful of you. It'll give me a variety from my bagels."
"Don' mention it." Soap places his hands behind his back before noticing a small framed picture you had set up on your desk that definitely wasn't there before. "Is that you?"
"Hm?" You raise you brow to see what he is referring to and seeing him gesture to the photo.
"Oh. Yeah, that's me as a little girl." You glance at the photo as a soft smile appears on your face. It was a picture of you when you were a little girl around the age of 5, when your dad took you on a camping trip to Zion. The two of you were sitting near the tent he had set up overlooking the mountain range with you sitting in his arms while he played his guitar, wearing that same old baseball cap of his that you had grown accustomed to seeing as you grew up. The longer you looked at the picture and relived that core memory, glancing at the crooked grin that sat on your little face and the way your father beamed, the more your face began to match the fond look that radiated off your father's eyes as he looked down at your giggling state.
"That's quite the smile you got there." Soap teases, chuckling at the expression you held in the photo.
"Oh please." You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he was joking about. "I know I looked goofy. My baby teeth were falling out."
"And that's yer dad?"
"Yup. That's my old man."
"Ya have yer father's eyes." Soap smiles at you, knowing now where you inherited that certain warmth held in your eyes that was able to put the coldest man at ease by just one look.
You let out a soft chuckle, glancing down at the ground to blink away the tears that have yet to form before looking back up at the soldier. "I've been told."
"Where was this taken? The scenery is absolutely braw."
"That was taken at Zion National Park in Utah. My dad had taken me there on a camping trip."
"It's absolutely gorgeous."
"Maybe I'll take you one day."
"Ya mean it?" Soap turns towards you, a grin forming on his face.
"Why not? It's been a while since I went, not since the photo."
"I think you've just made my day lass." Soap smirks before turning to the other photo. "And I'm guessing that's you as well." Soap gestures to the other photo of you around your middle school years that your dad had taken of you, wearing a wet suit as you sat on your surfboard, a grin on your face and your hair matted with salt water while one of your hands formed the shaka sign. "I dinnae ken you surfed."
"Oh yeah, surfing was my life. This was back when I had caught my first wave in Hawaii. My dad was so proud. Took me out for shaved ice right after and couldn't stop bragging to everyone there about how effortlessly I had tube ridden that thing."
"Your dad sounds like a great man."
"The best."
Soap notices the way your smile ever so slightly dropped at one of the corners, as if some sadness had managed to overcome whatever memories that lied in your head so he clears his throat, deciding not to press on the subject any better. "So how does my blood look?"
"Good actually." You blink, his statement reminding you of what you were going to do since he stepped into your office in the first place. "Your levels are all pretty balanced." You hand him a copy of his results. "As for the muscle cramps you mentioned, try to get a higher intake of electrolytes like potassium, magnesium, and calcium. And most importantly, don't forget to stay hydrated and drink lots of water."
"Aye ma'am. I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you Soap."
"No, thank you." Soap gives you one last smile before heading out. "I'll see you around."
"Bye."
It was not long after Soap left that Gaz entered next followed by Price, hearing you go over their results with intent ears. You actually really loved the little rock Gaz had given you, he had even drawn a smiley face on for you. You thought it was really cute despite his embarrassment in not finding you something better. And after the two left, there was only one person left that had yet to show up at your door. Simon 'Ghost' Riley.
Not wanting to pressure the man who looks like he'd stab you for looking at him the wrong way, you decided to stay at your desk, working over some paperwork of your own until the time comes when he decides to show up whenever he sees comfortable.
Picking up your mug, you decide to get some more coffee, leaving your office and heading to the kitchen area to brew yourself a new cup. Looking up from your feet, you see Ghost walking walking in your direction in front of you.
"Ghost!" You call out to him, or as much as you can call out. You never were one for raising your voice, despite the many times your previous teachers had urged you to speak up, displeased with the way you preferred to keep to yourself as opposed to your more extroverted peers. But even when carrying out their commands to speak louder, you always hated doing so, thinking it drew too much attention towards you. It's a wonder you got through med school and became a doctor in the first place.
Ghost had heard you calling out his name and immediately his muscles tense. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him because that only meant one thing, being dragged into your office to go over his blood results until something else insulting slips from his lips. I promise he doesn't hate your guts! So in order to evade you, this man does the first thing that comes to mind, he walks straight into the nearest room, which just so happens to be the shared showers. Simon you dumb fuck. Let’s hope Price isn’t butt ass naked in there for Simon’s sake.
You blink, standing there with your mug that your friend from college thought would be funny to gift you when you started med school, the one that had the words "I have a PHD" in bold colorful letters with the finer print "pretty huge dick" right below it (of course you never used that mug back at the hospital or else you'd hear about it).
So with your mug in hand, you watch the masked man walk straight into the room where the shared showers were. Huh. Well that's weird. You try to give the man the benefit of the doubt, thinking he just did not hear you. Maybe he'll stop by later. So shrugging off what just happened, you head into the kitchen to make yourself a fresh cup of coffee. God an iced coffee sounds good right now.
Once you had headed back to your office, finishing up your work and taking little breaks in between to read your book or snack on something, an hour turned into two, and so forth. Until you looked at your clock and it was already past the time of sunset. Jesus. Where did this dude go? Getting up from your chair, you step out of your office, holding the door open and seeing not a single soul headed in your direction. What in the-
With furrowed brows, you step back into your office, staring down at Ghost's results that just sat there waiting to be picked up.
"Goddamn it." You hiss between your teeth. You have no idea what his issue is or why he avoids you as if you spit in his fruit loops or tea or whatever. But if he keeps this up, it could interfere with your own job. Looking around at your desk, an idea pops into your head as you grab two things that lied there, a sticky note and a two dum-dum lollipops, a sugar cookie flavor and a butterscotch one.
Heading out of your office, you head towards where the men's rooms are located before stopping at a certain particular one, surveying the area around you to make sure no one sees you before staring straight at the door in front of you. Taking out your pen, you write on the note "please stop by my office when you get a chance", making sure to add your initials in the corner before taping it to his door along with the two lollipops, hoping the candy will be some sort of bribe.
"God I hope this works and he doesn't shoot me in the head." You mutter out before heading back to your own quarters that was separate from the men's due to standard protocol. Throwing off your coat and your clothes, you threw on an oversized t-shirt and some sweats, eating a microwaveable dinner in your own room before getting ready to go to bed. There was nothing you craved more than to collapse onto the mattress and bury yourself under the covers. And as you finished brushing your teeth, turning off the lights and getting into a comfortable position under your blanket, all you could do was stare at the ceiling above you.
Little did you know, that same night, in that same moment, there was another who could not sleep, staring at the ceiling as you did now. He had saw the note that you had left him on his door, as well as the two lollipops. It almost annoyed him, whatever it was you were showing towards him. And it did not help that the note had smelled of you, of that perfume that oh so enriched his senses. The man literally has your note laying on top of his bedside table along with the lollipops. He'll throw it out first thing tomorrow he tells himself.
"Oh come the fuck on." You moaned as you turned over onto your side but to no avail. No matter how hard you tried to shut your eyes and shut out any thoughts that attempted at keeping you awake, you just could not fall asleep until you finally give up. "Jesus fuck shit fuck." You hiss to yourself as you throw the blanket off you, sitting up on your bed and throwing on your sweatpants before getting up. Usually on nights like this where you couldn't sleep, you'd find a way to calm your nerves, whether it be reading or drawing or listening to a comforting audiobook.
So, grabbing your pillow and blanket, you open up your closet and grab your father's acoustic guitar, going back over to your bed and staring at the framed photo of your dad that sat on the bedside table before taking that with you as well. Leaving your room, you make sure to be as quiet as possible, looking both ways before heading up towards the roof of the building.
When you were little and had trouble sleeping, your dad used to take you outside to where the two of you had built a little fort, where the two of you would lay under the stars, brushed over by the cool night breeze as he played his guitar, singing old folk and slow classic rock songs until you finally fell asleep. And as you stepped onto the roof, craning your neck to stare up at the stars above you, you were reminded of those moments and the peace it gave you. Setting your bedding down, you prop the picture of your dad up next to you before sitting down with the guitar in hand.
"Hey dad." Your voice is a whisper as you look down at the photo of your father beside you. The photo was taken not even a month after you were born. He had taken you to the fire station he was stationed at, excited to introduce his team to his new precious baby girl, his first child. You could almost say it was your favorite photo of him, sitting on the front bumper of the firetruck in his uniform with you bundled up in a pink blanket in his arms.
"I know it's been a bit of a while since we've last talked." You sigh, forming your fingers into a chord on the fretboard of the guitar. "So to make up for it, I'm going to sing you one of the songs I always used to sing. You know the one, it's one of my favorites, and yours too."
Despite his efforts to fall asleep, Simon had ended up stepping out of his room, walking about the grounds to somewhat ease his mind. This was obviously nothing new to him, he always had trouble sleeping. And during those nights he had trouble sleeping, he'd take a walk to help clear his head. He found comfort in the silence of the night, when everything and everyone was asleep. He would usually go to his favorite spot on the rooftop, where he would seek refuge under the obsidian skies and the silver stars.
As he goes up the stairs that lead up to the roof, he stops at the sound that comes from beyond the door, what sounds to be someone singing and strumming the guitar. Curious to know who the hell had taken his spot and had the radio playing, he goes up further to investigate. So imagine his surprise when he finds you there instead, wrapped up in your blanket and strumming against your guitar, singing The Sundays cover of Wild Horses.
"Childhood living is easy to do The things that you wanted, I bought them for you Graceless lady, you know who I am You know I can't let you slide through my hands" Your voice is ethereal as you sing out the lyrics, your face molded into these deep emotions you can't quite explain.
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild horses couldn't drag me away
I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain And now you've decided to show me the same No sweeping exits or offstage lines Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away
Faith has been broken and tears must be cried Let's do some living after we die
Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them someday Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them someday."
During the entirety of the song, Simon stands there in the distance behind you, hidden in the shadows, entranced, and can't seem to explain the tingles he feels washing over his body. He thinks he has intruded upon you and wants to leave you to your solitude in what seems to be an intimate moment for you, and yet he can't seem to be able to get his feet to move. Instead he's watching you with this newfound interest. He had never expected you to play the guitar as you did, nor have the voice that you did. So as you finish your song, he almost trips over his own feet trying to back away, scared that you might somehow notice that he had been there this whole time.
"God I miss you dad." You wipe away at the tears that start to spill down your cheeks despite your attempts to wipe them away with the back of your sleeve, scanning your eyes over the stars that scattered across the sky, imagining he was up there amongst them. "I miss you so much."
Regaining his footing, Ghost is careful to open the door leading back into the building, that is until he hears you let out what sounds to be a choked sob. He turns his head back towards you, seeing you bring your knees up to your chest as you cry out, mumbling something he can't quite understand. With his hand still holding the door open, he looks down at the set of stairs, turning his head back towards you for one more time before going down the steps, being careful to shut the door without any noise possible.
Part 3
Tags: @souls-rain @euovennia @i-wish-we-could-stay @depressedacidtest @gh0stm3g @thequeenofbigmacs @k1llerch4n @abbiesxox @feraltiddies @wand-erer5 @1redheaded3dragon @anisa269 @joceymoo @mango-corner @classickook @trueee33 @sockertop @lupskelly @chxbits @kuwizo @sluxm3ozt @tobybestupid @anarchygoose @lez-zuha @thatoneautor0123 @marvelmysterywoman @ella-error505 @awkward-0 @ariessux @kermitdefroghere @urloverx @alldaysdreamers @rat-elbows @nananarc @watersquirtpewpewboomm @izzyisstuff
#ghost x female reader#ghost x oc#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost x f!reader#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x oc#simon riley x reader#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x you#simon riley#Simon ghost#soap cod#soap x reader#soap x you#soap x oc#john mactavish#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish x you#johnny mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x you#johnny soap mactavish
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
hi pookies! i’ve been mia for a bit, dealing with some heart issues but i am now being treated with some meds that are making me feel like shit. here’s some un-proofread simon riley for you.
simon hated leaving you alone in the house for multiple reasons.
he loved you with his entire soul. that was the main reason, sure. it was so hard to leave you because you are his everything.
but he also really, really worried about your self-preservation skills.
you and your fucking crime shows. like, seriously. he didn’t understand the appeal.
you couldn’t stop watching some bloody show called criminal minds. it was too graphic for a pretty thing like you. and he didn’t really appreciate the way you talked about that reid bloke.
the most mind blowing part of it all was you’d fall asleep watching the show. and you’d leave the damn window open!
you’d told him a million times that the fresh air helped you sleep. he didn’t care. shut and lock the fucking thing.
he’s explained over and over again. bad people want him dead. him and everything he loves.
so, say maybe one night he decides to teach your disobedient self a lesson.
maybe he gets back from his deployment early, and you’re not expecting him. say he sneaks around the ground level, rapping gently on the siding of the house. his knocking growing progressively louder. he sees you stir under the covers. he picks up a twig and snaps it.
you shoot up in bed, catching a glimpse of a dark, bulking figure flit by the open window.
in an instant, you were reaching for your phone, opening the favorited callers on your phone app and tapping simon’s name. you had no idea if he’d even answer, and maybe 911 should’ve been your first instinct, but it wasn’t.
“simon!” you shouted in relief when he picked up, lowering your voice when you remembered your quickly escalating situation.
“simon, i think somebody’s trying to get in the house.”
by this point, simon was just standing around the driveway, awaiting your frantic call.
and yeah, he had cameras covering every inch of the place, but you never did get around to installing the ring app (he made you log into it the next morning).
“i’m two minutes away, love.”
just your luck! simon was on his way to save you!
he entertained you, doing a full sweep as you sat huddled and shaking in the bedroom, eyes never leaving the now locked window.
he returned a few minutes later. “all clear, dove. nothing to worry about, probably just a fox mulling about.”
you latched onto him, refusing to let go until your nerves calmed down a bit.
maybe now you’d stop watching those stupid shows.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader fluff#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley fluff#simon riley fluff
236 notes
·
View notes
Note
THIS IS SO AMAZING OMG (talking about the Simon fanfic btw) YOU JUST EARNED A FOLLOWER ❤️❤️ we'd really appreciate it if you did a part 2? 🥹 Take care
Simon.
Part 2
Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13
Character: Simon Riley / Ghost
Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au
Note: I was never planning on making this a series but here we go, I guess I'm invested too now >:) thank you for requesting and following! While this series is fluff only, I have a small warning for this part: there's swearing, crude jokes. And possibly incorrect usage of Scottish and English slang. Enjoy :) Photo credit: mus
“It's pishin’ it doon out here.”
Simon looked at his friend and sighed, “English, MacTavish.”
MacTavish groaned. “It's raining fuckin’ hard.”
“Then say so.”
“I did!”
Simon and his friend, John MacTavish or ‘Johnny’, as he was affectionately called, found themselves standing under the shade of a book café, helmets in hands, watching Simon's bike get drenched in the heavy rain. Neither of them expected a downpour, and were caught without raincoats. And so the two had no choice but to wait it out.
“It was yer bloody brilliant idea to go on a road trip when I warned ye that it was gonna rain today,” Johnny griped, crossing his arms as he shook the rain water off his helmet.
Simon didn't say a word. He copied Johnny in getting the water off his helmet, except that he wiped it off with his hand. As he hung his head down to do so, his messy blond hair fell over his eyes, and he shook his head to get it out of the way. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief to dry them, and then pulled his mask down below his nose to inhale a fresh gulp of the cold, wet air. When he had inhaled enough, he pulled the mask back on, and his eyes wandered to his motorcycle, which was surrounded by a foggy haze in the rain.
His mind wandered to that night he saved a young lady off the dangerous streets. He remembered how he saw her from afar, and without a second thought, sped up to her assailants, half-intent on actually flattening them into crepes. He remembered how his engine pounded as adrenaline charged his blood, as he twisted the accelerator to full throttle, sending the vehicle flying.
A pretty lady he thought she was. He didn't know why he called her his girlfriend; his brain decided that being a boyfriend was the second most powerful thing a man could be, the first being a husband. No other men would mess with another man's woman, that was for sure, unless he had a death wish. She acted well too, convincingly even.
He pulled out his phone and turned it around. Nestled beneath the clear casing was a small, clear candy wrapper, the same one that the pretty lady gave him that day. He didn't know why he felt the need to keep it, but did anyway. He definitely wanted something to remind him of her.
He had been in anguish ever since he dropped her off and rode away; he had completely forgotten to ask for her name. But who does that? They were strangers. What are the odds that two strangers would meet again?
“I'm heading inside,” Johnny announced, “I want a coffee.”
“Get me some tea.”
“Fuckin’ Brit.”
Simon was about to correct Johnny by telling him that Scotland, where he was from, was also part of the British isles, but he bit back, not wanting to risk hearing a rant in exclusively colorful, and totally family friendly Scottish words and phrases.
“Fine, I'll do it myself.” Simon rolled his eyes and followed Johnny inside the book cafe.
The two men sat at a table and while Johnny peered into the menu, Simon sank back into the comfortable chair and looked at the yellow bulbs hanging overhead, casting a soft, golden glow on the smooth wooden tables, the floors, and the cutlery. The smell of coffee, cakes, and books filled the air, along with the soft ruffle of pages, clinks of tableware and cups and saucers, and the distinct murmurs of his friend across him as he figured out what coffee he wanted to have.
A waiter came by to take their orders, and the two were soon left to their own, sitting in unusual silence as they stared out the glass windows at the relentlessly pouring rain. While Johnny hummed a tune to himself, Simon, tired of looking at the downpour, decided to amuse himself with people watching.
He saw people working at their laptops, some reading and drinking, others chatting in soft murmurs, and staff doing their job.
His eyes fell on one particular lady who was seated at a table across the cafe, back facing him, busily working on her laptop. He felt his heart stop for a moment. Her silhouette was familiar, particularly her hair; it looked just like her. His heart pounded beneath his ribs.
He didn't realise how long he looked until Johnny's voice piped, “Wit ye lookin’ at?” which interrupted the momentary buzz of his thoughts.
Simon turned to his friend, who was looking at him with mingled curiosity and confusion. “Nothing.” he replied, shaking his head and hanging it down slightly to look away, but his eyes immediately darted to the lady, as if she was a strong magnet.
Johnny wasn't quite convinced, and he followed Simon's line of vision. “A lass,” he observed, smirking.
Simon glared at his friend, but it only made him chuckle. The two watched as she stood up for a moment and turned around, intent on walking to the shelves to grab a book. That's when Simon saw her face, and again, his heart seized.
“It's her.”
His breath lodged tight in his lungs and his body visibly stiffened. And the most unfortunate reaction of them all: his partially exposed cheeks had turned pink. His eyes were glued to her, and he was unaware that Johnny was still keenly observing him.
“Ye ken her?” asked Johnny, his smirk widening.
“You remember I saved a girl the other day?” He asked back.
“That's her?” Johnny whipped his head back again to take another gander at the lady.
She was furiously flipping through the pages of a hardbound book, as if desperately in search of something. Simon rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair and leaned his cheek on his fist; he watched with interest as she hunched over the book like a medieval scholar, and wondered what her occupation was. She went back to her seat, hunched over again, and the two men looked back at each other.
“Go talk to her,” Johnny challenged.
“No.”
“Keep bein’ a fuckin’ pussy and ye won't get to fuck that pussy, ye ken?”
Simon snorted at that, but then immediately and quietly hissed “Wheesht!” at Johnny to make him shut up, glancing back at the pretty lady. “Don't be disrespectful,” he added.
Johnny chuckled, ever amused at the fact that his Scottish vernacular was infecting the Englishman. He leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee, continuing to smirk, “Since when did ye care about respect, huh?”
Simon inhaled sharply, since he was getting increasingly impatient with Johnny and at the fact that he was running out of arguments. It was also a bit hard to argue in a place where you're supposed to be quiet.
“Just go already. I cannae see ye looking so stupid like this. The worst she can say is ‘fuck off’.” Johnny shrugged.
Simon shot his friend and unimpressed look, making Johnny snort. “That is the worst thing she can say, you wanker,” he said, now mechanically rising from his chair.
“Fuck off and get her number, ye gobshite, or else you'll just be wanking to her and not talking.” Johnny shook his head with a smirk and gave his friend a slap on the back as he passed him. Simon returned the gesture with a slap to the back of Johnny's head, particularly in annoyance at the latter part of his sentence.
While Johnny whined quietly from how hard a slap he had been dealt with, Simon's attention was drawn when he heard her voice again, sounding a little agitated. His head whipped towards her table, and yet again, she was being hit on by some guy, and clearly looked like she was uncomfortably fighting back his unwanted advances.
Simon glared at the man as he began his march. “If only she had a boyfriend by her side, a guard dog…” he thought to himself as he speedily, yet calmly stepped over to her table.
He went around some tables and emerged behind the man, towering over him. Before Simon was noticed by her, his hand came down heavily on the man's shoulder, making him flinch. Leaning down, he whispered as the man turned to face him, “What business do you have with my girlfriend?”
The man was met with Simon's glaring eyes that meant serious business. He froze up immediately.
“Babe, he was trying to hit on me even though I told him I wasn't interested,” the lady's voice resounded, and a quick glance at her told Simon that her eyes glimmered with recognition.
The “babe” made his knees weak for a moment, but he shook off the feeling and continued to glare at the man. No more words were needed. He immediately stood up from his seat and strode away, apologising without sincerity. When he was finally earshot, she sighed.
“You alright, love?” asked Simon with gentleness unusual to him, glancing around again to make sure the man was nowhere in sight.
“Yeah, I'm fine,” she sighed, also looking in the direction the man left. She looked back at him and smiled brightly, “But what a coincidence. We meet again, Simon.”
“And I'm mighty chuffed about it.” he thought to himself as he nodded in response. “Funny coincidence, really. My friend and I were just about to leave on a small road trip and the rain,” he shook his head and clicked his tongue as he looked at the windows, “it rained on our parade, I guess.”
The unintentional pun made her giggle. Simon normally had a grip on his emotions, but that damned giggle threw off his train of thought. But regaining himself, he continued, “So we took shelter here, and I saw you. Thought I'd come talk and then I heard that guy trying to make a pass at you.”
She motioned to the chair for him to sit down, which he instantly did; he cursed himself for seeming so eager.
“You heard?” she asked with emphasis.
“Yeah?” he nodded, slightly confused as to why she zeroed in on that word in particular. “I was looking elsewhere, and then I heard you.”
She then glanced at her laptop for a moment and then pulled the screen down slightly so he wouldn't see what was on. As she did, she said, “I see. I'm lucky you came just then because I was having a hard time driving him away.”
“I could tell,” he answered slowly. He then decided to change the subject. “You come here often?”
“Yeah, every day. This place is calm and quiet and the atmosphere helps me work.”
“What's your job?”
“I'm an author.”
“An author?” he blinked in surprise. He didn't expect that. “What do you write about?”
“Fantasy and adventure… With a hint of romance.” She grabbed her tote that was on the table and pulled out a book from it, which she showed him. “This is my first published book.”
“No kidding?” He took the book in my hand. It was titled ‘Firefly Trails’, embossed in gold. The cover was matte, showing a dark forest trail dotted with glossy fireflies and their greenish yellow light. Below the title was her name, and he read it in his mind slowly, his eyes spending more time taking it in more than anything else on the cover.
“New York Times Bestseller.” he recited, smirking as he eyed the epithet on the top of the cover, “Don't they slap this on every book?”
“They do, but this actually did pretty well in New York.”
“So you're famous then?”
“Kind of?”
“Tell me your Instagram handle, I'll need to see for myself.” Simon pulled out his phone and looked at her, waiting for her to tell him.
She did. He immediately typed it out on the search bar and while he did, he rested his elbow on the table, holding his arm upright. His neck was craned upward slightly, and the lady couldn't help but stare at the way his Adam's apple moved as he gulped, and the way the sternocleidomastoid muscle tightened and popped from under his fair skin as he moved his neck.
Her analytical, authorly eyes scanned him keenly, soaking in all she could make of his facial features; at his icy blond hair, short and styled in an undercut; his long eyelashes, his shapely eyebrows, his slightly pink cheeks under the black mask, the way his brown eyes reflected against the blue light of the phone screen; it was all a sight to behold. He was saying something, but her mind was so lost in trying to mentally string words together to describe the view in front of her in the most superfluous manner possible, in hopes that this information would be used in her future works.
“Hey, you really are famous. You got quite a tonne of followers.” Simon, who was highly aware of her shameless staring, somehow managed to interrupt her flow of thought.
She was successfully brought back to Earth from her daydream, and she nodded, now embarrassed to have been caught red-handed. He thankfully made no comment on it, not wanting to make things awkward.
She answered, “I suppose so. But they're not as many as bigger authors. I'm not complaining, though. I'm really happy to have a lot of people liking my work.”
“You're too modest,” he said, and she could see his cheeks rise to his eyes just a wee bit behind his mask, indicative of a smile. He now showed her her Instagram page on his phone. “There, I followed you,” he said, pointing at the grey ‘Following’ button.
“Are you sure? You don't look like the type of person who reads or is interested in author updates.” A slightly teasing smirk tugged the corner of her lips.
Simon chuckled and shook his head slightly, making his short hair swish a little; she took notice of it. “I'm a voracious reader,” he bragged, lying through his teeth, even using a fancy word to make it more convincing.
She smiled, clearly not quite convinced, but decided to humor him anyway. “If you are, then that book is a gift for you.” She glanced at the copy resting on his lap.
“No kidding?” he blinked as he took the book in his hand to gaze at it. “Well, since you're so famous, I think I should get your autograph.” he said, and she could see one of his cheeks raised; an unmistakable smirk.
“Oh, come on, you're making me blush,” she giggled, but took the book anyway.
"My intentions exactly," he thought as he watched her grab a pen and start writing on the first page.
His phone buzzed a message in the meantime, and he took the device to have a look. It was Johnny. He glanced at the other end of the cafe at his friend, and found him staring, finishing the last sips of his coffee.
Johnny MacTavvy: oi yer tea's getting cauld
Johnny MacTavvy: Rain's stopped too. Let's go
Simon now looked out the glass windows and the rain had indeed stopped, and a bit of sunlight was peeking through the cloudy skies. He sighed, not wanting to go just yet, but knowing Johnny wouldn't let him tarry any longer, he quickly typed a reply, which Johnny saw immediately.
Fuckin’ Brit: ok
By the time Simon kept his phone in his pocket, the lady finished her autograph and handed the book to him. “Enjoy.” She smiled.
Simon murmured a “Thanks” as he received the book, and then rose from his seat.
“Leaving already?” she asked, looking a little disappointed.
“Yeah, my friend's annoying me to finish my tea so we can be on our way. The rain's stopped now, so…”
“Okay,” she nodded slightly, glancing out the windows to confirm for herself. Looking back at him, she smiled again, “Take care then.”
“You too,” he inhaled. “Make sure you don't get hit on again,” he said, attempting to be casual and funny, but he felt like his attempt turned out to be so stupid.
She shook her head, scoffing and smiling. “I'll be fine.”
He was relieved that the attempt landed safely despite the turbulence, and he sighed. “Right then, I'll see you inna bit, love.”
“See you, Simon.”
He nodded once at her and then strode back to Johnny, feeling his knees get weaker by the second. He managed to reach his table and practically fell down in his seat.
“Well?” asked Johnny with a smirk as he leaned forward and eyed the book in Simon's hand. “She gave ye a gift, I see.”
“She's an author. Her first book.” Simon answered, handing him the book so he could see it.
“For real?” Johnny took the book and flipped through the pages. The autograph on the first page caught his attention and he read it. His eyes widened slightly and he closed the book, returning it to his friend, who was drowning the lukewarm tea. “He completely forgot, didnae he, this bastard.” Johnny muttered under his breath, smirking.
“What was that?” asked Simon, setting down the teacup.
“Nothing. Let's go.”
The two paid for their drinks and as they stepped out the door, Simon glanced back at her, and saw that she was also looking at him over her shoulder. This time, he felt a bit fluttery in his stomach. She waved at him with another of those pretty smiles and he waved back, already feeling his knees go weak again.
The two turned away and exited the book cafe. While Johnny wiped the rainwater off the motorcycle, Simon took a moment to see what she had written as an autograph.
“Dear Simon, thank you for saving me twice. I hope you enjoy the book,” was written, and along with that was her name and signature.
Below that was written in unmistakably bold and clear letters, “Call me,” along with her number.
Simon felt like he had been struck by lightning. His face turned alarmingly red and hot to the point that he scrambled to pull his hood over to hide himself. “Fuck me…” he mumbled his exclamation as he processed this very clear green light from her. It was unbelievable.
In the meantime, the lady herself couldn't believe this whole thing just happened. He happened to be there, came up to her, saved her, and swooped her off her feet the second time. It was an amazing coincidence, a once in a lifetime incident, something straight out of a novel. And being an author, she couldn't let this go. She just had to shoot her shot by slapping her phone number in the autograph and now hope that he would call her.
But if there was one thing that sold her completely, it was the fact that he heard that she was in trouble, and came to her rescue.
Feeling a flutter in her chest, she looked back at her laptop screen. A Google search result was displayed in bold:
“The name Simon means ‘to hear’.”
End of Part 2.
Part 3
#call of duty#cod x reader#cod x you#cod x y/n#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#cod#cod fanfic#call of duty fanfic#cod fluff#fluff#fanfic#fanfiction#fanfictions#cod ghost#ghost cod#cod ghost x reader#cod ghost x you#cod ghost fanfic#ghost call of duty#ghost simon riley#simon riley#aoioozora writes#Simon series
326 notes
·
View notes
Text
drag me under
Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge prompt charm.
Word count: 548 | Rating: T | CW: creature!Eddie, possessive behavior, compulsion, ambiguous ending
I have written absolutely nothing in like. A solid two weeks. And then @sentient-trash mentions swamp monster Eddie, which makes me think of lake creature Eddie, and somewhere around working I actually managed to write something. So, thanks Simon. <3
Eddie's beloved is perfect.
The human has been coming to the lakeside for years, and Eddie's been watching him for just as long, has seen how the sunsets make his skin glow and marveled at the way the moonshine turns his hair to strands of starlight. He's witnessed innumerable smiles and lilting words, none ever aimed at Eddie himself, and yet the boy charmed him regardless, he wrapped the creature around his finger simply by existing.
He brings with him waifish, ungrateful girls, ones who don't appreciate Eddie's beloved the way he does. It pleases him to see that they rarely repeat more than once or twice; each time his sweetheart returns he seems to have a new one with him, yet none who hold any true affection for him, who use him for their own gain before moving on.
There's a long stretch of time where it's the same girl, over and over, his darling always looking at her like she's something special. It makes jealousy curl in his stomach, bright and acidic; makes him want to pull the wretch into his lake, to drag her down so she'll never see the light of day again.
So Eddie's love understands exactly who he belongs to.
One night, unexpectedly, Eddie's beloved arrives alone.
He shows up with his pretty face bruised and bloodied, and Eddie is instantly worried, finds himself swimming closer to the edge of the water, needing to assure himself that his sweetheart is okay.
The moonlight reflecting from the surface makes his darling look otherworldly, like he's something closer to Eddie's kind than the human he actually is. The desire to be nearer to him swells and crests, and Eddie needs him closer.
He starts with a hum, something gentle that floats over the top of the water and finds its way to the boy. Beautiful, warm eyes turn to find the source, and Eddie sings louder, the soft melody becoming words, and he can see the way his shoulders tense before they drop, slowing relaxing as he hears Eddie's call.
The human walks over, the expression on his face dream-like as he steps into the water, as he wades in until he's submerged up to his chest. Only then does Eddie move closer.
The world shakes as the creature touches him for the first time, as he cradles that beautiful, broken face in his hands.
"Oh you sweet, pretty thing. Who hurt you, darling?"
It takes the boy a moment to process, he blinks like he's fighting sleep and mutters "Billy. Was protecting the kids, needed to keep them safe."
So selfless is Eddie's beloved, the protector, the caretaker.
He's going to get himself killed, and the creature can't stand for that.
"I'm sure you did well, sweetheart, but it's time to rest now, yeah?"
He blinks, confused. "Rest?"
"Yes, darling."
Eddie leans in and presses their mouths together like he's watched the boy do dozens of times, and suddenly understands why the humans enjoy it, the tender intimacy of it. His darling looks dazed when Eddie pulls away, and doesn't fight when his hands are taken in two chilly, clawed ones. He follows dutifully as Eddie begins to step back, guiding them deeper into the water.
"Just let me take care of you."
#steve is never named because eddie doesn't know it#but it is steve#steddie#steddiemicroficseptember#steve harrington#eddie munson#creatures#monster eddie munson#steddie fic#ficlet#joey writes
361 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- four
simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.
content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. gore. death. gun violence. graphic descriptions of gore. torture. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 3.8k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.
note: another late night update <3 if you're triggered by death/ torture pls don't read! if you do, don't say i didnt warn you! as always, reblogs, comments, and notes are loved and appreciated!!!!
To say soundproofing a basement was a blessing for Simon was a blessing is a severe understatement. Without it, the patrons who were upstairs drinking and being merry in crude ways would be able to hear the gut-wrenching screams and manly grunts over the pain-filled noises that were caused by several weapons of torture and destruction. His favorite had been the cheese grater. A little corny, sure, but god did it do the job to make a man piss himself like a little bitch when it was dragged up the valley of his tender throat. The meaty thwack of blunt force meeting wet skin echoes in the darkened basement. Musty air and traces of liquor tingle upon a twice-broken nose. Bloody knuckles wreak havoc upon the blistered and fileted skin of poor Graves. It's been like this for nearly an hour, the need for releasing pent-up steam and broiling over anger made Simon pull out the big guns and turn the pretty boy into nothing but a bloody sack of crying meat.
Graves was unrecognizable. Both of his once beautiful blue eyes, that you stared at so dreamy-like, were swollen shut. Puffy and purple turning with threats of black eyes and bloodshot irises. Cigarette burns, stab wounds, cuts, and barely forming bruises were littering the bare upper body of the poor suffering sap Simon was torturing half to death. Kidnapping and planned manslaughter were not in his plans tonight, far from it. His plans were innocent. He wanted to watch you and your nightly routine, memorize your little rituals before bed. He wanted to see what you would look like when you were dreaming so peacefully under his watchful eyes that would be at your bedside. He wanted to know what your sheets smelled like, felt like under his rough palms, and get the first touch of pure warmth that radiated off your little body while it was oblivious to his touch.
Now Graves just had to come over on the night Simon planned to. How unfortunate. Truly. If he was any better mate he would apologize for every scream and plea that tumbled out of that broken jaw that once purred into your ear in front of Simon's eyes. It didn't have to be like this, but he had a point to make. He tells himself this when his broad back turns, grabbing at an already stained towel painted red with thick ruby ichor. You were his girl. His pretty baby should be fingered by him and him only. This was only an example for every other son of a bitch you decided that was better to fuck than Simon Riley himself.
"She never even told me she had a boyfriend." cried Graves when he was still pure and fresh-skinned. His eyes flicked down to the dull butcher knife that Simon had been tossing up and down lazily; brown eyes watching the frustration and unease that crept on the other man's face underneath the bleached bone mask of his. "Wouldn't even have thought to touch her, unless she wanted it, and she did want it." Wrong set of words. Yikes.
Rusted metal meets the muscle of Graves' right thigh in one effortless swing of Simon, buried to the hilt. Dark cherry starts to bubble around the plastic handle. Strong metal and even stronger cries of the pretty boy. His head throws back with a growl and a colorful string of curses. Not a very Southern gentlemanly thing of him to do. Very different from the southern hospitality Graves was giving you before Simon got his hands on him. Overly whitened teeth bare out between a grimace and snarl given to the brit. All bark and very little bite. Cute. He'd have fun with this. He always had fun with this type of work, it's why his group always gave him the nitty gritty bloody work. Their hands would be a little cleaner than his, and he could enjoy watching even the toughest get unnerved when they caught the sick glint in Simon's eyes when he brought out new ' toys ' to try out.
Now Graves was on the receiving end of that sick look. Emotionless eyes but smiling lips that peeled a bit too wide under the suffocating balaclava that covered his head and mouth. Bottomless dark pools of his irises reflected the mess of carved-away fatty tissue and the sharp ends of broken bones stretching past the elasticity of human skin. A dead man's masterpiece. Picasso eat your fucking heart out.
The saving grace was the end of a smoking barrel that pressed to Grave's forehead. Hot iron and metal singed away at damp baby hairs and smoothed away the wrinkles of distraught so cruelly. Simon was growing bored of this torture now, he was wasting too much time here messing with a man who had one foot in the grave and the other trying to wedge itself in the doorway of life. He had to make a call and see if his pretty girl was distraught enough for a comforting hand or two to reel her into the snare of his adoration.
"Have we learned our lesson for the evenin' then, mate?" Simon's dark timber of a voice growled into the stale air. The end of his gun prodded at glistening skin for an answer almost immediately. He doesn't have all night.
Grave's jaws couldn't click together enough to help form the bleeding nub of a tongue to form a coherent enough answer to please him. That tongue was cut off with a clean swipe of Simon's blade when Graves still had his energy and was making threats about getting out of there and getting his men to show the Brit how torture worked; then maybe he'd celebrate by fucking 'his' girl all in memorium for his tries. Shame that tongue had to go, he preferred the curses and slew of half-baked 'go to hell's ' Graves let bolster out in the first thirty minutes down here.
He'll settle for a silent answer then. Broken bones popped socket arms and kneecaps would just have to be an affirmative' yes sir ' to Simon. If Dead men can't come crawling back out of their half-dug graves to come to eat some pussy; then mangled ruined bodies of desperate mutts of men can fuck to save their fading souls from descending into the depths of hell.
Thumb cocking back the hammer of his sidearm, pointer finger pressing a little bit too eagerly. The kickback of gunpowder and fire didn't make Simon miss the satisfying spray of pink brain matter, hot blood, and tiny pieces of flying skull shrapnel painting the grungey floor behind Graves.
A mess of gory artistry the man behind the painting would just have to miss being cleaned up and taken out back to be thrown away in a dumpster where all other trash goes to rot away in a marked landfill. The gun of his was tossed next to Grave's bound cooling corpse. He'll get an earful about doing this during working hours of the bar, but he would be damned if he didn't get to release his demons onto Graves before it was too late and his anger chilled to a icy tundra in his chest.
Another cup of coffee, perhaps your fourth of the night cools in your palms again. The caffeine does little to soothe the growing migraine that pounds behind your eye sockets with every microsecond your patience wanes into threads. Angry hornets fester inside your skull, and a jack rabbit's heart inside your chest. Your night is taking years off your life, you can feel it with every monotonous droning of the same questions one of the cops repeats every ten minutes or so. It feels like you're getting nowhere, running on a hamster wheel that'll lead to nowhere and you getting winded in the process. The police make you feel stupid. The moment two cop cars arrived at your residence to investigate the lack of evidence they found from your supposed potential serial killer. They condescended and ridiculed every detail you gave them till your face ran blue and the air in your lungs was nearly gone.
The bloody handprint that was smeared on the greenhouse's wall was already washed away; more than likely absorbed into the greedy grass like a man sucking down water after being in the desert for months. Other than the scratched ' S ' on your porch step there was little to believe you and your cracked-out story. They thought you called just for attention, just to waste gas that was paid for too high taxes. It's been like this for two hours now, repetitive questions and police pulling only yours and Graves' prints off your things and his abandoned truck that was sitting in your drive. Their idiotic conclusion? He was simply lost in the ever-expansive woods. Lost among the shrubbery and shadows, a victim to the unusually cruel predatory gazes of wildlife that watched his every move; ready to strike him down and feast like royalty till their bellies almost popped.
"What did the sheriff make the call on for tonight?"
The cop, who had been interrogating you, turned to address another policeman who was examining your small living room with boredom written all over his young features.
Before the way too young-looking man could answer, an older British voice called out "Why don't you ask 'im yourself, deputy?" The smell of strong cigar smoke suddenly started to assault your senses.
An older gentleman, with ashy brown hair and a thick jungle of facial hair, strode into your home. One of his hands supported the straps of his bulletproof vest, the other held the burning cigar that stunk up the small interior of your home in a matter of seconds. A plume of smoke exhaled out of his nostrils when his beady eyes swept over your kitchenette till they landed on your inquisitive expression. He pressed his cigar to his full lips for another inhale as if he had all the time in the world to stink up your home and trigger your body to sneeze at such an offending smell. "Sorry, sir. " The deputy uttered apologetically, eyes dropping low in embarrassment he was intimidated by such a commanding presence of his superior.
With another exhale of thick grey smoke that makes your nose wrinkle the sheriff approaches you. His right hand extended out for you to shake while he introduced himself to you as if his last name wasn't sewn so neatly into the black fabric of his uniform. "Officer, or sheriff John Price. I don't think we've met." His glove was rough against your skin, but his grasp was gentle while he shook your hand. His free hand plucked the cigar from his lips, teeth leaving bite marks over the damp end he had been sucking on. " Boys couldn't find anything here, miss except for disturbed gravel and prints from the wet grass out back. We can't pull anything significant off those marks, unfortunately. Could have just been a bad attempt of some break-in just to scare a young woman and her guy friend."
Your eyebrows creased, hand slipping out his light hold quickly. Angry hornets in your skull turned into a full-on battalion of those large Asian wasps that had excellent memory. They were banging around against hard bone, buzzing so loud and pissed that they threatened to burst out of your ears and sting every single cop here. Especially Price, they'd sting him right on his stupid gruff face. "But whoever was here, didn't steal anything they just left --"
"The flower behind, yes. The lads at the lab will run it to see if there's any DNA on the stem or even petals. Any clothing fibers or hair strands will be alerted to us right away, but there's nothing we can do. You know how rowdy teens these days are, they'd do anything to scare the grown adults into a heart attack for fun." Price quipped, finishing your sentence.
Your eyes rolled, frustration growing rampant like a disease over your face. An infection that Sherriff Price wasn't so susceptible to being a victim of. One bushy brow rose at your childish irritation from the denial he and his men had rubbed into your face time and time again. "Rowdy teens just don't make a grown-ass man disappear without a trace. Rowdy teens aren't capable of breaking cleanly into my home and not stealing anything of value." Your voice raised, brows pitching up and causing frown lines to crack along your smooth features.
"And rowdy teens don't scare the fuck out of me and make me want to look over my shoulder from now on after tonight. There's someone out there who is taunting me, and I want him or she or them to leave me alone." You're standing by this point. Chair kicked out behind you, your hands slammed down onto your table. Hot black caffeine spills over the dark marble of your dining room table. You're glaring daggers into the older man's eyes and he gobbles it all up without even a reaction to your worked-up outburst. He's not afraid of little girls screaming and trying to embarrass him, he's dealt with all of this before. Not this scenario, but high and haughty women who thought they were number one.
Price blinks, takes a step back silently, and turns his head to address another policeman loitering around; unsure what to do. "Have one of the guys do a stake out for twenty-four hours around her home, if anything is outta place you call me right away." Then he turns his gaze back to you, smiles that forced smile one makes when they're uncomfortable. Eyes crinkled with a lack of warmth that only manages to irk you further than comfort you. Temporary support does little to quell the ball of a bundle of nerves that is your nervous system right now.
"Have a good night, miss." Price dismisses himself. That awful cigar of his shoved back into his mouth and steps back out the front door. His men follow that were lingering inside your space, all except for the deputy that had been interrogating you. That's supposed to be your rough and rugged surveillance system for the next twenty-four hours until you can justify scraping enough money aside to get your surveillance just for this place.
Price exhales a continuous cloud of smokey grey into the night air. His head tipped back enough to trace out a few major constellations in the sky with curiosity, all while the other two cop cars that were parked out front drove off nonchalantly.
Bright teeth, stained slightly yellow from tobacco clamp further into the cigar's end while he fishes out of his many pockets a cell phone. Pretty outdated, the screen is cracked and the little processor moves at a snail's pace. A real piece of shit technology that holds a few private numbers that aren't saved under any typical name.
His gloved thumb jams against the screen a few times on one of those particular contacts and he holds the cell to his ear whilst unlocking the driver's side of his car and climbing inside. Cigar stamped out into the ever-growing ashes of his ashtray, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel in wait. The line rings once, twice, and on the third ring the call is picked up and a deeper British voice answers in a grunt of a ' hello ' to Price.
"You've got one hell of a firecracker there, Riley." Price cracks out, tone joking. "You've worked the little bird up into a tizzy, she seemed ready to jump 'cross the table for me."
The other voice only gives out a scoff, a monotone 'really?' . Price can only picture the hint of a cruel smile curling on the ends of Simon's lips now. "Boys' are none the wiser, I'll tell 'em it was just a bad prank gone wrong. The station will be none the wiser. Poor blokes." He chuffs. The engine of his car starts, and he reverses out of the drive. The silhouettes of his deputy and you awkwardly standing in your living room window bring another good-humored huff out of his ash-riddled lungs. "Don't make me bury your girl under missing person reports if you're too rough with 'er." Price mutters low over the line. Simon only scoffs on the receiving end, like he'd never hurt his precious girl. He'd be damned if you were taken from him by his own hands.
"Jus' keep an eye on her when I can't. " His voice rumbles like thunder in Price's ear, then hangs up the call with a sullen click.
Price sighs, tossing the backup cell in his passenger seat. His dark eyes focus on the lonely road back into the city. His radio in the car is buzzing with life of officer chatter, but he's not paying much attention. He's got to figure out how to stuff this darker piece of work underneath a rug without leaving wrinkles of his involvement behind. The old man was never one for the double life. A charming foreigner passed for a white-collared American who was there for the people at every righteous beck and call of his name. Then a grimy soldier for the kind of men that worked on setting the bastards that cops or other forces of power were too busy or pussy to end the right way; with a bullet in the head and their name smeared in blood as a warning for other bastards to behave or else.
A kind of work he did far before the ' never do no wrong' persona of his was adopted onto him. Now juggling both for one of his boys? Someone that he even dared to be considered as close as family to him? What had he gotten himself into, all for the sake of some weird iteration of what Simon called infatuation and obsession for a pretty little thing he only saw for one night and wouldn't stop planning on when to see her next. Price wanted to call him crazy when Simon opened his mouth and asked if he could do him a favor. Lie. Lie and cover his white English ass as much as he could just till Simon could convince his new obsession to think about him in the same way he thought about her. Convincing was putting it lightly, but Price didn't second guess or even ask. He knew what it was like when the parasitic love bug decided to rear its ugly head and bite you clear on the ass when it wanted to. Back when he was a younger man, back in his prime he had a sweetie. Soft and curvy, supple and sweet under his lips and to his heart. A fond memory he likes to include when he thinks about family from time to time. Something of his past he's left behind for a new rendition of a family that was strong men, sweat, blood, near-death experiences, and bonding over strong liquor after their work.
Anything for them, he supposes while he turns the car towards the station for the biggest sack of shit he could regurgitate out of his aging vocal cords and lets it spill in sticky white lies to doe-eyed men and women who wouldn't think twice to clean record Sheriff John Price.
"If you need anything, here's a walkie. Can't give out personal cells to citizens, but I'll be in range for us to talk." Deputy Dipshit tells you when the loud slam of car doors and the starting of engines signal the squad's retreat along with the Sheriff's.
You frown down at the cold chunk of plastic that was pressed into your smooth palm by the male. You feel immature even to be using this thing. But you don't argue, or say how stupid it is not just to use cell phones for this one dire situation. You accept the stupid walkie with little dignity that was now washed away by telling the police what exactly you and Graves were doing before he was attacked and taken away.
The walkie is tossed onto your neatly made mattress, weariness makes your eyes droop and your hands rub at your face. At least you're alone now, your crappy watchdog is settled inside his vehicle, protected by his sidearm and tazer. Your feet blindly patter against the dark cherry oak of your bedroom floor a ragged breath of exhaustion leaks out of your lungs like a deflating balloon. You pray to whatever gods or goddesses up there in the cosmos, watching over every single little thing with sadistic eyes, that they are protecting Graves. You could never stomach the fact that somehow you managed to get him killed for even touching you or being in your presence. You're not that special or even have that much power to illicit someone to commit manslaughter just because they were jealous or overprotective.
That's something from a fucked up dark romance novel that has mentally ill women squirting over the tall morally grey character that would do anything for their love interest.
Your phone screen buzzes from your bedside table, the obnoxious vibrations and chirpy ringtone of ' Kim Possibles ' phone ringtone blares into the short-lived silence and the even shorter prayer you were making for a man you barely even knew.
" Give me a break!" you groan out between clenched teeth that temporarily bore in a snarl to your lit-up screen. You shouldn't act like that, what if it was your friends reaching out to check in on you? They knew Graves was coming over to visit you and to ' catch up ' in more ways than one, maybe this was them poking their noses into your business and wondering how good Graves managed to fuck you silly five ways from Sunday. If only.
Another deflated-like balloon sigh and you snatch up your phone to see who texted you. Yet as much as you would kill for the spam of messages that would spew from Izzy and Veronica about how well-endowed and lickable Graves was in all his glory, it was far from their girlish text messages. An unknown number glared up at you. The notification on your locked phone screen, which was a picture of you and your childhood dog in your old home smiling at the camera, showed that the random number had texted you.
"Guess the police actually can text you, who knew." You mumbled under your breath, your tone still acidic on your tongue while you unlocked your phone and tapped on your message app to open the chat and read the text without even hesitating to check over the number thoroughly.
"Hello there, pretty girl." the text read.
#cod x female reader#cod x reader#simon x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#ghost x you#phillip graves#john price#little mouse series#little mouse#dead dove fic#dead dove do not eat
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
Soap and Ghost have been a thing for a while, spending their leaves together whenever possible, holed up at Soap's place for the most part, only ever in Manchester when Ghost wants to visit his families graves and they don't want to drive back up that day.
When the call comes that there's been damage to his flat Soap has to leave alone, Simon is out on one of the solo missions they love to send him on. So all Johnny can really do is leave a scribbled note on his bed that he's home sorting trouble with the flat.
A few days later Ghost returns, a bit miffed when he doesn't find Johnny waiting for him on the tarmac or in his barracks. Price brings him up to speed though and the letter explains the rest.
Soap is surprised when he opens the door to Simon in his civilian clothes, hadn't even gotten a text saying he's back, "What are ye doing here ye bampot? Dinnae get ma note that the whole flat is a mouldy mess?"
"Though' you'd appreciate some help." Simon just shrugs looking a little forlorn on the doorstep, suddenly not sure if showing up uninvited was the right move.
Soap grabs his man and pulls him into the flat before the huge fucker can decide to bugger off with his feelings all hurt.
"Ah'd love yer help, juist didnae expect ye to want to spend yer time in ma mouldy paradise after juist returning from a mission. Dinnae exactly haeve amenities exactly, yeah?"
He really doesn't. The flat is a fucking disaster, the one above had a pipe burst while the inhabitants were on vacation, water leaking unchecked for days, it's a bloody miracle that the building is still statically sound. But all the moisture seeped in to the flat below. And when anyone thought of informing him for possible damages it was too late. There's barely a room left untouched. Soap's been sleeping in a nearby hotel, going through his belongings saving what can be saved before calling in professionals to clean out the mold.
There's no way he'll give up the flat, they both know that, it was his grandmother's before, getting passed on to him when she moved to a retirement home. It's where Johnny grew up, his nan taking him in when his parents gave up on him.
So Ghost helps Soap sort out the mess, save what they can save, which luckily includes a lot of priced memories, but they know that pretty much all furniture is a loss. Floors, walls and ceilings will have to be redone too. Be that as it may they spend the rest of the day to also takeling care of the other reasons Soap can't just let a crew of cleaners walk in too. All traces of him being anything but a normal soldier carefully erased, packed up, hidden.
When they crash at the hotel late at night Johnny is still restless, the way he gets when some bug mission is about to start.
"Didn't know furniture shopping for your fla' would get you tha' riled up, sweetheart."
It's meant as harmless teasing, of making Johnny focus his energy on him and getting it out.
Instead the other man seems to dial it up, is not just squirming but also biting his lips now.
Fuck, he hasn't seen him like that unless whatever is about to go off is deadly serious.
So when Soap turns to him Simon stills, waits for the catastrophe that clearly is about to happen. For everything to come crumbling down around them, because that's how his life tends to go.
Instead, with the smallest voice he's ever heard on the man, Johnny makes his world fall into place like it never has before.
"What if we were nae getting stuff for ma place but rather, ye ken our place?
Our place.
It's rare that anything manages to make Ghost freeze anymore. But this? This does it.
He only shakes himself out of it when he sees panic and regret well up in Soap's eyes, can't have that after all. Mouth still not willing to obey his command he drags the other man into a crushing embrace, burying his face in the shower-damn mohawk.
"I think I'd like tha'." he mumbles eventually, his voice all weird and off, gruff from fighting the all the emotion but soft from the love that punches itself clean through all his defenses.
In his arms Soap drains of all tension. Mission accomplished no reason to be nervous now.
He falls asleep in Simons arms like that, deep breaths softly caressing his chest.
Ghost lies awake, his heart pounding a steady rhythm of excitement now.
He's going to go shopping with Soap tomorrow.
For their place. For their home.
Wild joy mixes with perfidious apprehension, parts of his brain refusing that this will really happen, convinced that Soap will wake up, having thought better of it.
That home is a concept lost to him. He is the Ghost for a reason after all.
He doesn't get a wink of sleep. His mocking of Soaps nerves ringing hollow in his ears.
Instead he braces himself, ready to meet the rejection head on, not let it show on his face, makes himself cold as ice.
"Ye look like we're heading to war not to keek at stuff for our home, love."
The armor of ice built meticulously over sleepless hours melts all at once.
"You really sure you want to share a 'ome with me Johnny?"
"Yeah Simon Riley, ye big daftie, think Ah'd nearly piss ma pants and ask ye, just to pull a fast one?"
For the second time in as many days Ghost shrugs helplessly, no defense of his a match for the things Soap makes him feel.
The man knows him too bloody well too, drags him out of the hotel room and gets them going. Let's actions speak over words. A language that works far better for Simon.
Who finds himself in store after store full of furniture, wallpapers and stuff where he comes to find that maybe he is not equipped to handle this.
Part 2
#Part 1 of probably 2#Check back in for fully trained sas soldiers getting emotionally lost in ikea#ghostsoap#soapghost#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#cod mw2#cod#ghoap#cod hc
237 notes
·
View notes
Text
Soap’s Wedding under the cut
My masterlist is pinned on my account.
Tooth-aching Fluff
Soap’s wedding was a huge deal with 141. Price immediately stepped up as a father-in-law for Soap’s beloved Fiance. In reality, he had been waiting for this moment with no kids of his own and his group of strays he took on.
Soap sat at the feet of his fiance, his back to the couch she was sitting on as she played with his mohawk. While Price argued with them about being allowed to pay for part of the service. Of course, her family has offered to help pay for a large sum of it, they had been saving for it since she graduated college, however she didn’t want to burden the Captain with their wedding for any reason other then an invitation.
“Captain, while I appreciate the offer, are ya sure? I ain’t ya bloody kid.” Soap interjected, Price went a bit ridgid at the comment. A pang of sadness in the back of his mind at the thought.
The look in Price’s eyes gave Soap’s sweet fiance all she needed to know. She leaned forward to Johnny’s ear and whispered something as she rubbed his shoulder.
“John Mactavish-Price Jr at ya service!” Soap chirped up. Price let out a chuckle and shook his head as planning continued.
Gaz was ADAMANT about handling both the bachelorette and bachelor parties. For the fiance he rented the party room of nice restaurant. Something classy and what he felt the woman about the put up with the sargent for the rest of his life deserved. Gaz’s girlfriend insisted on decorating the bachelorette party as she didn’t trust Gaz to do it.
For Soap? They rented the pub next door. Declaring it the party and giving any poor lad who walked in a shot or a beer in them. He knew better than to get a drunk Soap far from his fiance because he’d just end up calling her the whole time.
Half way through the parties, Soap ended up calling his fiance, blabbering and slurring about how much he missed her. So she and the girls got to go food for the guys from the restaurant and headed over. She found Soap laying all over poor Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who was trying to nurse a whiskey in peace, as Soap cried about not having his lass with him.
Gaz and Simon enjoyed watching her console him, cooing about how she was right there. This Soap was a far cry from the vibrant celebration Soap they had seen an hour ago. At first he didn't even recognize her through his squinted eyes. Until she had gotten him to straighten up.
Price sat there the whole time chuckling. Soap had never been a sappy drinker until he had someone to miss, he nudged you with a laugh. “With how he’s acting I may be walking him down the aisle instead of your father walking you. Its bloody obvious who’s wearing the pants here.”
“Hope he picks a pretty dress when you take him shopping,” she retorted with her own giggle, Soap’s arms around her waist and his face content in her neck with a soft smile. He was blissfully unaware of their jokes.
Soap waited a long while to pick his groomsmen. Everyone knew who they would be.
Price was the easiest ask, Soap did it while holding your hand right before Price offered to help pay. His fiancé asked Price’s wife if she'd be a maid of honor a moment later when they were washing dishes from the dinner.
Gaz and his girlfriend were the next to ask. They had come over for drinks and Gaz had his arm slung around his girl’s shoulder and a beer lazily in the other. It had been a heated debate over soccer (or ‘football’) and Soap shouted, “I wasn’t expecting one of my groomsmen to be disagreeing with me like this!” Or something dumb like that and Gaz immediately shot up to give him a bro hug. Soap turned to his fiance, “I told you he’s see the right side eventually.” Soap’s fiance rolled her eyes.
Asking Ghost to be Best Man was going to be tough. Especially when Simon doesn’t do warm and fuzzy in the traditional warm and fuzzy way.
The original plan was to have dinner with him but when Soap realized Simon wasn’t on base or at his apartment this week. Which meant there was a GIRL.
Soap figured this out while drinking and getting touchy with his fiance, so obviously the next course of action was calling an uber and showing up at Simon’s location with a giant sign and a boombox. Right?
Soap was shirtless, his pants were unbuttoned but zipped. His fiance held the sign that read “BEST MAN?” painted in white on cardboard clearly torn from a large box. She was in her pajamas while Soap played SexyBack by Justin Timblerlake, when that at full volume didn't get Simon out, he played the Scottish National Anthem. He sang it as loud as he could until Ghost’s situationship came to the window and opened it giggling. Simon wasn’t has amused.
“JOHNNY. COULDNT YA HAVE WAITED TILL THE MORNING.”
“YOU HAVE A WOMAN AND YOU’RE GONNA NEED A DATE, SIMON.”
“IF THE MUSIC ISNT OFF WHY THE TIME IM DOWN THERE IM YANKING YA BLOODY HEAD OFF, JOHNNY.”
The music was indeed off why the time a shirtless Simon got down there and introduced his situationship to Soap’s fiance. Simon almost referred to her as his girlfriend but hesitated and just said a friend. Johnny and his Fiance knew better than that with how the way the girl awkwardly stood and was sweating told them that something rough and sweat had happened that night and it wasn’t sparing.
When the actual wedding itself rolled around, the two had done basically everything out of order. Soap need for detail oriented everything made somethings take too long, the adhd nature of his fiance made others go to fast. It took them a week to decide on a song for their first dance because Soap wanted Scotland forever and his fiance wasn’t having it.
Lot of things like that.
Honestly Soap panicked about her dress, worried even the littlest thing could be wrong and he couldn’t even see the dress. Believe it, though, he begged and pleaded to be allowed to check it for problems before the wedding.
When he saw her come down the aisle, it felt unreal. He felt as though he could pass away then and be content. Johnny almost realized the tears coming down his face. It was a beautiful blue and white dress, the colors you can both chosen and the Scottish flag colors he had slipped passed you. The most beautiful blue sash on the most perfect gown for his perfect girl. It was relief. True relief.
Even Simon let tears fall, his face not adorned by his mask for once as it was shoved in Price’s jacket pocket. Gaz whole heartedly sobbed with no remorse. Price wiped a single tear from his eyes before standing strong and putting his game face on.
As the night continued so did the festivities until it came time for the newlyweds to depart. They didn't make it to the hotel before Soap’s hands were up her skirt and she was holding his tie.
Let me know what you want to see more of, my asks are open. To basically everything.
#bc soap would#cod x reader#call of duty#john soap mactavish#captain price#ghost cod#john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#johnny mactavish#soap x reader#soap cod#soap mw2#soap call of duty#soap mctavish#soap x you#soap x y/n#john mactavish#soap mactavish
116 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Captains Daughter: Chapter 16
A/N: finally, a chapter worth posting. This one is so much better than the last two or three i've posted. Sorry guys, I've totally lost track of time, its been two weeks since the last chapter ive posted... this is a longer one so hopefully it will suffice. Thank yall so much for reading, feedback is much appreciated :)
Taglist: @abbiesxox @n30n-j3lly @weird-katthing @kayoyamamegame @kroowonderemporium @astro-ghoul99
word count: 1.3k
Reader pov:
You and your father have silently agreed to just let go of what happened during the commute to the grocery store. The two of you have not talked about the topic since, and you were grateful for it. You headed for the doors to get outside the base, as you had decided earlier that a morning run should do the trick for your sluggish start to the day. It seems you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Barely making conversation at breakfast, feeling irritated and put off by everything. Even the sound of Gaz breathing when you sat next to him in the mess hall made you want to choke him out.
You breathed in deeply, savoring the crispy winter air as it's freezing tendrils circled your lungs. You sighed and were about to get moving when you heard a gruff noise behind you.
It was Ghost, clearing his throat.
You turned towards him, a quizzical look crossing your features.
"I've tracked you across the whole bloody base," he said, in a gravely, morning voice.
"And?" You said, annoyed. You didn't feel like talking to anyone not even your mysterious crush.
"And, a good soldier should know to watch their damn six."
"Yeah, in the field," you roll your eyes.
"Someone's pissy this morning, I thought we were on good terms now?" He chuckled
"I just... sorry- you didn't do anything wrong-" he cut you off.
"I know," he smirked.
"... just bad nights sleep I guess," you glared, finishing your sentence.
"Where are you headed?" his voice softened slightly, but his gaze still remained rigid and judgy.
"Out for a run."
"You don't mind if I join do you?"
You raised and eyebrow at his suggestion
"What? i'm not supposed to be friendly with my teammates ever?"
"I-I...no...I don't mind," you said skeptically.
The two of you took off at a quick pace, you were surprised that the lieutenant could keep up despite the skull balaclava covering his nose and mouth, as well as his large, toned build.
"You run often?" you ask.
"Mmm... when I was a kid I got in trouble a lot. I had to make a quick getaway sometimes."
"Who was chasing you... the law?"
"Eh, sometimes," he said, nonchalantly.
"Well, what kind of trouble?" you asked, not knowing whether to be concerned or intrigued.
"Dumb, teenage shit. You know, smashing windows... drinking... smoking, anything to get me out of the house really. I matured eventually."
"And now your in the military, the irony," you paused. "You know, I really wouldn't have guessed that you were so... unruly as a kid, Mister 'im so strict and tough," you laughed.
He gave a chuckle in response.
"Mhm, my teenage years were pretty lawless... probably can't say the same for you, Price's kid," he smirked.
"Ah you got me there... I did get into a little trouble though."
"Really...?"
"I dabbled with boys mostly..."
This made Simon's heart rate quicken, the thought of you with other guys, but then he reminded himself that you were a teenager at the time.
"Boys? I'm sure the captain wasn't very fond of that"
"Oh hell no... he always chased 'em away. I never could keep a boyfriend for very long. No matter how secretive I was he always found out."
Noted Ghost thought to himself.
Ghost laughs, "Yup, sounds like ol' cap."
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes as Ghost thinks about your love life.
"You...you don't happen to have any of those men in your life now... do you?" he asks quietly.
"I uhm....uh...well... no," You respond, a bit flustered.
"Good, otherwise i'd have to tell cap" He added, voice stronger and more confident while trying to play the question off as a joke.
You two were almost back to the base now, as you finished at the doors Ghost spoke up again as he swung the door open for you.
"It's about time for our daily training now, good timing."
You nodded as you stepped through the door into the pleasantly warm building. You walked down to the training facilities with him.
"Lets do some lifting," Ghost suggested.
You groaned in protest, dragging your feet as your lieutenant led you into the gym. You went through a few sets, bench press, curls, a few ab exercises, and finally some squats. By the time you were ready to start squatting, your body was exhausted, especially your legs considering you ran beforehand. Ghost looked at you with a slight bit of sympathy.
"Lets just do two sets of eight for this one alright Y/N?"
"Thank you, G-Ghost," you sputtered as you struggled to keep the bar level as you got into your first squat.
You wobbled, your legs quivered as you raised yourself back up into a standing postion.
One
You shook even more on the way down the second time, Ghost noticed this and left the wall he was leaning up against. He stood behind you with his hands open, ready to steady the bar if needed.
down, up
Two
By the third rep, the bar was so far away from being level on your shoulders your whole body tipped to the right. Luckily, Ghost caught you and lifted the bar off your shoulders before you could fall. He put the bar back on the rack and took a few pounds off of it while you sat down for a moment.
"If you're not okay enough to finish we can be done here," Ghost told you. His words were sympathetic but his voice was void of emotion, it was hard to gauge weather he was disappointed in your failure to finish the set or if he was concerned for you.
Ghost pov:
Goddamnit, she totally felt that.
I stood in front of Y/N while she sat down for a moment to catch her breath. I had to get the bar off of her before she hurt herself, but in the process I had pressed myself against her by accident. Which in return gave me a little problem... down there. Forever grateful to my mask for saving my ass once again, I tried to exert calmness towards Y/N while she rested. I desperately hoped that she would be done now that she was almost crushed by the weight.
"No, I'd like to finish out the set at least," she responded to my question.
"You sure? no shame in calling it quits to avoid injury," I responded in a warmer tone than before.
"Yeah, I've got it," she reassured me, more strength in her voice now.
Again, I positioned myself behind her to spot her. Only this time, a half step further back, not forgetting about my hard on. I'm not going to lie, It was tough to just stand there silently while she got her reps in. All I wanted to do was praise her, to tell her what a good job she was doing. I wanted to see her smile when I told her she did something right, I just wanted to make her happy.
"Good work," I managed to say when she got all eight reps in.
She told me goodbye and turned to leave. I watched her walk away, she took a few steps before I couldn't help myself.
"Wait!"
She turned around.
"I enjoyed running with you this morning... really- it was nice. Thank you for letting me go with you."
Her face broke into a genuine smile.
"Thank you for coming with me, it was nice to see you more informal... you know, outside of all the work stuff."
When she walked off again, I couldn't help but get all giddy and boyish. I felt like a teenager swooning over his crush at school.
fucking hell, Y/N enjoyed my company.
Reader pov:
When you left the gym and were sure that no one could see you, you damn near squealed for joy.
He liked running with me!
Ghost
My lieutenant
The guy I like
#captain price#cod 141#ghost x reader#cod mw2#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod#cod ghost#task force 141#cod x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost smut#ghost simon riley#simon riley#ghost mw2#dad!price#gaz cod#soap mactavish#john soap mactavish
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
Doing Mehndi/Henna with the 141+Los Vaqueros
In honour of the past Eid (why do I have so many undone Eid fics on my main) I will be making a set of headcannons for Eid even though it was a month ago because I want to and time is an illusion. Also, reader is South Asian-coded, and I’ll use gender-neutral pronouns but it’s kind of fem leaning due to the cultural aspect but all are welcome!!
(Also if I didn’t spell anything right please let me know I’m just writing this in a hurry I am so sorry)
Warnings: mentions of violence and war, foreign language use.
Doing Mehndi/Henna for the 141 + Los Vaqueros
There was some downtime in the base after a successful mission just a few days ago, meaning that everyone was trying to relax after the harrowing mission that took so much time and effort and caused so much pain to everyone. Finally, it was time for some rest and relaxation, and the base’s atmosphere was a little more calm than the frantic hustle just days ago. Funny how it all changes so fast, but it is what it is, and probably for the better.
You sat at a table with a small conical tube, piping a brown paste out onto your skin, using the tube as a calligrapher uses a pen, or an artist uses a paintbrush, to draw floral and fractal designs upon your skin. The reason you were being so artistic today? The downtime was just perfect, right at the end of Ramadan, meaning that it was time to celebrate not only the mission but also the completion of a religious month of fasting. The paste would dry and leave a natural, temporary tattoo on your hands, and as you painstaking created the masterpiece, people would stop by and see what you were doing.
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:
He sees you putting some kind of paste on your arm and is...confused.
‘Bloody hell is that’ the first thing into his mind and out of his mouth, actually. Mans is big confuzzled
You tell him its Mehndi or Henna, and he...doesn’t know. Wasn’t really exposed to different cultures as a kid, and difference was not seen as something to be celebrated.
Is very curious. He appreciates the time and art, as he has tattoos that took time to make. He’s interested in what’s going on cause it’s you and he cares about what you do and how you are, shhhh
He has no idea how it works. The Hell you mean, it’s a tattoo? Doesn’t believe you. What do you mean this paste will leave a temporary tattoo? Is curious.
Will use this as an opportunity to sit with you and learn about you
If you explain it to him, he’ll not say anything and at first you think it’s because he’s disinterested, but he is actually quite focused on what you tell him and is absorbing the information. He is learning the history behind the art and like his tattoos, he has an appreciation for wearable art.
He likes watching you sketch out the designs on your skin. It’s nice to see flowers and leaves and birds and pretty things after all the blood in the military.
He will ask questions about what kind of designs, the longevity of the art, and if they’re restricted to a certain aesthetic. Will ask only a few questions, but its because he mostly likes just watching you do your thing. It’s satisfying to see it.
If you ask to do some on his arm, there is a 50/50 chance he’ll let you, because on the one hand its time consuming to do on him and wait for it to dry and he’s a busy man most of the time, but on the other its wearable art and looks relaxing. Whether or not he does let you depends on how close you guys are.
But if you hand him the mehndi tube and allow him to draw something on you...your friendship points in his mental scoreboard just skyrocket. You’re letting him make something for you to wear on your arm? Like a tattoo? You’ll wear a design a la Riley? He is willing to do anything for you now.
He’s not the best at drawing but he does have good control over his hand-eye coordination, so his designs are not that bad. He just needs time to decide what the hell to draw on you...give him ideas please. He will need your help with the tube as this man has sausages for fingers, and he’s trying, please be patient. Keep a few Q tips and tissues handy for wiping off the few mistakes he may make.
He likes more of the floral designs, especially the intricate floral fractals. Flowers are pretty, and he knows how unique designs ought to be appreciated.
He’s a bit of a perfectionist so be prepared for a numb arm afterward. But it’ll be work it when you see the joy in his eyes when he finishes it to his liking.
Will wait for it to dry with you if he’s not busy. He needs down time too, and spending time learning about something else is nice you’re also just really nice company and he feels bad that your religious holiday is being spent all alone
Will genuinely thank you if you do a design on him or let him do a design on you. It makes something in his heart warm up at the thought of knowing that he made something for someone else and its not only artistic, but you’re wearing it with pride. If you actually show it off he’ll huff about it but its a farce cause his posture improves and his chest is puffed out at the fact you’re showing it off.
If you were close enough that you did a design on him and it starts to wear away he will march up to you whatever time he can and demanding you retrace it. Or give him a new one. It’s like a friendship bracelet, GIVE!
All in all, he likes it. Anytime you do Mehndi from then on, he’ll be there, either chilling with you or getting some on himself too.
Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish
He spots you sitting down and squirting something on your skin.
‘What is that?’ Genuinely intrigued and curious. Likes the designs!
You did those yourself? That’s so cool! The patience and artistic ability is quite interesting to him.
If you tell him the history behind Mehndi/Henna, he’ll ask questions and engage in conversations about it. He has an appreciation for the historical aspect, and he’ll likely ask multiple questions.
He’ll watch you do it but he’ll also get fidgety after a while. You have to wait for it to dry too. But he’s not leaving! He’ll just need to move around a bit.
If you ask him to get anything for you for nourishment he will. He’ll feed you himself but also tease you while you’re at it.
Will blow on it to help it dry. When you tell him its cold he’ll just keep doing it because he’s a gremlin.
Finds it satisfying to watch. Will make suggestions on what to do next. If you incorporate it, he’d be over the moon! Just know that he’ll suggest some joke stuff and will veer from the intended aesthetic, so it’s up to you at that point.
There are some trends in mehndi where people who get their mehndi done will hide little cameos or names of people in their designs. Soap will suggest his name cheekily, believe me, but if you actually do it, he’d be forever thankful and in awe that you’d allowed him that honour. To him its like getting his name tattooed on you so its a high degree of respect given.
If you offer to do some on him he’d be glad to! He’ll eagerly give you his arm and ask you to either go ham or will have a design in mind. If you have his name in your design somewhere he will ask for yours too, it’s only fair! Bestie’s honour!
If you let him do a design on your skin, he’d be floored. He’d be so eager and happy! He grabs the tube and is ready! You’ll just have to limit him cause his imagination is going wild so please just tell him what to do before you sign some Ursula-esque contract and end up with some stupid-ass emoji or slogan like ‘Soap waz here’ on your skin for the next few days.
Surprisingly, he’s very good with handling the mehndi tube. He was named Soap for a reason, and he’s very good at putting the right amount of pressure for the right design. Not the best artistically but he takes his time and is genuinely careful with the fun. He treats it like a tattoo, it’s something he’ll spend time on.
That said, he is also an eager beaver and in his excitement he may, at any point, accidentally mess up some wet mehndi. When he does so, he will absolutely be a mess about it and apologize profusely for it. Help him please, keep some tissues nearby, please forgive him too he promises he didn’t mean it!!
If you allow it on a visible part of you he’ll be so happy to see it. If you actively show it off and tell the others he did it he’ll enthusiastically tell them how he did it because he’s just so happy he did that! Will have his arm around you too, you’re precious now for letting him do that. Will take offense when the others may not believe that he was the one who made that part of your mehndi.
When he’s done he’ll chat and eat with you, and make sure you’re okay. If your design is on the inside of your hand he will make a point to feed you himself. It makes him happy to do so.
He really likes the fractal designs, the ones that look like multiple layers of leaves or scales, lattice patterns are nice for him to look at.
If the design you give him starts to fade, he will ask for another one. Will show off every one you do for him.
Cptn. John Price
Price is not a complete stranger to the art, but it is one that he’s never really seen up close. He is aware from his life that there are other civilians he’s seen in the city have it done, he has travelled before as well and seen it too, so not entirely unfamiliar but very clueless. Seeing you do it awakens a curiosity, and he wants to know how its done.
He is a history nut, not that many people will know, so please tell him everything. Let him know the history of what you’re doing, its purpose, and how it relates to the holiday, etc.
Price enjoys thinking about other perspectives, so if you ramble on he’ll listen. It’s nice to hear some chatter about creative things rather than fearmongers, warlords, cartels and such. He’s happy to listen.
Will watch with attention as you do it, and when you talk to him he will engage in conversation as he absorbs the information. Has some questions and they’re all fairly relevant, Will periodically hum in thought or shift or gesture, showing you that he is in fact listening, and sometimes in the middle will interrupt to talk to you about something you said. The best part is when he interrupts you after you tell him the art of mehndi is thousands of years old...now he’s making mental notes and wanting to know more.
Will absolutely talk with you for the entire time you’re waiting for it to dry. Has the patience of a saint. The only time he’ll leave is if its an emergency, or if there’s a lot of paperwork he’ll just grab it from his office to do near you while you wait. Will let you talk about whatever you want. But if you let him talk you both are going to be there a while, John’s a very charismatic person and easy to talk to, so you could find yourself sitting for 3 hours just talking to him when your mehndi dries in half that time. But it’s time well spent, he absolutely appreciates it.
If you need him to get you any food, he is already on it, and regardless of which side of your hand the design is, he is a gentleman and will feed it to you. The best.
Likes to watch you do the designs, it’s satisfying to watch. He really likes quiet, creative times.
If he accidentally messes up your design by shifting and wiping it off he will not stop thinking about it for the next week. Forgive him please he didn’t mean it! He feels really bad and will offer help to fix it or clean it up. The more intricate it is the worse he feels.
If you want to do some on him, he might let you do it, just a small one in a hidden place. It has more meaning for him that way, and he also doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to have such things peak out, so he just wants to keep it on the low. Also it feels like a piece of you, someone he cares for, so its very personal to Price and he’s keeping it discreet like a well-loved secret. He’s so proud of it though. Others might notice, cause he will try to show it off in subtle ways. He always feels a smile on his lips when he notices that you notice the design.
When Price asks for the design he’ll also deviate from the aesthetic, maybe make it something else a little more to his interests, as the cultural rules of the aesthetic are not one he completely understands, as he thinks of it like a tattoo as well if just a little more flowery. If you do something floral or whatever he’d still appreciate it, but if you indulge in it by like, making it a collage of compiled mehndi aesthetic to make a shape similar to what he wants, he’d beam about it for months, long after that design fades. He will take numerous pictures of it but they’re all blurry cause he uses a phone like a grandpa and only a few of them turn out slightly legible.
If you let him do one on you? Price’s entire body is filled with warmth. You’re letting him design something on your body? Something that has cultural relevance to you, and in a design he wants? He feels honoured. He will have the highest reverence for that moment, it feels like you’ve given him a tremendous amount of trust. Price will actually try to back away a few times as he feels he might not have the cultural relevancy to administer it, but if you insist, he’d be so ecstatic. He is going to do his absolute best, Captain’s honour!
That being said, his drawing skills aren’t the best, so he’d try to talk about it a little bit. You’ll need to teach him how to grip and use the cone because otherwise its either too much or too little pressure, no in between.
Sausage fingers again, so please keep some tissues on hand. It will take time, but he is meticulous, he wants to make you proud and do you justice.
It comes out a little more austere than the usual flowery lines of traditional mehndi, but anyone can see it is made with love. Price is proud of it at the end, but will seek your approval before he dreams of celebrating that accomplishment. When you give your approval, he is glowing and thinking about any compliment you may have given him as he waits for sleep that night.
Once the mehndi vanishes, he’s sad to see it go, but is eager for another one should you ever do it again. So every Eid or any type of holiday you may celebrate, he will pop in to check on you and if he sees you doing mehndi, he’ll sit down and ask if you can do some on him too. You didn’t hear this from me but he discovered Pinterest mehndi/henna designs and has a...hundred saved.
He really likes the mehndi and has a reverence for it now, and makes a point to sit with you and give even one greeting any time there is a cultural or religious holiday to celebrate it in some way with you.
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick
When he sees it he will automatically pull up a seat and sit next to you, eyes wide, staring at it. You’d think he was a scientist looking at a newly discovered microbe.
The first thing out of his mouth is: ‘Bloody hell that’s gorgeous’. Is very intrigued. Eyeballing your design.
Could sit and watch for hours. It feels therapeutic to him to just watch mindlessly as a cone leaves an artistic trail on your skin. Is absolutely hypnotized.
Will be so glad if you tell him what you’re doing. Seriously, creativity is something he cannot appreciate enough. Probably the most viscerally appreciative of this art out of everyone.
Will literally sit next to you watching for hours or talking non-stop with how happy he is to see this going on. There is no in between, don’t ask. Gaz deserves to speak.
Please, please for the love of humanity tell him the history of it. Nerd wants to know. It. All. He will soak up the information like a sponge and will relentlessly look up designs and look at the history of it. He can’t believe this form of tattooing is that old! He can’t wait to gush about it with you, seriously.
He would try to guess what your design is. He would watch the lines and try to predict what you’re going to draw next. It becomes a game between you both, and to humor him, sometimes, you would draw what he guessed. Hey, he gives good ideas.
He will actually look up designs and marvel at them and give you ideas if you want. He’s very considerate of the art and wants to see how you do it. If you do the signs he suggests, he’d be over the moon!
If you do some on him, he’d be out of orbit. He’s so pumped when you do something with mehndi on his skin, and he’ll show off the colours and designs to anyone he sees. Will gush for days and will whine when the design starts to fade.
He really likes fictional characters so he will ask for symbols, logos, etc, but he will also try to incorporate the traditional mehndi designs as to him the traditions need to be respect regardless of his out-of-pocket requests for some mehndi designs. He will ask for memes I am so sorry.
If you let him do any mehndi designs on you...WHOOO BOI, his soul is A S C E N D E D. Out of this galaxy. He’s so thankful, he honestly is so honoured he is ready to give his life for you.
He will ask what you’d like from him, and will do his absolute best, Soldier’s honour, he will use his steadiest hand. He’s very good with his hand-to-eye coordination, and he is very good at drawing from a reference and replicating it he’s not the best without one tbh
Will take his time and it will take a while. Perhaps a few hours, depending on how complicated or exact you want the design. He’ll try to challenge himself and also honour your hands with an intricate design so unless you have time, are able to go without food for a bit (or plan ahead and have it with you) and are okay with almost complete silence as Gaz works, choose something simpler. Please, he really wants to do good by you. When he’s done you will be floored I promise.
Once the design fades he will ask when is the next time you do mehndi, and will respect your decision if you choose to do it only on holidays, but if you just whip out the tube and offer to do one, he’ll beam like the sun for the rest of the day. Nothing will happen to that smile no matter what.
Has a high respect for the creative craft and can’t wait to see you the next time you do it, and is so heavily invested you’ll think he invented it. A wonderful buddy for the arts and cherishes the time and knowledge you gave him.
Col. Alejandro Vargas
He literally stops to look the first time he sees it. ‘What are you doing, cariño?’
He lives in Las Almas, and there is Middle-Eastern history in Latin America including Mexico, so it is probable that he has seen women have these designs on them before, or knows of their existence and use. But the intricate designs are very much a subject of interest, and to see you do it makes him ponder if there is a special reason you’d do it.
When you tell him why, he’s surprised as to why he didn’t connect the dots but he’ll sit down and watch, with your permission. He’ll talk to you as you do it, wanting to spend time with a friend and a religious holiday is the perfect excuse, no?
He’s not truly interested in history unless its the history of those who he knows or wants to know about, both friends and foes alike, but if you tell him he’ll gladly listen! He wants to get to know each and every one of his friends better and what better way than to listen to them.
He will be a bit shook when you tell him that it’s thousands of years old. Like on the one hand it makes sense but on the other, they knew how to do this thousands of years ago? When you tell him the history he will interrupt a few times and converse with you, you’ll have to actually tell him if you need a moment to talk, but he is always respectful and engaged when you talk to him, a proper gentleman.
While some from 141 may try to guess what you’ll do next, Alejandro will actually ask you what you’re drawing next, wondering if there is a process to the way you’re thinking of doing your designs. He will try to guess like Gaz, but mostly he will try to understand your own artistic visions and where they stem from. Psychology of Mehndi taught by Col. Alejandro Vargas, anyone?
If you ask him to bring you some food or water he is speedwalking and grabbing you as much nourishment as possible. If you’re doing something he can see is intricate he will make a whole meal platter because ‘your creative brain needs energy, no? and will cook you something quick and easy to eat. He will feed you though, not letting you touch or halt the process, because he’s that considerate. Just be careful when he tries to give you water, ask for a straw or you might clink your teeth against the glass when he tries to get you hydrated, bless him.
He’ll ask questions about the designs and your own experience with it, expressing a vested interest in your connection to the art as he’s more used to one type of culture, so if you come from a different culture then he’ll want to know about your own cultural experiences and compare. He will also tell you stories of the few times he’s seen mehndi on people. He will also try to pronounce it as closely as possible to the way you do, he has a lot of respect for different languages and cultures.
If you offer to let him do a design he is both very honoured and also extremely nervous, simply because he had never done it before and while he is very good at using weapons, art was not his best subject in school and he will need guidance. Please be patient with him, and have some tissues ready to use, he will need the whole box by the end. He is determined to do your trust good.
Will make designs based upon his own iterations of what would be acceptable from what he’s seen of your designs and those of the past. He knows that it is often floral patterning, so he will try to make something unique. It might not be as intricate but one can easily see it is heartfelt.
If you let him sneak his name anywhere or sign his design? You’re forever one of his favourite people like that’s such a high honour to him, you’re family now. He is protecting you so hard for allowing him a chance to do something creative, nice and sweet. And if you show it off? The man’s chest is puffed up, and he never stops smiling. The rest of Los Vaqueros actually worry that something has happened to one of his enemies.
Now, Alejandro knows it is originally an art meant for mostly women, so if you offer to do some for him, he will assess the situation and likely say he’s not sure or a soft no. If you insist upon it though, he will allow you one design, something preferably in a small place as he is at work often and so he will likely want to have it be small and personal and somewhat hidden, like the inside of his elbow or between his fingers, a small one inside his wrist, that kind of thing. If you still make it intricate, dear God he is the happiest alive. Will subtly show it off like Price would, too, as he is so proud to wear something by you. If anyone in Los Vaqueros makes fun of him for it though they’ve fucked up. No one insults a gift from you!
He prefers designs that are less floral but definitely has a softer aesthetic, and if you do something that depicts Mexican culture, he’s over the moon and will actually show it off all the time. He’d be more towards animal-like designs.
If you did one on him and it fades, he is sad to see it go but does not demand to make it happen again. He knows the religious importance and just subtly asks you when the next holiday is, and if you’re doing mehndi for it. But if you notice and just offer to touch it up he will not stop you. The soft look in his eye and his relaxed posture show how thankful he is to be treated to this.
Other members of Los Vaqueros may actually come to you too after seeing what you did for their leader, as Alejandro repays your artistry by telling others who are interested. On some days when there is no missions and it is a more civilian time, the partners and children of the Vaqueros may come to you too for mehndi/henna. You could make a business out of it, just saying.
Rodolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra
Purest angel is confused but so very into it. You’re putting paste onto your arm and its coming out in pretty designs? Wow! He needs to know more asap.
He’s going to sit and stare at it, tilting his head and following the directions of your hand. He looks like a curious puppy as he quietly watches you.
He is quiet curious, and will ask very quietly about what it is you are doing. If you tell him its for a religious celebration, he’ll listen intently. He will sit and listen to you without speaking or interrupting, saving any questions for last. Like Alejandro, he has some experience with differing cultures and wants to give you as much respect as he can, cause you do the same for him.
You mean this is thousands of years old?! Is incredulous but in a good way. Genuinely cannot believe it but it makes him believe in humanity more because he thinks of it as representing innate human goodness in creation than destruction. Is genuinely impressed and will try to do more research on his own time.
When he hears its a religious celebration his heart kind of breaks and he looks like a wounded puppy cause he feels awful knowing that he’s done nothing, even if he’s not consciously at fault he does feel really bad. He’ll then spent the entire time you are doing your mehndi, and the rest of the day, doing everything your mind can come up with but first he’ll enjoy mehndi with you because that is what you’re doing right now.
Tell him about your culture. PLEASE. He wants to hear more about the outside world and about the people he works with and would love love love to vicariously travel through you when you tell him about every experience you have had with mehndi. He needs to know so leave no detail out.
Like Alejandro, he will not try to guess but will observe and ask what you’re making, wanting to hear the process and familiarize himself with the traditions of the art, or just your own style and creativity if you’re not going traditional. He just likes to see what others do, he likes observing people he almost got knocked out for it once by an angry misunderstanding Alejandro years ago but it never got too big and they’ve been friends since. It’s very different from traditional Mexican arts so he will be very interested to learn of it, a very visual learner. Stares at your arm the way a scientist stares into the microscope at a tardigrade of interest. Please forgive him he’s just very curious-
If you ask him to get you food or water he absolutely will because he was raised to be the most gentlemanly of gentlemen in Las Almas. He will give you water in a straw to prevent spilling and have some food that he can just scoop and make it easy for you to bite into at your own time, giving you pace to eat when you’re ready. He is an okay enough cook for simple recipes so expect something with eggs or veggies, something with little cleanup or change of breaking. He will hold the food out and let you eat when you’d like, or if its on a stick just let you munch off the skewer to prevent you from losing time.
If you offer to do a design with him as an inspiration or part of it anywhere, he is going to whisper a thousand good wishes of health, luck, prosperity, fertility, wealth, happiness, wellness, safety, fortune, every blessing under the sun. You want to put something on your skin in remembrance of him? He is deceased. He will die and kill for you and name an operation after you, you’re the best-
He would love anything you do, even if its just his initials, and he will always always smile when he sees you in public. He would love his initials or name hidden like a signature on the fanciest cast even though there is no injury. Is so flattered. The more elaborate you do it, the closer he comes to grateful tears.
If you offer to do some on him, his sleeves are getting rolled up faster than Snoop Dogg can roll a joint. He will excitedly hold out his hands and actually tells you to go ham. If you do take a minute or so to ask what he wants he’ll give an honest answer but it might be incoherent just cause he’s so excited. Will accept anything. He particularly likes the lattice-work, as it looks like intricate lace, and a few flowers are cool too! But you get infinite respect points if you use historical references of Mexican culture and literature or environment in the design. The man will be floored so hard he’ll come out the other side of the globe.
Will try to show off the mehndi when he has a chance and he gives zero fucks if anyone says anything because both he and Alejandro will beat their ass. Is not going to be loud about it but the smile on his face and the consistent flexing in the sun trying to show it off is enough for people to get the obvious hint to look at it.
If you let him to one one you, he’ll actually try to pull back, as he feels it might be disrespectful to take hold of the actual item rather than just having someone from that culture doing it onto him. It will take some time for him to give in, like a while. He actually doesn’t want to do it. If you just let him do something small though, he’ll be much easier to negotiate with. Also, he’s insecure about his hand-eye coordination, so he’ll just make small cute things and its really up to you to connect them or leave them be. He will most likely do floral patterns on you, flowers or vines or something simple and easy to do that can be easily integrated into your own style and design.
When the design fades, it makes him slightly sad but its completely up to you if you want to do it again. He’ll never say no to another application, as he sees it as a chance to get creative, but it will be totally up to you.
Like Alejandro, will ask when the next holiday is because he is invested in the lives of his friends, and he will forever do whatever he can to make sure that you have a chance to celebrate it with your beloved tradition. He will literally just buy you a new tube of mehndi whenever you ask, will go shopping with you for it because he believes you know best. Purest boy, protect him.
Sources:
Barraza Carlos, Arabs in Mexico. Assimilation and Cultural Heritage (link)
Bonus: Phillip ‘Shadow-1′ Graves
Fucker thinks its weird and teases you about it
But if others around the base do it he’s like ‘oh wow that shit rocks’
Gets jealous and wants one
Note: Absolutely not 💖🖕🏽
#cod#mwii#mw2#cod 2022#reader insert#readerinsert#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#alejandro vargas#alejandro x reader#rodolfo rudy parra#rodolfo x reader#rudy x reader#johnny soap mactavish#soap x reader#captain john price#price x reader#phillip graves#phil graves is a no#callofduty#lord forgive me#poc reader#woc reader#mehndi#henna#141 x reader#los vaqueros#not me thirsting over the military
156 notes
·
View notes
Text
SIR SIMON RILEY EP.2 (Ghost x OC)
Summary of ep 2: shym goes secretly to a club and needs saving (also on wattpad)
I turned on the showerhead and started with my shower routine. I felt this kind of uneasiness in my whole body, was ghost right? no, it couldn't be.
I am a woman, an independent one, if I wanted to go out even while being shot in my arm I was going to go out, nothing could stop me.
I couldn't understand his worry. Why would he be so worried he's only my lieutenant. I cannot make this more as it is, he's my boss and it shouldn't grow something more than that.
After 10 minutes I was done, showering and putting on one of my favourite dresses. It was a beautiful black dress, yet I felt great and sexy in it. I knew I would get looks and that's what I was going for tonight, I will just go with the flow. Nothing else, as I left my barrack, I saw all my teammates looking at me.
Ghost stood in the back, his back leaning against the wall and his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. He was wearing a plain white shirt, jeans and a leather jacket.
The entire team was stunned by her entrance, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in her form. Their shock was palpable, and a small murmur of whispers and gasps filled the room.
Soap was the first to move, slowly shaking his head and letting out a low whistle. "Bloody hell, she looks gorgeous."
As I walked towards the rest of my team, I thought all the eyes were on me it felt amazing in the back I saw ghost, he looked very reserved, and then I saw Soap and Gaz cheering me on.
It seems everyone was happy with my suggestion for a night out it was needed in the team we were all very tense with the task we were asked to do and I had a feeling; that tonight I would get an answer if the artefacts were retrieved or not, maybe some more information about the other opponents and who they are.
Ghost's eyes widened as the rest of the team began to shower her with compliments, their voices carrying loudly across the room...but he wasn't listening. He was too busy watching her, watching the way she moved, the way her body looked in that dress. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to..but luckily his mask hid his expression.
After a moment, Soap approached him and clapped him on the shoulder, breaking the trance
"Damn, can you believe that?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear. "She looks like a bloody damn angel!"
After admiring her for a moment Soap seemed to return to his senses and he put an arm around her shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face. "Looking beautiful, love," he said with a smirk, looking over at the team with a proud expression.
I smiled at soaps compliment "thank you Johnny, I appreciate that."
"Now then... shall we get going?" Ghost's voice cut through the chatter. He pushed himself off the wall, his eyes scanning over the group as he began heading towards the door. "Let's get a move on." he said firmly, gesturing for them to follow.
I knew their routine they would find a boring bar with nothing else than a pool table and some music. But I wanted to go to this club just a few blocks away, club soleil.
Once I saw that everyone was going in the bar I ran out of sight and when I knew no one could see me I walked towards club soleil.
I found a few girls right outside the club vaping and smoking, it seems they saw me looking and one of them walked towards me.
"What is such a pretty girl doing all alone here! Come join us, the more joy we have tonight!"
I smiled and thanked her for inviting me to their group. Another girl looked shocked at me
"I don't know who you are but your body is amazing!" She exclaimed
I almost started blushing and thanked her for the compliment "thank you, do you mind if I can have a sigaret?"
She smiled back "not a problem at all! What is ur name?"
I was thinking about a name fast, as they couldn't know who I was before questions arises here I did not know if my opponents where here "seraphina"
After that we made our way into the club and I started dancing
They had just stepped into the bar when Ghost suddenly stopped, his head tilting slightly as he scanned the room. Something felt off to him. He could sense that something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He looked around, his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what was missing.
Soap let out a low groan, clearly not impressed with the location. "Great." he muttered sarcastically. "The same old boring bar with an even more boring crowd."
Then finally it hit him, his eyes widening in realization. "Where is she?" he muttered under his breath, turning to the rest of the team.
The atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of music and laughter echoing throughout the room. The dance music was loud and thumping, the bass booming through the floor and up through their bodies. She lost herself to the music, her body moving in time with the rhythm, her hips swaying as she let the energy of the crowd wash over her.
And then a man started dancing on her, no name no face just enjoyment
" what is a pretty lady like you doing here?"
My hips swayed even more on his body and as I turned around I told in his ear "I am with a group of girls, I just wanted to dance for a little"
The soldier's hands grasped her hips tightly, his grip like iron as he pulled her closer to him, his breath hot against her neck as he pulled her closer. His mouth found her skin, his teeth nipping and biting as he whispered in her ear. "You look beautiful tonight...I couldn't help but notice you the moment you walked in."
And then she heard his voice, it sounded familiar. And then it hit her, it's the man who was a part of her teams enemy. I tried to keep my cool and started talking "and what are you doing here? Any special occasions being in town?"
The soldier's eyes flashed with recognition at her question, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He spun her around, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her even closer. "No special occasion." he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Just enjoying the company of a gorgeous woman." He leaned closer to her, his mouth close to her ear. "And I must say, you are quite the sight for sore eyes."
"I see.. are you alone?" I looked into his eyes they looked dangerous, and I knew what was going to happen.
The soldier chuckled, a deep, sensuous sound that sent shivers down her spine. "I could ask you the same thing." he said, his voice low and husky. His hand slid up her back, his fingertips tracing small circles along her skin. "But I won't." he added, his thumb brushing against her chin. "Instead, I was hoping you'd allow me to buy you drink?" he offered, his eyes gleaming with desire
"I would love to.." at this moment I felt stupid for leaving my teammates. Will they even know where to find me? I need to get back to Simon and the rest of the team, I didn't know that this soldier was capable of.
I looked on my phone and saw a missed call from my lieutenant. I just sent a sun to let him decipher the message
The soldier's eyes flickered over her phone for a moment, his expression turning unreadable. "Expecting someone?" he inquired casually, his arm still wrapped around her waist, his touch possessive
"You know nameless guy, I think I should make my way back to my friends.. thank you for the drink though" I walked off into the crowd and luckily saw a girl I was with earlier until I felt a hand on my waist.
The soldier's grip tightened on her waist, and she found herself being effortlessly spun around to face him again. His expression was unreadable, but there was a cold edge to his voice as he spoke. "Leaving already? The night is still young, and I was just getting acquainted with you," he declared, a small, almost predatory smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Until I thought I saw the familiar cold and stern look of ghost behind him. I already drank a bit from the cocktail the mystery guy bought for me and already and instantly felt sleepy and ill. "You fucker put something in my drink.. I know who you are.."
The soldier's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. Without another word, he let go of her waist and stepped back. His hand reached for something hidden beneath his jacket, pulling out a sleek black handgun, the barrel gleaming in the dim light of the club. "You're smarter than you look." he drawled, the cold smile never leaving his face.
Until I heard my teammates from the back scream "Don't you dare shoot her!" All I heard was commotion while I felt everything spinning around me
The soldier's eyes flicked upwards at the noise coming from behind him, and he slowly turned his head to see the rest of the team closing in on him. "Looks like I got company." he drawled, his thumb cocking the pistol's chamber. "I guess this is where I leave the party." His eyes shifted back to her, his smile sharp as a razor blade. "I was hoping to get to know you better, but that will have to wait."
I felt anger within me, but I felt too heavy to do anything. What was the purpose of that man drugging me? With all my strength I grabbed is shoulder and asked "why did you drug me? Do you know who you are messing with?" He looked at me like he didn't care and put his pistol on my neck. The whole club was running away from the scene all scared of what would happen.
I looked scared and defeated, I didn't bring a knife or a gun to protect me as I thought It wouldn't be dangerous tonight
The soldier smirked and his grip on her tightened, the tip of the pistol digging painfully into her skin. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?" he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee. "But you're in over your head. The Shadows are not someone you want as an enemy, missy."
I closed my eyes like I would let fate do its thing until he fell to the ground and saw soap and ghost infront of me, all the other teammates fighting the other people who where here.
Ghost was a whirlwind of motion, his fists moving fast and furious as he struck out at the soldiers around him. He moved with deadly grace, incapacitating his opponents with a precision that was awe-inspiring to watch. Soap fought alongside him, his own fists a blur of fists and kicks. The chaos was almost unreal, bodies flying through the air and crashing to the ground with brutal force.
Until gaz picked me up "shym what happened to you?" I was developing a blue mark from the gun against my neck and I felt too weak to do anything. "Captivate them all.." I whispered to gaz, "leave me on the couch and make sure the shadow group will be taken into custody."
Gaz nodded, his expression serious. He carefully helped her over to the couch in the lounge area, where she could sit and regain her composure. "You stay here." he instructed her firmly. He turned and made his way back into the fray, helping his team capture the rest of the Shadows soldiers.
I sat on the couch what felt like hours until I heard the sound of a gun loading behind me. I didn't dare to look.
The sound of a gun being cocked sent a chill down my spine. I slowly turned around to see Ghost standing behind me, his weapon trained on me. I could see the anger and frustration in his eyes as he spoke. "What the hell do you think you were doing? I told you not to go out tonight, didn't I? Why can't you just listen for once?"
My eyes started tearing up, I haven't felt this vulnerable since the night that made me the woman I am today. And then I broke down in tears "just shoot me already." I said trying to catch air.
Ghost's expression softened slightly, and he lowered his weapon, taking a step closer to me. He reached out and gently touched my chin, tilting my head up so I had to look at him. "I'm not going to shoot you." he said, his voice softer than before. "I just... I don't want to see you get hurt."
I am not hurt Simon. I wanted to just go out! I started screaming in his face tears still running down my eyes I couldn't stop crying "can't you see I want to enjoy life? You know how I hate choosing to become a soldier for fucking god sake."
Ghost's eyes widened in surprise, clearly taken aback by my sudden outburst. He watched as my tears rolled down my cheeks, my body shaking with sobs. Without a word, he sat down beside me on the couch and gently wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. "I'm sorry." he muttered. "I just... I worry about you."
I calmed down little by little "why worry? Do you fancy me Simon Riley?"
He let out a small laugh, a soft chuckle that rumbled in his chest. He reached up to wipe away a tear that had escaped down my cheek. "I've fancied yo-"
somehow couldn't hear what he said and saw all these dark dots form in my eyes, i felt like i was about to pass out. That man did something strong in my drink. And everything went black.
Ghost felt her body go limp in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. His eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly shook her gently, trying to rouse her. "Hey, hey, wake up." he called out urgently. But it was no use, she was unconscious.
#simon riley x reader#ghost cod#cod mw2#modern warfare#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon riley#call of duty
26 notes
·
View notes