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habit-poxly · 2 years ago

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always forever

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!reader

description: you and Simon spend the evening together in a rented cabin, taking a hard earned vacation while he’s on leave.

domestic fluff, unedited

word count: 1.6k

A bright display of pinks and oranges broke through the thin kitchen curtains, the setting sun nearly halfway gone behind the reaching tips of the evergreens in the distance. Fireflies danced in the wild grass outside, the smell of campfire wafted in the air, the mountains in the distance kissed the darkening sky, and the old cabin creaked in the wind.

The drive out to the mountains had been tedious: unmarked roads, unhelpful locals, and no working GPS certainly hadn’t created a vacation environment. Nevertheless, you two had arrived- albeit 2 hours behind schedule- and it had been decided to be worth it immediately. A swimming lake sat only a 5-minute walk from the lot the small cabin was sat on, although you don’t see you and Simon swimming at the public dock area; walking together until you find a tucked away beach would be much more preferable to him anyways.

“ ‘right lovie, what do you need me doing?” Simon slips his hand around the curve of your waist, fingers gently rubbing back and forth, waiting to be helpful. You had been preparing dinner for the past half an hour, now peeling the potatoes you had just washed. Simon had already unloaded the car and brought the bags to the locations they were supposed to be, he had lit the firepit outside and changed the sheets on the bed- frankly you were running out of things to get him to do.

“Wanna roll up the meatballs, baby?” You hum, leaning up and pecking Simon on the jaw as he leans over you to watch want you’re doing. His other hand moves to rest on the other side of your waist; he squeezes and nods, his hands staying firmly on your hips. Peering at his exposed lips you see a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, you knew how much he adored small moments like this- if he could he would hang them up as pictures in your home, each one held so close to his heart.

After washing his hands he begins rolling the spiced ground beef in his palms, enjoying the fading sunset shoulder-to-shoulder with you. So many times on deployment you had been why he fought so hard to come home- as cheesy as it was, it was you and him forever. Two people forever entangled until the end. That's how he saw it at least.

“Do you want to go on a hike or to the lake tomorrow? The weather is supposed to be perfect” Your gentle voice had always sent shivers down his spine- reducing him to a puddle in your palm at a whim.

Simon let out a hum, attention still focused on not making the meatballs horribly misshapen.

“You wanted to use that picnic set you bought, yeah? Let’s take a walk down to the lake tonight and find a spot for the morning.” He glanced up at you, the smile gracing your face making you glow in the sunlight- the way it fluttered off your eyelashes making his heart skip a beat at the sight of you.

“Sounds romantic, had a whole little date planned in your head, hm?” You teased, pink flushing your face. He chuckles, bending down to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Got tons of ‘em, love” He adored the person he became in your presence: calm, caring, romantic, free of heavy burden for the time. You adored him for it, too. The way his hands- calloused and rough from a lifetime of hard work- would run down your body like you were the most valuable thing in the world, the way he would breathe life into you and build you high.

“How are none of them the same fucking size?!” Simon places the last meatball down, none of them lumpy yet most of them are either a tad bit too large or a tad bit too small.

“I’m hopeless at cooking.” He huffs, turning on the sink to wash his hands again. Choking back a giggle, you poke your finger lightly into his side. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ve done a wonderful job, look!” You point at the much smaller group, “I prefer Swedish meatballs anyways”

A wide grin plants itself on his face as he shakes his head at you. The rest of dinner hadn’t taken much longer to make. It was very good, as Simon always finds your cooking. Tonight it had been homemade meatballs, mashed potatoes, and gravy- he suspected you had planned every meal this week around his favourites. He adored the way you tended to him like that: filling his glass, sneaking more food into his plate, encouraging him to go for seconds, storing away leftovers so they’re easy for him to pop in the microwave later- it all. As a child, he had grown a fear of appearing like he was overeating, something that would have warranted punishment in his earlier years, yet the way you would take care of him made all that melt away.

After cleaning up you two moved to sit by the firepit outside wrapped in a thick quilt. You had your own camping chair, intact it sat right beside Simon’s- something which he set up. But the second you got close enough he had slithered his arm around your waist and pulled you into the warmth of his lap. This was one of, by far, his favourite things to do with you. He had a cigar he had been gifted by Price in his hand, taking large puffs in between pauses in your stories or his jokes. His hand ran soothingly up and down your thigh under the blanket, his lips kissing up your neck and whispering breathy sighs into your ear.

“ it’s a beautiful property, we should rent this cabin again next summer” You muse eyes dancing over the darkened tree line, Simon hums into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

“Inside could use an update.” He adds, “Not sure if we’ll be having sex on the bed this week, love. ‘Afraid the old thing will fall apart.” Simon grins as you elbow him in the stomach, scoffing with a smile at the comment.

“It’s an old cabin, I think the broken furniture gives it character.” You lean your weight back, rolling your head so it rests on his shoulder. Your eyes dance over the strong features of his face- deep bags still chiselled into his under eyes from his latest deployment.

“I know what you mean though. The paint colour choices are ridiculous- who paints a bathroom that horrible orange? It’s wonderful architecture- that kitchen would look beautiful with the blue that’s in our bedroom at home.” Simon had been nodding along to you as you spoke, interior design was something he had struggled with his whole life- his apartment bare before you moved in.

Regardless of how many times he had told you that you still always made him feel included when it came to decorating. It was both of your homes, not just the house he pays for and you decorate as so many other men like him had. “It’s too small, we’d need more room if we were going to buy a place like this. You want a Green House, yeah?” Simon's head turns back to look at the outside of the cabin- it was one bed one bath, perfect for the two of you for the moment but his mind was set on the future. His arms moved to wrap around your waist- holding you tight to him.

“Yeah-“ you nod “ I’d want something with a cute wrap-around porch too. We’d have to have room for your office- if we got a house with a nice big basement we could get that pool table you want. Put a bar down there too so you and the boys can watch football.”

He hums happily, nodding along with you. “Next time I’m on leave I’ll take some more time off, we’ll go look at some houses and find something we like- ‘wouldn’t worry about renovations, I could have all that done.”

He understood the commitment that would be, a commitment he never felt the want to take on until he met you. Things like settling down, getting married and starting a family never seemed on the table for him- until you waddled into his life and cracked his hard exterior. He wanted it more than anything now- to come home to a bustling young family in a beautiful home.

“Simon- really?” You mutter, the surprise lacing your voice and causing nervousness to bubble in his stomach. For a brief moment, he feared he had messed it all up- that you would pull away from him for such a recommendation and inform him you would never dream of spending your life with him. But, he nods anyway; anxiety clear as day spread out across his face.

Shifting in his lap you move to straddle him, arms snaking around his neck as his hands settle on your hips- pulling you tighter against him.

As if on pure instinct his lips move to meet yours- the kiss being instantly reciprocated with desperate noises and your fingers tangling through his messy blond hair. He had long slipped his tongue into your mouth, as if he was consuming you- or trying to. Simon was a starved man, starved his whole life until you came with the offer of endless fullness; how could he ever possibly deny you?

His strong hands pull your hips into his, making your legs shake with under the warmth of the blanket. Pulling away leaves a small string of saliva between the two of you- which a quick peck from Simon fixes.

“Are you sure?” You whisper lips still mere inches from his own. He has never expressed any desire for commitment other than the relationship you had now. You were his, his partner, you had been for quite some time, yet there had been no mention of anything similar to this.

“I’m sure, darling.“ he kisses you again, this time deep and slow, “ I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #x my posts #x codmw2 ff

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habit-poxly · 2 years ago

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wild time

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!reader

zombie apocalypse au!

Pt. 1 << | Pt. 2

description: you’ve been surviving the apocalypse on your own for a very long time. after stumbling across a fire fight you met two British SAS soldiers who offer you assistance and company.

warnings: cannon typical violence, mentions of blood, restricted food

word count: 2.4K

When the British military was sent into Canada it was portrayed as the ‘end’ of the outbreak. Subsequently, the British Military found that it had all of the same issues in containing the virus as the government of Canada had. By the point help had arrived there was only a handful of strongholds across the continent that weren't overrun with the infection. It was highly infectious, highly effective and 100% fatal. Everything happened too quickly for anyone to really learn about what the infection was- what it did. All that was told to the public originally was that it was easily transmissible, made you highly aggressive and delirious, and that everyone needed to stay inside. No more updates were made after the first national announcement- there was hardly anyone left to listen.

The United Kingdom collapsed shortly after the outbreak reached its shores aswell- leaving hundreds of their very much alive and terrified soldier stranded on foreign soil to die. The competent soldiers abandoned their fights in the cities as soon as they arrived- seeing how horrific the situation had become. Whatever was left of their army died quickly when the first winter came a few weeks later. 16 days was how long it took for the government of Canada to completely collapse under the outbreak. The USA lasted 9 days.

It didn't much matter now, you thought. The beginning of the outbreak was long over, happening so long ago now that you find it hard to keep track of the year. Winters seem to come and go rapidly, and summers are painfully short-lived.

Your heavy boots compact the fresh snow beneath them with a muffed crunch at each step. The buildings ahead were broken and decrepit, abandoned cars and trash stayed hidden under a thick white sheet. This must have some sleepy charming town at some point, you imagine. Readjusting your shotgun you march forward, scanning the insides of the shops beside you. Most of them were empty, snow pouring in from broken windows—the amount of completely vacant shops beginning to stir disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

For months you had been aimlessly wandering. State to state, province to province, never any care for where in particular you ended up. There was never any set goal in mind other than 'survive'. Attempting to survive with a group proved extremely difficult early on- with far too much risk for so little personal return. So, you've been travelling alone for a very long time.

Empty stores meant empty shelves, an unfortunate reality you have to cope with often. Empty shelves meant an empty stomach.

Rounding the street corner the landscape looks much the same, a row of shops on either side of the road. These buildings seemed to be in slightly better condition, their windows were mostly intact if not incredibly dirty. Your gloved hand whipped over the glass attempting to get a better look inside. The store looks to have been locked up before whoever was here last left, the inside of the shop looking as if they had just closed. Clothes racks sat full and tidy just beyond the window. It looked to be some high-end outdoor wear store. The sight of new, clean, decently warm-looking clothes brought a fuzzy feeling to your body that you swear you haven't felt before.

You stand observing the front of the shop for a moment, the letters on the sign above the door obscured with snow. Smashing the glass panel on the door and slipping in was simple. The glass shattering makes a frighteningly loud sound that echoed throughout the streets, bouncing off the blank walls of the long-vacant buildings. Normally such a loud sound would cause fear of attracting infected, but the rigid cold made it virtually impossible for them to move outside.

You turn on your flashlight and begin clearing the room thoroughly, the sound of your boots stepping on glass surely being enough to draw any creatures out toward you. Yet, none come as expected- the dark shop sitting in the same silence as when you entered.

Peeling your backpack off your back, you lay it against the wall and begin wandering the aisles. You pluck some basic new gear from the shelves- some new gloves, a compass, a whistle with '6 incredible different functions!' as the packaging states. With a silent giggle, you continue your shopping.

Thick, expensive sweaters and jackets lined the walls in mass. 'It's about time for a new coat and sweater' you thought, warmth coming to your face in excitement. Grabbing a few options you make your way to the dressing room and begin trying on different sweaters to go under your coat. The one you had was worn and old, having several mended and non-mended holes- an ugly brown you had taken off a corpse when your things had been stolen (certainly not your proudest fashion choice). The pullover's you had picked though were pretty colours- your favourites. Having pretty things was something you regretted taking for granted before, them rarely being an option when functionality has to come first. It was the little things you did that helped you feel like your own person- putting stickers you find on your water bottle, painting your nails, having pins on your backpack. Not just a wanderer or a stranger, a target or enemy, you were a human being first. The coat was far simpler to find, going with a plain black one. You hadn't looked at yourself in a full body mirror in months, the sight alone being enough to help your disappointment in the days findings. You noted now tired you looked, how your face has seemingly gotten plumper over the winter months somehow- although finding food over summer was something you had an extremely hard time with.

Looking for supplies in stores never fails to feel like stealing for you- even now, you feel the need to tell yourself that nobody owns this stuff anymore. No one who cares, anyways. Still though, ripping the tags off your clothes and hopping the till to take off the security tags made you feel guilty.

You settle into the back corner of the shop, the air inside starting to whirl with the freezing air from outside. Opening your backpack you retrieve your map- it having grown increasingly detailed as time dragged on. The margins are filled with notes, the landscapes dotted in circles, marked trails and small paragraphs describing important details about certain areas. You spread it out across the floor and mark over the town you're in, writing a small note beside it.

'Waste of time!!'

It would be a lie to say that your notes were always productive. Unfortunately, nowadays decent towns with good supplies are becoming harder and harder to find- people too. It grows frustrating, the endless nights without supper followed by 12 hours of walking for nothing.

Before the outbreak you had already been familiar with outdoor survival, having several long-haul solo backpacking trips under your belt. Sometimes your forced solitude felt like that- _like a backpacking trip. _It helped to pretend that this was temporary, that you could go home one day and everything would be back to the way it was. You had lost everything, just like everyone else had. When the outbreak happened you and your family suffered like civilians, and they died like civilians too.

There was no good reason in your mind why you were alive and everyone else wasn't, yet it did nothing productive to dwell on it.

The disappointment you had been holding at bay finally settles into your bones. Another night without dinner, another 12-hour walk tomorrow. Unsurprisingly towns in such a large and sparsely populated nation were very far apart- almost as if giving you a personal 'fuck you'.

The loud crack of a gunshot rings through the streets of the town followed by a brief moment of silence before whoever shot unloads. The barrage only lasts a couple of seconds before stopping completely. The sound of the shots is replaced with the loud thudding of your heart in your ears. Checking yourself and the interior of the shop over you see no evidence of being shot at- the sounds coming from the street you were just on.

Not only had you been in this town for a couple of days but you hadn't seen a single sign of another living person the entire time. That wasn't uncommon for you to stumble into empty towns- but seeing people was.

Grabbing your things you crawl back out of the shop in a hurry- stepping into the open, white street. The whistle of gunshots starts again, this time accompanied by yelling. Two voices screamed to each other, barely discernible over the cracking of the gun.

You inch closer to the corner of the building and peek out over the road. At the end of it was a truck, clearly positioned as cover for whatever firefight you had stumbled into. You imagine that's where whoever is the aggressor is based on how it's blocking the exit, your eyes still scanning over your surroundings for the victims.

The outline of a head peeks out from behind the truck, only to be met immediately with a shot being fired. The person ducks and the bullet barely misses, it coming from an alleyway on the opposite side of the street a few stores away. Whoever was shooting back had an incredible aim, nearly perfect.

"Fuck! I'm out-" One voice yells from the alley, some heavy accent tainting his words.

"This guy is fucking nuts!" The man finishes gruffly. Scottish, you decide.

Whoever the man was talking to doesn't respond, leaving the road in eerie silence. You take the moment to observe the truck more closely. It looked horrific, with dirt and blood caking the entire black body. A specific symbol painted on the windows of the truck caught your eye. Some S dog whistle. You had run-ins with 'stalkers' many times as they were called. They're a group of loosely organized psychopaths dedicated to causing as much chaos as possible. This meant committing every horrific, violent crime you could imagine on whoever they came across. For you, it had meant getting all of your stuff stolen in the middle of last winter and left to die in a grave they forced you to dig- for those less fortunate it meant a death full of torment and pure suffering.

For a moment you consider just leaving these people to fend for themselves, but they were out of ammo and obviously losing. Stalkers were often former combat vets or Wall Street dudes who missed killing women, not guys you wanted to throw yourself into a fight with. If it weren't for the possibility of them giving you food for helping them you might have ran, but the hunger in your gut made the prospect of dying more enjoyable.

The man in the alley peeks his head out scanning the truck, focus tethered away from me. He had dark hair, seemingly shaved into a mohawk at one point but it has since grown out unevenly. His hood was draw, thick white fur lining his face. As he begins to turn back into the alley his eyes catch mine as he glances back down the street. His gaze was cold, his grizzled features now apparent- scars litter his forehead and cheeks. There was no question the man was military from his gear. For a moment you stare at him blankly, taking in the presence of another person after so long. He shuffles in his position, his eyes now glancing across the road to where another man presumably was hiding. It quickly dawned on you that he had nowhere to go. The alleyway he was situated in was nothing more than a small dip in the architecture meant for the bins. He couldn't move without getting shot at, now being cornered from each side. You imagine they were both stuck like that.

You give the man a quick thumbs up, trying your best to assure him that you were going to help. He didn't seem to react at all, his face remaining stiff with the same stern expression. Ducking back in front of the shop you glance around, your gaze falling on a tipped-over metal trashcan.

'It'll be terrible but let's hope for the best.' you mumble to yourself, trying to instill some confidence in one of the only things you could think to do.

Settling against the wall you kick the bin out into the street, making a loud clank before rolling along the snow. As expected the stalker raised from behind the truck and shot at the sound of the trashcan. You take aim and fire, the man was clearly completely unaware of your position. You manage to catch him through the nose, being able to hit him dead center in the middle of his face from where you were sitting. The sound of the stalker's body crashing to the ground and sinking into the snow led way to a deathly quiet.

"Are you sick?" You yell out, now slinking back against your cover. The crush of snow under boots was the only response for quite some time.

"No." A gruff voice answers back. One different than before.

Slowly you peek your head back around the corner, looking at the two large men now standing together only a few feet away. The one with dark hair stood on the right, being about 6'2 and in military-issue winter clothes. The other one stood taller at 6'4, a white skull mask sitting over a black balaclava. Everything about the taller man screamed danger, his stance, the tight grip on his weapon, the way his eyes burrowed into your skin. Union Jacks sit proudly on both of their arms, you felt a tinge of shame over how surprised you were to see two British soldiers alive still. You stand, feeling painfully tiny sitting and staring up at them.

"Are you two hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your voice in an amount you hadn't meant for it to. The dark-haired man nods and lets out a soft smile, seemingly getting antsy standing in the middle of the street. Getting the sense they wanted to continue talking but move, you stepped aside for the man to walk past you.

"I'm not broken- you good L.T.?." He responded, his attention turning to the man in the mask beside him. The masked man nods before turning his gaze back to you. Burning into you.

"Soap." The man holds out his hand for you to shake, loosely you take it- noting how his grip was firm and formal. You respond with your name, him humming in response. "This is Ghost."

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #zombie apocolypse au #cod mw2 au #x my posts #x codmw2 ff

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