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captialrogers · 7 months ago

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Guillotine (part 1)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x NonBinaryAfab!Reader

MDNI

An independent contractor for the OSCE, code name Vixen is deep undercover in an European human trafficking ring. When things hit the fan and their cover blown, Task Force 141 is sent to extract them and any surviving victims. With the traffickers on their tails the group is forced to split up and lay low. The groups aren’t even however, and Vixen isn’t given a choice. They are stuck in a safe house with the one member who could keep them alive, Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley.

CW: canon typical violence, mentions of blood and gore, human trafficking, sex trafficking, abuse, mentions of violence against women and children.

Reader discretion is advised.

————

It was bad. It was unbelievably bad. They had been compromised and now the trafficked girls were paying for it. Vixen watched as body after body fell to the ground, the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood lingering in the air. They struggled to free themselves from the too tight zip ties that bound their hands to the leg of a bolted table. This was not how it was supposed to happen. They were 3 years deep into the ring and everything they had accomplished was now worthless. If it hadn’t been for a dealer recognising them from a previous bust, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Ah, you know I like it when you struggle, Ma chère.” Vixen dared to look up at the voice. Before them stood the second in command of the operation, his slicked back hair making him look every part of the villain.

“Fuck you” They spat, pulling at the zip ties once more. The skin of their wrists rubbed raw and bruised.

The man sucked his teeth before walking closer to them. Once he was an arm length away, he stopped, crouched, and grabbed their face. “Is the little fox sad they got caught in the hen house? Well, that’s too bad because I’m very glad. We may have lost a few hens, but we caught the cunning fox.” Squeezing their face harder, the man pulled them closer. “There are always more in the den so this way,” the French man gestured around them to the corpses that littered the floor, “we can lure them out.”

They glared at the man and spat in his face. They knew they shouldn’t have done it. They knew that it went against training. But how could they not retaliate when dozens of innocents lay dead before them. It was their fault that it had happened. They had been compromised and the girls paid the ultimate price.

“You little!” He jerked back slightly and dropped their face before taking hold of their hair and yanking their head backwards. "Don't start what you can't finish ma chère," He pulled their head back harder, "because you will not like how I finish it." The French man released their hair and stood abruptly. "Bring the child."

At these words Vixen stiffened. One of the women had a child during her years of forced prostitution. One of the women that now lay cold on the floor of the room. Her blood was on their hands. Their heart beat hard in their chest, the sound of it in their ears muffling the wails of the boy in front of them. “You’re a fucking monster.” They struggled against the ties again, angry bruises blooming around their wrist. “Im going to kill you when I get outta here.”

“When ma chère? No no its if you get out of here.” Taking hold of the child, the French man held his glock to the boy’s head. “Now, tell me how many more are part of your operation?”

The wails of the boy echoed in their ears. “Go fuck yourself, Fabian.” the cocking of a gun sounded, and they flinched.

“I will not ask again, little fox.”

Vixen couldn’t speak. They couldn’t go against training. But could they let another innocent die? They opened their mouth to tell the man they were the only one, but shots rang out. They ducked their head and cowered as much as they could under the table. The only sign that it wasn’t Fabian’s men firing was the small body tucked against theirs.

Something hit the floor hard and with one eye open they were blinded. The explosion was deafening, and the smoke burned their lungs. “Cover your mouth and nose!” They yelled to the small boy, trying to cover his body with theirs.

As suddenly as it started the shots stopped. Once again, they chanced a look around the room and saw several pairs of boots rushing towards them. The ringing in their ears began to lessen as they saw what had hit the floor. Fabian's lifeless body was sprawled on the ground, blood pooling around his head and chest.

"What!" Vixen yelled at the crouching man in front of them, feeling the young boy cling to them harder. They watched as the man's lips moved barely understanding what he was saying. "We need help. We need to get the boy to safety!" Vixen's eyes darted around the man's face and chest. When they noticed the Union Jack plastered to his vest, Vixen sighed. "Please!"

The man said something, but they shook their head, “Forget about me. The boy…” they looked down at where the boy had been moments ago only to realise that he was gone. Vixen searched frantically around the bloodied space only noticing the boy in the arms of another soldier when they saw a mess of dark hair over the man’s shoulder.

“…turn to…hands out…” The man before them pulled a large combat knife from a holder on his shoulder and angled the blade tip between their wrists and the zip ties. With a flick of his hand, their confines were removed and Vixen all but fell forward, their legs and arms numb from their cramped position. “…get you… here.”

They could barely hear what the soldier was saying, only making out bits and pieces, and nodded as the man helped them up, catching them when they stumbled over bodies on tingling legs. once they reached the exit the thundering of gunfire echoed through the compound again. Bullets ricocheted off the walls leaving pock marks where they landed. Vixen’s head was covered and pushed down by the man supporting them and the only thing they could do was clutch onto his Kevlar vest tighter. Smoke surrounded the pair as they made their way through and out of the building, the once blinding light of the French countryside was replaced with the pitch darkness of night. Had it really been that long? Had Fabian really interrogated them for hours? Tortured them for hours?

They licked their lower lip, tasting the distinct metallic that went with blood. When had they gotten a split lip? And who had sent the soldiers to retrieve them? Vixen looked over at the man beside them finally paying attention to his appearance. His head was covered with a boonie hat and his vest held the insignia SAS in the centre.

“Where are we going?” They yelled, ringing ears making it difficult to hear how loud they were speaking.

“…soon enough… meeting point…” the SAS member motioned to a group of tactical vehicles waiting in the distance, their lights and engines off. Again, the thundering of enemy fire sounded from behind them, following the retreating group.

They quickly looked behind them and watched as the traffickers giving chase fell. Vixen turned back around just as quickly noticing a tall figure step out from behind one of the vehicles. Their breath caught in their throat. The figure morphed into the shape of a man, and they couldn’t help but stare. Looking through them was no man, but rather the image of death.

As vixen was pulled closer to the figure by their rescuer, death raised his gun and fired. He opened the back of the vehicle, weapon still raised.

“Get… no…time.” The man beside them said all but tossing them into the open doors before slamming them closed. “Ghost…” Was all they heard as the space around them grew dark and the truck rumbled to life. Feeling around the back of the truck, Vixen’s hand hit something solid and through further investigation they discovered a built-in bench. Suddenly the truck rocked and they were tossed from one side to the other. Whoever was driving clearly didn’t care that they were in the back. But neither would they if the continuous ping of bullets hitting the truck was any indication of the situation.

Again, the truck jostled them from side to side and they really hoped that the driver remember that they were there.

— — —

When the vehicle finally stopped, Vixen had lost track of time. The darkness of the back of the truck did little to help their sense of time. For all they knew it was days later. The door opened and light blinded them. They quickly raised their hand and turned their head. “Where are we?” They asked to the air and received nothing in response. “Can you at least stop shining that damned light in my face.” Vixen lowered their hand when the flashlight finally lowered and eventually turned off. Chancing a look at the other person, they noticed that it was death. Or rather a man with a death mask. The white of the skull was stark against the pitch black of night and his clothes. If they hadn’t known that the man was there, they would have thought that the skull was a floating omen of what was to come.

Having the time to fully feel their injuries Vixen hissed as they inched their way closer to the open door and slid out of the truck. Standing was something that they wished that they didn’t have to do. Their ribs ached and their legs felt as if they belonged to someone else. How had the adrenaline crash been so subtle? There was no way that they hadn’t passed out in the back of the tactical truck. Had they? Vixen couldn’t remember.

They took a step and nearly collapsed, grasping for the man beside them. He stood solid as a rock. So much so that it took Vixen by surprise when he turned his head to the left looking over their head at a dark structure in the distance. They hadn’t noticed this. They hadn’t noticed that the man pulled their hand from his arm until he was walking towards the structure.

Taking a steadying breath Vixen followed the masked stranger and held their sides trying to keep their ribs from aching as they walked. It was safe to say that they wouldn’t be getting anything from the man. Not verbally at least. Instead, he communicated in his body language. The small pauses to let them catch up or the slight look over his shoulder to make sure they were still standing.

The least the masked man could do was tell them where they were going. The structure ahead of them turned out to be a quaint house in the middle of nowhere. Safe house. They thought as they finally made it to the steps of the building. Slowly they made their way up onto the landing and behind the man. A series of beeps alerted them to the fact that the house was locked with a keypad rather than a traditional lock and key. Once the door was open, the masked man stepped aside and placed a hand onto the gun strapped to his chest. Another detail that they hadn’t noticed.

“In you get.” He spoke for the first time since leaving the trafficker’s compound. His voice was low and gruff, reverberating through the quiet night. Without a second thought, Vixen entered the house and all but collapsed to the floor. The bravado that had gotten them through the worst of the night fell and they were greeted with the dark of unconsciousness.

— —

It shouldn’t have surprised him that the UC in his care was as tough as they were, but it did. Ghost’s arm shot out to grasp the back of their shirt as soon as they started to wobble. With a grunt the Lieutenant dropped the hand on his gun and pulled them towards him and slung them over his shoulder before he pushed the door to the safe house closed.

The briefing before the mission had been interesting and something unusual for T141’s expertise. Exfill wasn’t something that was new to them but the target was. It wasn’t every day that the task force was sent to retrieve a civilian from a mission gone south. He had to give it to them, they put up a hell of a fight — the state of their body gave the impression that it wasn’t a fair one. Ghost shifted the unconscious body further up his shoulder as he trudged through the safe house. It was a one level with a cold storage turned bunker. Or so the blueprint said. The layout of the building was open concept, for the most part as it had a hallway that led to two separate rooms. One he assumed to be the bathroom and the other…

Ghost shoved the door open with his free hand. His gaze fell upon a singular bed. It was a small thing, definitely military issued, and had the bare minimum for bedding. He grunted as he entered the darkened room and made his way to the bed. Sliding the body down from his shoulder, Ghost placed the unconscious UC on to the bed. Adjusting the pillow under their head, he once again gripped the gun slung to his chest and looked to the ceiling of the safe house in a silent curse.

This was the last place he wanted to be. He didn’t want to play babysitter to anyone let alone a civilian UC regardless of their combat and intellectual prowess. The lieutenant turned away from the sleeping form and exited the room, closing the door slightly so that it wouldn’t be a hassle for either party to haul ass and go if need be. Before taking a moment of respite, Ghost walked to the front door and checked the automated lock. Satisfied with it, the man walked back into the open concept living room where he sat on the worn couch and removed the rifle from his chest, placing it across his lap for easy access.

Ghost hoped that Price knew what he was doing when he tasked him with watching the UC. This wasn’t the best use of his skill set. But, he supposed, that he was the best choice for this part of the mission given that specialized skill set. It was a contradiction to say the least and it was one that he didn’t want. They were cut off from the rest of the task force until he received notice. How or when that notice would come was a mystery the man didn’t much care for. But until that day came, the lieutenant would hold his position and ensure the target was looked after, even if that meant babysitting.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #non binary reader

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xxfaggatronxx · 1 year ago

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A bit of angst warning ‼️

I want Ghoap content but in an angsty, healing way after Johnny got shot, but…

Realistically.

I want the journey of Johnny waking up only to find his speech stuttered and hearing practically gone, Simon desperate to communicate, Johnny taking it in stride, if he can’t use his mouth, he’ll use his hands.

Learning BSL like he was born for it, and if he gets a little too animated, he reverts back to military hand signals. Simple words change until he can mutter or speak a little more, but he can’t fully recover. It hurts Simon the most that he can’t call into their house and have Johnny come tumbling out of their room like an overeager puppy to greet them.

Months of therapy and yet Soap can only mutter stuttered, soft words. It takes three years before Soap grunts one morning “Bonn-ie yoo a-wa—ke?”

Simon shoots up and Johnny looks surprised too, but he just grins and signs sadly ‘*Dunno if I can do that again soon, love,*’ Simon nods, and its only a few days later when he finds out Johnny was practicing his name, a stuttered “Si-mo—n,” as Johnny smiles and Simon tears up. ‘*I told you I would practice,*’ he signs.

I want the doctor to ask him to wriggle the toes in his left leg, and have the description of his face falling and Simon’s eyes widen some more: more problems to deal with, to live with, to overcome. Johnny refusing to have his left leg removed, the right one already in a brace from a previous injury. Simon pleads him to at least get a wheelchair, and he does.

Stuttered, scratchy, raspy cackles as he uses his arms to race through the hallways, pushing the wheels to see how fast and far he can go… until Simon races after him, a smiling yet scolding tone as they wheels Johnny back to his hospital room, even athoughs he pouts and his hands fly up in messy signs.

“Runnin’ from me, Johnny?”

‘*Wouldn’t have to if let leave*’ The Scot’s fingers a blur.

A few weeks later crutches become the more permanent option, and Soap limps around with a big grin on his face, acting like a cat as he bats at Gaz’s ankles with the end of a crutch. Teasingly taps Simon’s ass with the end of the pole until the Lieutenant, smiling and teasing, threatens to take them away.

He knocks Price’s papers off the table, getting a scowl, and then a small chuckle from the older man who mutters: ‘Gettin’ too good at using those, considered a weapon in your hands, MacTavish,”

I want Johnny waking up…. Different. Same Johnny, thank god, remembers them, but he forgot things. Some important things. What was he doing in the train tunnel?

‘On a mission’ Johnny scrawls with shaking hands

What was the goal of the mission? Johnny pauses and thinks, but the doctor shushes him, and leaves Johnny and Simon alone. Two weeks later, Johnny signs ‘Who’ and the sign for a question. Gaz is sitting with him, Price too. Simon was out getting lunch.

“Who what, mate?” Gaz asks, confused.

‘Who’ Johnny gives a questioning look, then makes the sign a moment later. Price frowns with Gaz, and Johnny looks frustrated, signing ‘who’ a couple more times, and pointing to his head.

“Oh… who shot you?” Price is quiet when Gaz speaks. Johnny nods, then does the sign. It was painful, reminding Johnny of Makarov. He had also forgotten who Laswell, Graves, and a few other people in his life were. He had even forgot that Price was his boss, had forgotten he had tattoos, forgotten he had been called ‘Soap’ once. He remembered serving, but not much else on the SAS track. He never really got his memory back, but he remembered the little things.

He even remembered Simon liked baby’s breath flowers. Johnny being wheeled past a window and making a loud ‘AH!’ Noise, waving his hand to get Simon’s attention as he clumsily pointed with a smile to the flowers outside. ‘*Your favorite*’ Johnny smiled, making Simon’s heart flutter.

And who cares if it’s five years down the line? When Johnny shows up to the award ceremony to promote Simon to Captain. He rolls in through the front doors, in a kilt and suit top. He stops his chair by the door, and Simon’s heart clenched: using the chair meant Johnny was having a really bad day with his legs.

And then he stands. No crutches, no wheels. Grinning as he limps up to Simon, their mouth open as their boyfriend limps forwards, and pins the new rank to his chest, smoothing his hand over their suit to wipe off the dust, then, wobbling, Johnny sinks to one knee, and speaks.

“Would-ould you ma-ke me the happ-iest m-man in the world-ld, and be my per-menen-t partner…,” Johnny paused and smiled, wobbling in his knee with happiness in his eyes, meeting Simon’s wide, disbelieving ones. “Simon…. Riley,” no stutter.

He really had been practicing.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #non binary simon riley #simon ghost riley #adhd john mactavish #john mactavish #mw2 #after modern warefare 3 #fuck cannon #captain price #kyle garrick

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