COD Fanfics @nightshiftfics - Tumblr Blog

I'm begging you to do a little continuation of the shy medic reader x Ghost

- ———

Summary: You’re an introverted medic in Task Force 141, comfortable talking to everyone except Ghost — who somehow makes you so nervous you can’t look him in the eyes. Ghost secretly finds it adorable.

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Simon “Ghost” Riley x Introverted!Reader — “Eyes Up Here”

Part 1 ,Part 2

———

You couldn’t sleep peacefully.

Not even for a second.

Every time you closed your eyes, it replayed—too vivid, too close. The way it happened so suddenly, like the air itself had snapped. The warmth. The shock of it.

Him.

Eventually, you forced yourself up.

You had a job to do.

You could be normal.

You would be normal.

—-

These past few days would mostly end with you patching him up again.

You started noticing it the third time.

Ghost didn’t get hurt.

Not like this.

Not small, careless injuries that somehow always landed him in your care—cuts that weren’t deep enough to slow him down, bruises that didn’t match the precision he moved with on the field. He was too good. Too controlled.

Too… deliberate.

And yet—

There he was again.

Sitting on the edge of the cot like he owned the place, sleeve pushed up just enough to expose another shallow gash.

You didn’t even look at him at first.

“Sit still,” you muttered, already reaching for gauze.

He huffed—quiet, almost amused.

“I am sitting still.”

Your jaw tightened.

That voice. Always calm. Always like he knew something you didn’t.

You stepped closer, cleaning the wound with more force than necessary.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

That’s what did it.

You paused.

Slowly looked up.

And for once—you didn’t look away.

“…You’re doing it on purpose.”

Silence.

For half a second, you almost thought you’d imagined it—your own boldness echoing too loudly in your chest.

Then—

You saw it.

That faint shift under the mask. The smallest curve. A smirk.

Your heart stuttered.

“Doing what, doc?” he asked, voice lower now.

You swallowed, but didn’t back down.

“These,” you gestured vaguely at his arm, fingers hovering just above his skin. “You don’t get sloppy. Not like this.”

Another step closer—this time, him.

Close enough that you could feel it. The space between you shrinking, tightening, suffocating.

“And if I was?” he murmured.

Your heart was going insane.

Beating too fast, too loud, like it was trying to give you away.

But somehow—somehow—you held your ground.

“Oh yeah?” you shot back, lifting your chin slightly. “Then you should do something about it”

There it was.

The shift.

The air changed.

Something heavier. Sharper.

His head tilted, just slightly.

“…Cute,” he muttered.

You blinked.

“You did not just call me cute.”

That smirk deepened—this time unmistakable.

“You’re even cuter when you’re grumpy.”

Your face burned.

“Stop saying that—”

And then it happened too fast.

You moved at the same time he did—or maybe neither of you moved at all, maybe the space just… disappeared.

Your words cut off as your lips collided.

Messy. Sudden. Not planned.

Your brain didn’t even catch up at first—just the warmth, the shock, the way everything in you stilled for half a second before crashing back twice as hard.

His hand came up—not rough, not soft either—just enough to steady you, like he expected you to pull away.

You didn’t.

You should have.

But you didn’t.

And when you finally did break apart, it wasn’t far.

Still too close.

Still breathing the same air.

Your heart felt like it might actually explode this time.

“…You’re insufferable,” you whispered, but it lacked any real bite.

He exhaled quietly, almost a laugh.

“Didn’t hear you complaining.”

———

A/n: sry for not updating lately but don’t worry I have more coming uppp

Which one should I write about next?

Konig x reader angst

Konig x reader fluff

Simon Riley x reader angst

Simon Riley x reader fluff

Voting ended onApr 7

begging we need a young couple konig x reader where he's not 100% fluent in english and theyre cooking or smth and he cant figure out the word for something 🙏

Bf!König x Gf!Reader —“Sugar, Laughter, and You”

Summary:

A cozy, playful kitchen moment where König struggles with English, laughter turns into teasing and chaos.

⸻

The kitchen smelled like sugar, butter, and pure warmth, cozy and bright in the afternoon sun. You were carefully stirring the batter, humming a soft tune, when Konig leaned over your shoulder, squinting at the carton in your hands.

“Uh… I… I need… the… thing… the… uh…” he muttered, tilting his head, clearly frustrated. “The… fluffy… sweet… thing?”

You turned to him, heart fluttering at the way his brows furrowed, lips slightly parted, looking genuinely lost. “The… what?”

“The… the… you put it… on… cupcakes… or… desserts… I… don’t… know… the word,” he admitted, cheeks coloring faintly, and your chest squeezed at how adorably helpless he looked.

You couldn’t help smiling. “Oh, Konig… you mean whipped cream,” you said slowly, stretching the words for him. “The fluffy, sweet topping… for the cupcakes.”

He blinked, trying to process it. “Whip… what?”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from giggling. “Whipped cream! Whipped… cream,” you said, holding the carton up for him. “Here—you try.”

He opened his mouth to repeat it, paused, then gave up with a frustrated puff. “Wh… cr… wheep…?”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. “Konig! You just said wheep cr-eem!”

His lips twitched, mock offended. “You… laugh at me like… a crazy woman!”

“Me? Crazy?” you teased, stepping closer, brushing your fingers lightly over his arm. “I think you’re just… ridiculously cute when you can’t figure out words.”

His eyes darkened, sparkling with amusement and something warmer. “Ridiculously cute…? You… tease me too much,” he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips.

You leaned just a little closer, letting your nose almost touch his. “Maybe… I just like making you smile,” you whispered, voice soft, heart thudding.

Konig’s eyes flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and suddenly, with a mischievous glint, he reached out and tickled your sides.

“I-I’m… I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you squealed, wriggling, but he held your hips gently, keeping you close.

“Too late!” he said, grinning, then dabbed a tiny bit of whipped cream right onto your nose.

“HEY!” you shouted, smacking him lightly with the spatula. You couldn’t resist grabbing a handful and smearing it on his cheek. He froze, then smirked, eyes softening. “You… are evil… but… I… like it,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Oh my god! Wheep… cr-eem… in your face!” you laughed, pointing at him, mocking his accent.

He chuckled, stepping closer, trapping you gently against him. “Say… it… again,” he whispered, leaning close so that your noses almost touched, and your heart fluttered wildly.

“Whip… cr-eem,” you repeated, exaggerating his accent, cheeks blazing, daring him to look away.

He leaned down, brushing your cheek softly. “You… make me… crazy,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, and you shivered in delight.

Then, as if you weren’t already giggling enough, he tickled your ribs again. You squealed, squirming against him, but he held you, laughter bouncing between you. Flour dusted your sleeves, cream dotted your noses—it was messy, chaotic… and perfect.

Finally, both of you leaning against the counter, breathing a little harder, you slung your arm over his shoulder, chest rising and falling. Looking up into his dark, sparkling eyes, you whispered softly, “You’re… so cute… I could just eat you up.”

He chuckled, brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “Shut… up,” he murmured, but the way he pulled you closer told you he secretly loved it.

Before you could say anything else, he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss, hands gripping your hips to pull you closer. The warmth of him, the faint sweetness of cream, the soft echoes of your laughter—it all made your heart feel like it could burst.

When you pulled back slightly, cheeks still flaming, he pressed his forehead to yours, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Next time… maybe I should teach you my accent… so you can say it right… just for me,” he whispered.

You smirked, brushing a fingertip along his chest, hearts still racing. “Next time… I won’t hold back… and maybe I’ll kiss you again,” you teased, voice soft and flirty.

And for a moment, with the sunlight catching the mess around you, it was just the two of you—laughing, teasing, and completely, ridiculously in love.

⸻

Simon ghost Riley x Shy!Reader —“Soft Eyes Under Harsh Lights”

Summary:

You’ve always preferred staying unseen. But when a mission demands the opposite, the quiet tension between you and Simon Riley begins to shift in ways that are impossible to ignore.

___

Simon Riley didn’t care at first.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

You were good at your job—quiet, efficient, rarely drawing attention to yourself. You followed orders, kept your head down, and avoided his gaze like it might burn you if you held it too long. He noticed, sure, but he didn’t dwell on it. Plenty of soldiers were nervous around him.

Then the briefing happened.

Price laid out the mission calmly, like it was nothing out of the ordinary. “We need eyes and access. The club’s our entry point.”

Soap leaned back in his chair. “And before anyone asks—no, we don’t have another angle.”

Simon’s jaw tightened. “We’re not sending her in there like that.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, Lieutenant.”

Silence.

Simon hated it. Hated that there really wasn’t another way.

You sat there, hands folded in your lap, nodding even though your shoulders were tense. “I can do it,” you said softly.

Soap turned to you. “You sure, love?”

You gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll manage.”

Simon didn’t look at you. If he did, he might say something he shouldn’t.

⸻

The changing room smelled like perfume and nerves.

When you stepped out, everything stopped.

Your hair was down—long, curled, catching the light as you moved. Glitter dusted your skin, your costume bright and bold and nothing like the uniform you usually hid behind. You looked… stunning.

And uncomfortable.

Soap blinked. Then grinned. “Well. That’s one way to give a man a heart attack.”

Simon swallowed hard.

You didn’t see it.

Instead, you tugged at the fabric nervously and turned to Soap. “Does it… does it look okay?”

Soap softened instantly. “Looks brilliant. You’re gonna smash this.”

You hesitated. “You’re not just saying that?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honour.”

You laughed—but it was clearly forced, thin around the edges. You kept your eyes away from Simon, kept your distance like there was an invisible line you refused to cross.

Soap leaned closer to you, voice low and playful. “You know, if Ghost keeps staring any harder, he’s gonna short-circuit.”

Your face heated immediately. “He is not.”

Simon cleared his throat sharply. “Soap.”

Soap only smirked. “Relax, Lt. I’m just stating facts.”

You gave another fake laugh and looked away, cheeks warm, heart fluttering despite yourself.

Simon said nothing.

But he couldn’t stop looking.

⸻

The moment the music started, you changed.

Your shoulders straightened. Your steps became confident, deliberate. The shy hesitation vanished as you slipped into the role like it was second nature. Your voice softened, your movements fluid and sure.

Soap watched the feed, impressed. “Blimey… where’s she been hiding that?”

Gaz nodded. “She’s good.”

Price allowed himself a small, proud smile.

Only Simon felt wrong.

Every man who watched you like you were something to be claimed made his hands curl into fists. He told himself it was about security. About focus.

But when one of them touched you—too bold, too familiar—his breath caught.

Two more joined in.

You fought back, sharp and efficient, breaking holds, striking fast—but there were too many.

One shoved you against the wall, crowding your space.

You were annoyed now. Furious.

Then a punch landed.

Hard.

The man dropped.

Chaos exploded.

“Move, move!” Soap barked as Task Force 141 surged in.

Simon was at you immediately.

He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him before you could even register what was happening. His hand was warm, solid—protective without hesitation.

“You okay?” he asked, low and urgent.

You nodded, though your hands trembled slightly. “I—I got what we needed.”

You looked down then, voice barely audible. “I’m sorry. I thought I messed it up.”

Simon’s hand came under your chin.

Gentle.

He tilted your face up until your eyes met his. They were bright, glistening under the lights—wide with worry, still soft despite everything you’d just done.

“You didn’t fail,” he said quietly. “You were perfect.”

Your breath stuttered.

He rested his hand on your head, just for a moment, thumb brushing your hair in a way that made your heart race uncontrollably.

Then he stepped back.

Turned away.

Left you standing there, chest tight, pulse loud in your ears.

Soap appeared beside you, grinning. “If it helps, I think you broke him.”

You blinked. “What?”

Soap laughed. “Yeah. Properly.”

⸻

Simon walked ahead of the team, trying to ignore the way his chest felt too tight.

He didn’t know when it happened.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him—soft, uncertain, trusting.

Maybe it was how brave you were, even when you hated being seen.

Maybe it was how your eyes still shone when you looked up at him, like he was something safe.

Whatever it was, it terrified him.

Because for the first time, Simon Riley cared.

And he had no idea what to do with that.

⸻

a/n: should I do a part 2? Or I could also do a part 2 for any of my other stories 🙃

“the vending machine incident”—Ghost x Reader

Summary:

When you just wanted a snack, things quickly spiral out of control as Ghost “helps” and Soap adds his usual chaos.

___

You only wanted one thing.

A snack.

ONE simple snack from the base’s ancient vending machine.

But the machine hated you personally.

It dropped your snack halfway and then stopped, leaving it dangling like it was mocking you.

You pressed your forehead to the glass dramatically.

“Fight me, coward.”

A quiet footstep behind you.

Ghost.

He stood there, fully judging you without even moving.

“…What are you doing.”

You pointed at the snack like it had insulted your entire bloodline.

“It got stuck. It’s targeting me.”

Ghost approached with the slow, tired walk of a man who had already accepted that he loves someone with zero braincells between 2–4 AM.

He tapped the glass.

Nothing.

You crossed your arms. “See? We’re both losing.”

Ghost rolled his shoulders like he was about to interrogate the machine for intel.

“Move.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed the side of the machine and shook it.

SHAKED it.

Like an earthquake wearing tactical boots.

The machine clanked and groaned.

Then—thunk, thunk, thunk.

Three snacks fell into the slot.

Ghost picked up the first one and held it out to you.

“For now.”

He handed you the second.

“For later.”

Then shoved the third one at you with a sigh.

“For the one you’re about to drop.”

You frowned. “Why would I—”

You dropped the second snack instantly.

Ghost tilted his head like, Case in point.

Before you could defend your dignity, the door slammed open.

Soap marched in, holding noodles, eyes huge and sparkling with chaos.

“WHAT IS THIS?!” he yelled.

“A SNACK DATE? A SECRET RENDEZVOUS? A MIDNIGHT LOVE STORY BY THE CHEAP CHOCOLATES?!”

Ghost: “…Leave.”

Soap ignored him completely.

“HE SHOOK THE MACHINE FOR YE! THAT’S TRUE LOVE! THAT’S ROMANCE WITH MUSCLE!”

You covered your face.

Ghost muttered curses under his breath in six languages.

Soap gasped like he’d been shot.

“You’re BLUSHIN’ UNDER THAT MASK, AREN’T YE?!”

Ghost: “Soap. I swear—”

Soap slurped his noodles loudly.

“FIRST SNACKS… NEXT HE’LL BE HOLDIN’ YE LIKE A PRINCESS—”

Ghost nearly lunged.

You grabbed his sleeve before he committed homicide.

“Let’s go before he breaks reality,” you whispered.

Ghost gently took your wrist and guided you toward the hall.

Behind you, Soap shouted:

“I’M TELLIN’ PRICE YE TWO ARE ENGAGED!”

You burst into laughter so hard you dropped your snack again.

Ghost caught it midair, handed it back, and murmured low:

“…If it was a date… would you want it to be?”

Your heart practically tripped.

You looked up at him.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Ghost froze.

Then nodded once, quietly—like he’d just been handed the most important mission of his life.

Soap’s scream echoed from down the hall:

“I HEARD THAT! DATE CONFIRMED! WEDDING IN JUNE!”

Ghost turned around like he absolutely would fight him.

You could barely breathe from laughing.

And maybe… you kept holding onto Ghost’s sleeve.

And maybe… he didn’t pull away.

⸻

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader —“A little too close”

Summary:

When another operator gets a little too close, and the emotions both of you have been avoiding finally surface

⸻

You were leaning against the wall, laughing at something the operator said, completely unaware of Simon standing a few steps away. He watched you quietly, arms crossed, but his body language betrayed him—tight shoulders, jaw clenched, and eyes that never left you.

Even Soap, leaning casually nearby, noticed. “Oi… look at him,” he whispered, smirking. “He looks like he wants to eat you alive.”

Simon didn’t respond. He just kept staring, his gaze softening in the rare way it did when he was alone with you, almost like he couldn’t believe you were really there. Every laugh, every tilt of your head, every little spark in your eyes—it made something ache in his chest. He yearned for you in a way he didn’t fully understand, and he hated how exposed that longing felt.

The operator, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you, asked with a grin, “You’re not taken, are you?”

You laughed lightly. “Of course not,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Good,” he said, leaning in a little. “Maybe we could grab a drink later? Just the two of us.”

Simon’s chest tightened. He wanted to step in, to tell you it wasn’t okay—but he didn’t. Not yet. He wanted to see if you’d notice his absence, if you’d look for him. And when you smiled and said, “Sure, why not? Sounds fun!” his jaw clenched, heart thudding painfully.

He stepped closer, finally closing the distance, but the way he did it was slow, deliberate. Not like he was angry—like he was holding back the need to pull you into him.

“Not interested,” he murmured, his hands resting lightly—but possessively—on your waist.

You froze. “Wait—what?”

“You’re not going,” he said, voice low, almost rough with something unsaid.

The operator blinked, awkwardly. “Oh… uh… okay… didn’t mean to—”

Simon ignored him. His eyes never left yours, dark and intense, flickering with a yearning that made your chest tighten. “I said you’re not going,” he repeated, just close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Simon… it’s just a date. Harmless!” you protested, though your voice wavered at the tension between you.

He leaned just slightly closer, forehead almost brushing yours. “Harmless? You laughing like that… smiling like that… it’s not harmless. It should be me making you laugh. It should be me seeing that sparkle in your eyes.”

Your breath hitched. The way he said it—soft, aching, filled with longing—it caught you off guard.

“You… can’t just—” you whispered, trying to untangle your words and your heart.

“I can,” he said, voice low, husky, and utterly vulnerable. “Because I’ve been watching you, waiting… and I can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing this side of you. Only me.”

Your eyes softened as you looked up at him, glistening, and it was like he could see right into you, right through the mask you both wore. The yearning in his gaze was almost unbearable.

“Fuck it,” he finally growled, pressing his lips to yours, hard and desperate. The world around you melted away—operators, Soap, the base—everything faded into the background except for him, and the ache you didn’t realize you both had been holding.

And somewhere behind the doorway, a muffled whistle. “Oi… bloody hell… I’m not even supposed to see this.”

⸻

a/n: short one:)

König x Clumsy Reader – “You’re Pregnant, Stop Tripping”

Summary:

You’re König’s clumsy wife, acting strange and avoiding him. He notices immediately and tries to figure out what you’re hiding, leading to a sweet, funny, fluffy moment between you both.

⸻

You hadn’t meant to avoid König.

Really, you hadn’t.

But the moment your stomach felt weird, your chest fluttered, and your brain decided that every emotion ever was happening at once, panic took over. You didn’t want to tell him until you were sure. Because König worried about everything: when you sneezed too loud, when you tripped over air, when you didn’t eat a full meal. He’d probably build a cage around you if you sneezed three times in a row.

And now… you might be pregnant.

So, naturally, you hid.

Like a really bad secret agent who trips over their own feet constantly.

You ducked behind walls. You pretended to tie your shoes four times in ten minutes. You crawled under tables. And you definitely ran away the second you heard his voice.

Which… did not work.

Because König is massive. And he is everywhere. Like some huge, terrifying, adorable shadow. The first time he found you indulging in your bizarre craving—pretzels dipped in strawberry yogurt—he just froze, staring like the world had ended.

“Liebling… you hate strawberry yogurt,” he said, genuinely shocked.

“I… I don’t today,” you said, shoving the spoon behind your back.

His eyebrows went up so high you were worried they’d touch his hairline.

And that’s when the questions started.

“Are you sick?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Did someone insult my best girl?”

“Why did you run away when I said hello? Did something happen to your shoes?”

Every time, you pushed him away.

“König, stop fussing.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s… nothing.”

And then… of course… you tripped.

Over literal air.

He lunged and caught you mid-fall, holding you like you were a fragile little feather. But this time, instead of just putting you down, he froze.

“That is it,” he said, voice deep and trembling like he just watched you fall into a volcano. “Something is very wrong with you.”

You swallowed hard. Your cheeks burned. Your heart was beating so fast it could have lifted you off the ground—if König hadn’t already done it for you.

He turned you slowly to face him, bending like a gentle giant over a delicate bird.

“Please,” he whispered, voice soft and rumbling, “do not hide from me. Tell me.”

Your hands flew to your mouth. Your knees nearly buckled.

“König… I—I’m pregnant.”

Immediately, you slapped your hands over your face and bent your head down like a child caught in the cookie jar. “Don’t look at me! I feel ridiculous!”

König blinked. And then, somehow, the corners of his eyes crinkled behind his mask. He gently, gently took your hands and lowered them.

“Liebling,” he said, voice melting like chocolate,

“I already knew.”

You whipped your head up. “WHAT?! How??”

He held up his fingers, counting dramatically:

“You glow. Your cheeks are pink. You hide from me like a guilty little bunny. You eat weird food combinations like… like someone who’s invented snacks just to confuse me. And, oh yes, you tripped over literally nothing three times today.”

You blinked. “…That’s not how pregnancy works.”

“Maybe not,” he said, laughing softly, chest rumbling. “But I know you. And I know when something precious is happening to you.”

You opened your mouth, but he scooped you into his arms before you could say anything else.

“K-König! Put me down!”

“Absolutely not,” he said, grinning behind the mask. “You trip over air. I am now your personal human safety net.”

You groaned. “You sound like a dad already.”

“I am a dad already,” he said proudly, hugging you tighter. “And I will protect you and this tiny human inside you. From all danger. From all pretzels. And especially from stairs.”

Your cheeks went hot. You tried not to laugh at him, but he was too big, too serious, and way too adorable.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Liebling… I love you. And I love this little baby already.”

You snorted, muffled against his chest. “You’re cheesy.”

“Cheesy?” he gasped, mock offense rumbling like thunder. “I am the pinnacle of romance and fatherhood.”

You laughed, crying a little, all at once.

“And I wouldn’t want anyone else holding me when I trip over air,” you admitted softly.

“I will carry you through all the trips, all the cravings, and all the nonsense,” he said, pulling you impossibly close. “Forever.”

You melted into his arms, warm, safe, loved—and just a little dizzy from laughing too hard.

Because König was huge, gentle, protective… and completely, utterly yours.

⸻

a/n: I’m almost running out of ideas

(requests are open!)

Simon ghost Riley x Pregnant!Jealous!Reader — “Hormones, Cookies & Chaos”

(jealous, emotional pregnant reader + dramatic overreactions + panicking Soap + protective Simon)

Summary:

When you bring cookies to base, a misunderstanding sends your pregnancy emotions into overdrive, dragging Soap into the chaos before Simon steps in to calm everything down.

___

You weren’t supposed to be at base today.

In fact, your husband — Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley — specifically told you, “Stay home and rest, love. No lifting, no sneaking in, and no climbing counters.”

So obviously, you showed up with a container of homemade cookies like an excited golden retriever.

You waddled down the hallway with determination and pregnancy anger simmering inside you because someone had taken the good Tupperware and you were convinced it was Soap.

When you reached the training room, you spotted Simon immediately.

Tall. Broad. Mask on. Very husband.

…but then you saw her.

A new female recruit, standing a bit too close, smiling at your man like she just discovered sunlight.

And worst of all—

Simon was showing her how to adjust her vest straps.

She touched his arm.

You stopped breathing.

Your pregnancy hormones stood up like angry little gremlins and screamed, BETRAYAL!

You whispered to yourself,

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t—”

Your eyes flooded instantly.

Simon didn’t even notice you yet.

The new recruit laughed at something he said.

You gasped loudly like the world ended.

Then you turned around and POWER-waddled away so quickly you almost slipped on your own emotional turmoil.

In your head:

I’m his wife. HIS WIFE. I made him cookies from scratch despite my swollen ankles and back pain and he’s out here BEING NICE?! HOW DARE HE.

You went looking for Soap because he was the only one emotionally prepared for your hormonal breakdowns at this point.

You spun around so fast you nearly frisbee-launched the cookies into the wall.

You speed-waddled down the hallway, dramatic sniffles growing into full emotional earthquakes.

That’s when Soap appeared from absolutely nowhere like he was summoned by your heartbreak.

“SOAP!” you wailed.

“Oh God, no—” he muttered, already standing up to run.

Too late.

You grabbed his sleeve with a surprisingly strong hormonal grip.

“Heyyyy bonnie lass! Look who’s— hey, what’s wrong?!”

You shoved the cookie tray into his arms like you’d been wounded in battle.

“She—she—she,” you hiccupped.

Soap blinked. “Which she?”

“THE SHE!” you wailed.

“The new recruit?”

Your lip wobbled. “YES.”

“What about her?”

“I don’t know! I just—I walked in and she was so… pretty.” Your lip trembled dangerously. “And I’m just… huge.”

Soap frowned. “You look brilliant. You’re glowing.”

“I look like a balloon,” you sobbed, handing him the cookie tray blindly. “And I made him these and now they’re ruined because I cried on them.”

“They’re fine,” Soap assured, absolutely lying.

You took a deep, shaky inhale — and then absolutely exploded:

“She touched his ARM. Soap. HIS ARM. SHE BRUSHED HIS MUSCLES. WITH HER FINGERS.”

Soap stared.

His soul left his body and came back.

“Oh shite,” he whispered, because he knew a hormonal meltdown when he saw one.

“She smiled at him,” you cried dramatically. “Like—like she was trying to give him her SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER.”

“We’re in the UK, lass.”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT WE HAVE HERE, SHE WAS FLIRTING.”

Soap guided you to sit on a crate before you collapsed dramatically onto the floor.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he soothed. “Let’s talk this through—”

“She’s pretty,” you whispered, devastation dripping from every word. “And I look like a warm, swollen croissant.”

Soap choked. “You look lovely.”

“I LOOK DELICIOUS AND PUFFY.”

“That’s not… bad?”

You sniffed so hard your whole body bounced.

“I brought him cookies and now I’m going to divorce him.”

“He would never let that happen.”

“I’LL DIVORCE HIM ANYWAY.”

Soap patted your shoulder, terrified. “Aye, okay, that’s fair.”

You cried harder.

⸻

Meanwhile — back in the hall

The new recruit touched Simon’s arm again.

He stepped back like she burned him.

“Sir, I was just—”

“Don’t touch.”

“Oh—uh—sorry—”

“Don’t stand so close.”

“O-okay— I just wanted t—”

“Don’t want.”

She opened her mouth again.

“Stop.”

She shut it.

⸻

Your meltdown was hitting its emotional peak.

“He’s probably smiling at her,” you sniffed.

“Ghost?” Soap blinked. “Smiling? At anyone? Except you? Lass be serious—”

Before he finished, a dark shadow filled the doorway.

You both turned.

Simon stood there, eyes locked on your teary face.

Not the cookies.

Not Soap.

You.

His whole body tensed.

Soap raised his hands.

“Aye, I want to make one thing VERY clear—I did NOTHING. I touched NOTHING. I looked at NO ONE. I am just a bystander.”

“What. Happened.”

Soap pointed at you, putting his hands up like, Not it.

“She’s emotional, Lt. Tread carefully.”

Simon walked toward you slowly, like you were a bomb with a half-cut wire.

He crouched down.

“Love… look at me.”

You did.

And immediately broke into ugly sobs.

Mini heart attack for him.

He cupped your face. “Who made you cry?”

“You—” you hiccupped.

Simon froze. “Me?! What did I do?!”

“You were with her.”

“Her?”

“The recruit,” you whispered tragically. “With the hair.”

Simon blinked once.

Then snorted.

Actually snorted.

You dramatically gasped. “YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY?”

“No,” he said immediately, eyes wide. “No—no, love, I don’t— I’m just— you’re— okay— listen—”

His brain short-circuited.

Soap backed away like it was a live grenade.

Simon tried again.

“Love… she came to ask a question. I told her to back up. She didn’t listen. I wasn’t talking to her. I was trying to escape.”

You sniffed. “She touched your arm.”

Simon’s jaw twitched. “I know. I didn’t like it.”

“Why didn’t you move away?!”

“I DID. SHE FOLLOWED. LIKE A DUCK.”

Soap wheezed.

“She’s so pretty,” you whispered.

“She’s not you.”

Your eyes instantly filled with tears again.

Simon panicked again.

“Oh for— love, no, please, don’t cry— I mean she’s not you because you’re mine— I mean I only look at you— I mean— Johnny help.”

Soap: “Nah, Lt. I want to see how this plays out.”

Simon glared at him.

Then turned back to you, voice softening to that low, warm tone that always melted you.

“You made cookies?”

You nodded miserably.

“For me?”

Nod.

“Love…” he breathed, chest aching. “C’mere.”

He lifted you like you weighed air, settling you against his chest.

You bawled harder.

He kissed your temple. “Stop crying or I’m gonna start.”

“I’m jealous,” you whispered.

“Aye.” He smirked softly. “I know.”

“Stupid hormones,” you muttered.

He kissed your head again. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, love.”

You pulled back, glaring weakly. “Don’t talk to girls.”

“Done.”

“Don’t look at them.”

“Done.”

“Don’t stand near them.”

“Aye.”

“Don’t breathe air they breathe.”

Soap: “That’s not physi—”

Simon: “Done.”

You sniffed.

“Okay.”

Simon stroked your hair gently.

“You’re my girl,” he murmured. “My only girl.”

“And the baby,” you whispered, rubbing your bump.

“And the baby,” he agreed.

“And Soap,” Soap added.

Both of you stared at him.

He backed up.

“Right, I’ll shut up.”

“You scared me,” you muttered into his chest.

“I scared you? You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you fell—or climbed something again.”

You sniffed.

“I only climbed ONE chair.”

“ONE IS TOO MANY.”

He cupped your face, thumb wiping a tear.

“You think I’d even look at someone else?” he said softly. “You’re my wife. My whole world.”

You melted instantly.

“And you brought me cookies.”

He smiled under the mask.

“So I clearly married a perfect woman.”

___

He held you closer, kissing your temple.

“You still jealous, love?”

You pushed your face deeper into his chest. “…Yes.”

He smiled. Actually smiled.

“Good. Means you care.”

You huffed. “It’s hormones.”

He smirked. “Whatever you say, love.”

“Let’s go home.”

You nodded, grabbing his arm possessively like he might get stolen.

“Good. Because I don’t like sharing.”

He chuckled.

“Aye. I noticed.”

And he carried your cookie container like it was a priceless treasure.

⸻

Stop Teasing Me.” — Simon Riley x Pregnant!Reader

___

You waddled into the kitchen half-asleep, wearing your giant moomoo dress, hair sticking out in every direction, one hand on your lower back, the other rubbing your eyes.

You weren’t trying to impress anyone. You just wanted breakfast.

Simon turned at the sound of your slippers scraping the floor — and immediately went still.

His eyes dragged from your messy hair, to your puffy morning cheeks, to the loose dress barely hanging on your shoulder. His grip on his mug tightened like he was physically restraining himself.

You blinked at him.

“…What?”

He let out a slow, controlled breath.

“Stop teasing me.”

Your face twisted. “Huh? Teasing you? I look like I just crawled out of a tornado.”

He set the mug down, stepped closer, jaw tight like you’d personally attacked his self-control.

“That’s the problem.”

“What problem?”

He gestured helplessly at you. “Dressed like that. Hair everywhere. Walkin’ in all sleepy and soft…”

His voice dropped, rough and low.

“Bloody hell, love — it’s so sexy.”

You stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “In my moomoo?”

“In that moomoo,” he corrected firmly. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You barked a laugh. “Simon, I look like a pregnant potato.”

He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your warm cheeks.

“A sexy potato,” he muttered, absolutely serious.

You choked. “That is not a compliment.”

“It is when I say it.” He leaned closer, forehead touching yours. “You walk in here lookin’ soft and sweet and… mine. And I’m supposed to keep calm?”

You felt your face heat more than it already was.

“Simon, I’m literally a mess.”

“Love,” he whispered, voice dropping even lower, “you could roll in here in a trash bag and I’d still think you’re the sexiest thing alive.”

Your laugh was half-embarrassed, half-flustered. “So… me breathing is teasing you?”

“Exactly.” His arms slid around your waist, pulling you against him carefully. “You don’t even try. That’s why it’s torture.”

You hugged him back, shaking your head.

“I’m not teasing you, Simon.”

“You are,” he murmured into your hair. “Even if you don’t mean to.”

You grin into his chest.

“So you’re suffering?”

He groaned dramatically. “Terribly.”

And he held you, warm and careful, like even your messy-hair-moomoo chaos version was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

___

a/n: short post for now :)

Heya can u please do an angst to happy ending with simon where he's been close to another girl for a while so reader gets jealous and insecure. You can choose how the story goes but i NEED SOME GOOD ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING PLEASEEEE

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader — “The Things You Don’t Say”

a/n: late night post. hope u like it

___

You didn’t notice when it started.

The distance.

The long nights.

The short mornings.

And then — the recruit.

Petite. Lightweight. Doll-like.

The kind of girl people automatically protect.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But the jealousy sat in your stomach like a stone.

___

You arrived with coffee for Simon — a peace offering for another day of hardly seeing him.

But when you stepped inside the firing range, you froze.

Simon stood behind her again.

Hands on her shoulders.

Adjusting her stance.

Her laugh echoing off the concrete.

“Lift your elbow,” he murmured.

She giggled.

You placed the coffee down quietly, your jaw tightening.

You hated the bitter taste in your mouth.

You hated the way your chest tightened.

You hated how you felt childish for even caring.

But you walked away before he turned around.

You kept telling yourself it was stupid.

Until it wasn’t.

• The recruit bragging to other soldiers that Simon praised her progress.

• Someone joking that she was “LT’s favorite” because she followed him everywhere.

• Soap side-eyeing you when your expression fell.

• The recruit touching Simon’s arm while holding a clipboard.

• Simon correcting her grip again, leaning close, murmuring instructions you used to hear.

Your stomach twisted so sharply it felt like you’d swallowed glass.

You didn’t cry.

You never cried around people.

You hated it.

Hated the vulnerability, hated the weakness.

Instead, you grew quieter.

Angrier.

Sharpened by resentment you didn’t want.

___

You thought you were alone in the empty supply room.

Every bottle, every box you dropped clattered louder than necessary.

You mumbled under your breath, frustrated, angry at yourself, angry at him:

“She’s tiny and cute. Of course he likes teaching her.”

“She actually listens.”

“She doesn’t take up space.”

“She doesn’t annoy him.”

“I look stupid even being jealous—”

Your voice shook with annoyance, not sadness.

“—I hate this. I hate feeling like this. God, I hate it.”

You slammed a drawer shut harder than intended.

A low voice came from behind the shelf.

“Who are you talkin’ about?”

You spun — Simon had stopped in the doorway, mask up just enough to show his eyes.

You hadn’t even heard him walk in.

His brows were furrowed, confusion mixing with something darker.

You straightened, cold and stiff.

“Eavesdropping? Really?” you snapped.

He crossed the room in slow, heavy steps.

“Say it again.”

“nothing ,” you muttered.

He laughed — one short, humorous breathe.

“That’s not nothing.”

His voice dropped lower, thick with something you’d never heard from him before:

“You hate cryin’, so when you sound like this—”

His fingers tapped his chest.

“—I know somethin’s eatin’ you alive.”

You looked away sharply.

He stepped closer.

“This is about the recruit.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Your silence screamed.

___

The comm buzzed faintly.

“Echo… shift left.”

Left.

Left??

You blinked, confused — you were halfway going right.

Ugh.

Perfect.

Your brain was mush.

Not from the mission, not from stress…

But from the stupid image stuck in your head of Simon leaning over the new recruit, his hand wrapped around her wrist, fixing her grip like she was made of glass.

And she had looked so tiny next to him.

So… delicate.

Your stomach twisted in a jealous knot.

“Echo.”

Simon’s voice again, firmer — but still gentle.

You didn’t even flinch.

Because you hadn’t really heard him.

Not properly.

You were too busy replaying every moment he spent with her.

Then—

“Echo, respond.”

That tone.

Not angry.

Not annoyed.

Worried.

Your heart sank.

That’s why he kept calling.

Not because he was checking up on you…

but because you had literally stopped listening.

You weren’t following orders.

You weren’t focused.

You were spiraling.

Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, butterflies exploding in your stomach — the messy, chaotic kind that made you want to scream and melt at the same time.

Then a soft click.

Private channel.

Your breath hitched.

His voice came in low, warm, dangerously soft.

“Love… why aren’t you answering me? My heart’s in my throat over here.”

Why did that make your knees feel weak?

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady.

“I’m— I’m fine,” you managed, even though you sounded like the exact opposite.

Simon went quiet.

A thick, warm kind of quiet.

The kind that said he knew every emotion hiding in your voice — especially the ones you didn’t want him to hear.

“You didn’t hear a single order I gave, Love.”

Still soft.

Still worried.

But now with an edge of… hurt.

Your stomach twisted into knots.

“I just— got distracted,” you muttered.

Another breath from him.

A slow one.

Like he was imagining grabbing your face gently and forcing you to look at him.

“Distracted by what, hm? Care to tell me, or do I have to come get you?”

You let out a short, sharp sigh.

“Whatever. Just… mission stuff.”

Short. Dismissive.

Like you didn’t care.

Like it wasn’t twisting your stomach into knots.

He felt something was off.

He almost cursed on comms — you heard the breath he swallowed.

But he stayed silent.

___

After the mission, you rushed to the kitchen.

Your hands shook — not from tears, but from anger, frustration, shame.

Simon followed.

But the recruit cut him off.

“Lieutenant, can you help me—”

“I— It’s fine,” you said quickly.

Too quickly.

You forced the fakest smile of your life.

“It’s fine. Go help her. She needs you.”

You turned to the coffee machine, pretending your chest wasn’t collapsing.

You thought he’d leave.

He didn’t.

⸻

Footsteps.

Fast, determined.

Before you could turn around, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you with force until you collided with his chest.

You gasped.

Simon’s voice was low, hurt, furious, terrified—all at once.

“No. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor.

“Simon, just—go help her.”

That hurt him more than any bullet ever could.

His voice cracked.

“Why do you keep saying that?”

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth tasted ugly.

You finally whispered:

“I saw the way she looked at you. I mean, she’s small,pretty and cute. She’s perfect.”

Your breath broke mid-sentence.

“And I’m… not.”

For a full second, his whole body went still.

“What makes you think you’re not perfect in my eyes”

Then his hands cupped your face like you were something he was terrified to lose.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

Your eyes burned.

“I help her because I’m her superior. I’m patient with her because that’s my job.”

“But I choose you.”

Your breath hitched.

His forehead pressed to yours.

“You are the woman I come home to.”

“You are the one I reach for in my sleep.”

“You are the one I want in my bed, in my arms, in every bloody part of my life.”

Your breath trembled, tears pushing over.

He kept going—voice fierce, desperate.

“I don’t look at her. I don’t want her. I don’t even think about her.”

His thumb wiped a tear that fell too fast.

“But you… I notice every damn thing you do.”

Your lips parted in shock.

He leaned down, his voice almost breaking:

“The way you laugh.”

“The way you swear under your breath.”

“The way you walk like you own any room you step into.”

He cupped your waist—firm, possessive.

“Your curves are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I swear to God, if you ever compare yourself to anyone again—”

His voice dropped to a trembling whisper.

“—you’ll break me.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

Simon pulled you into his arms, crushing you against him, one hand sliding to the back of your head.

“I’m yours.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, not wiping tears—there were none.

“Even when you’re angry. Even when you won’t look at me. Even when you’re pushin’ me away.”

You inhaled sharply, eyes burning but dry.

He pulled you against his chest.

“If you won’t admit it , fine.”

“But don’t you ever think she stands a chance against you.”

Your voice cracked

“Simon…”

He kissed your forehead through the mask.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, love. Not from you.”

And finally—

Finally—

your body relaxed in his arms,

smelling his scent.

___

Don’t Take Him From Me

Simon ghost Riley x Medic!Reader

Summary:

On a brutal mission, she pushes herself past her limits, saving everyone she reaches—until the battlefield turns on the person she loves most. In the chaos and smoke, she fights harder than she ever has before, her emotions unraveling as Task 141 watches in heavy, helpless silence.

a/n: thought of this while listening to the remix of everything is romantic (lowkey cried)

___

The battlefield was chaos—smoke curling through the night air, metal screaming, bodies dropping, and your lungs burning as you sprinted from one injured soldier to the next. Your hands were shaking from adrenaline but steady with purpose.

You were a medic.

A damn good one.

A miracle worker tonight.

You saved one.

Then another.

And another.

Your gloves were stained with blood—but none of it was theirs anymore.

Every life you touched, you brought back.

Soap’s voice crackled through comms, choked with pride,

“She’s unstoppable… our angel.”

Gaz answered softly,

“Nobody dies on her watch.”

But then—

A sound cut through everything.

Not the boom of an explosion.

Not the crackle of gunfire.

Just one bullet.

One.

Sharp. Sudden. Final.

You whipped around—

And saw Simon stagger.

Then fall.

⸻

The world collapsed. Literally.

Your ears rang so loud you couldn’t hear your own heartbeat.

Your legs moved before your brain did—pure instinct, pure terror.

“SIMON—”

Your voice cracked mid-scream.

Soap and Gaz emptied their magazines into the last enemy, yelling something you couldn’t process.

You didn’t see anything except the splash of red spreading beneath him.

You crashed to your knees so violently the impact shot pain up your legs—but you didn’t even feel it.

Your hands hovered, trembling, terrified, before you forced yourself to touch him.

And you felt it.

Warm blood.

Too warm.

Too much.

A wound right near his heart.

Your breath hitched so violently it sounded like choking.

“No. No no no no— Simon, look at me— hey— stay with me—”

Your voice wasn’t steady.

It was ripped.

Shattered.

You pressed both hands on the wound, but the blood seeped through your fingers instantly, running between them, painting your gloves, your wrists, your whole world red.

When his eyes fluttered, unfocused—

Something inside you broke.

___

Simon’s mind drifted.

He couldn’t hear your sobs anymore — only faint echoes, like underwater.

He saw you laughing in the kitchen, flour on your nose as he tried — and failed — not to smile.

He saw you tugging him up from the couch, telling him he needed to learn how to slow dance, and he muttered, “I don’t dance,” right before you pressed his hand to your waist and made him.

He saw you running from him around the sofa after you stole his mask for fun — giggling so hard you nearly fell.

He saw the moment he caught you.

Lifted you.

Held you like the whole world existed in his arms.

He saw your smile.

And it hurt.

Because he wasn’t ready to let that go.

___

Your chest tightened so much you couldn’t breathe. Tears blurred your vision instantly, spilling so fast they dripped onto his vest, mixing with his blood.

“SIMON— PLEASE—”

Your voice cracked entirely.

“Don’t shut your eyes— don’t you dare— STAY. WITH. ME.”

You started CPR with everything you had—each compression so hard your shoulders shook, your breath coming in sharp, hysterical gasps.

Your tears wouldn’t stop.

They wouldn’t even slow.

They ran hot and nonstop down your cheeks, down your chin, landing on his mask, his chest, your own shaking hands—your vision swimming, doubling, disappearing.

You couldn’t even see him clearly anymore.

Just tears and blood.

His and yours.

“Why can I save everyone but you—”

Your voice cracked so loud it echoed.

“WHY CAN’T I SAVE YOU—?!”

Your hands slipped on his blood but you kept pushing, harder, faster, desperate, sobbing so violently your whole body shook.

You hiccupped through sobs that scraped your throat raw.

“Simon— SIMON— don’t leave me— don’t you f*cking leave me—”

Your breaths came in broken, trembling gasps.

“I love you— please— hear me— I love you— I LOVE YOU—”

You weren’t crying anymore.

You were wailing.

The kind of sound a human only makes when their soul is tearing apart.

Soap turned away, eyes red.

Gaz wiped his face with a shaking hand.

Price stood frozen, jaw clenched so tight it trembled, his breaths uneven.

No one dared touch you.

No one dared speak.

It wasn’t just grief.

It was devastation.

You collapsed forward against Simon’s chest, sobbing into his vest, your fingers digging into him like you could physically hold him here, anchor him to the world, refuse to let Death take him.

Your tears soaked his shirt.

Your cries wrecked the silence.

Your heart felt like it was splitting open inside your ribs, hot and sharp and unbearable.

You saved everyone tonight.

Everyone—

Except the man you would have died for.

Except the man you loved more than anything you ever treated, patched, or healed.

And the world went completely, suffocatingly silent—

except for your broken, choked-out whisper:

“Please… please don’t take him from me…”

___

a/n: guys I don’t know how to end this

“Can’t Stay Mad at You” — One-Shot

Simon ghost Riley x reader

Summary:

Even on a high-stakes mission, some arguments are harder to keep than your focus — especially with Ghost around

___

You’d been ignoring him for three hours.

Three entire hours of moving through the compound, giving orders, checking corners, reporting to Soap — anyone but Ghost. And the worst part was that he noticed immediately. He always noticed when your voice wasn’t directed at him.

You brushed past him again, shoulder bumping his arm as you went to cover the next hallway.

Behind you, the comms crackled.

“Love, you gonna tell me why you’re actin’ like I kicked your dog?”

You clenched your jaw. Don’t answer.

You heard him scoff, a low annoyed breath through the mask.

Then, almost immediately—like he couldn’t help himself—

“Could at least warn me before givin’ me the silent treatment. Nearly got me thinkin’ you don’t like the sound of my voice.”

Soap snorted somewhere over comms. “She never likes your voice, Lt.”

Ghost ignored him.

“You. The one ignorin’ me.”

A beat.

His voice dropped, deeper, rougher, because he knew you’d hear it.

“Funny, considerin’ how you usually beg for me to—”

“Ghost.” Price cut in sharply.

Ghost coughed once, pretending innocence. “Misfired. Slip of the tongue.”

You didn’t turn. You didn’t give him the satisfaction.

But God, you felt him right behind you now — tall, imposing, radiating heat through your vest as he followed close like a shadow.

“Still not talkin’ to me?” he murmured, low enough only you could hear.

“Go away,” you hissed.

“Can’t,” he said. “Assigned to you.”

Then, quieter, “Not that I ever mind stayin’ close to you.”

You climbed the next staircase quickly, trying to escape the way his voice made your anger wobble.

But he kept going — because apparently, Simon Riley with guilt was also Simon Riley with no verbal brakes.

“Y’know, if you’re angry ‘cause of earlier—”

“I’m working.”

“Mm. And lookin’ real good doin’ it.”

Then again, under his breath, shameless:

“Could watch you all day. Preferably under me but—”

“Simon.” You whipped around, finally snapping.

He froze.

You could see his shoulders tense — not in fear, but something close to relief that you finally spoke to him.

He tilted his head. “There you are.”

“You—” You jabbed a finger at his chest plate. “You can’t just say things like that during a mission.”

“I can. And I did.”

Soap muttered, “Jesus Christ…”

Ghost took a slow step closer, lowering his head so only you could hear the rasp of his voice.

“Didn’t like bein’ ignored,” he admitted. “Got… frustrated.”

“Frustrated?” you repeated.

His eyes held yours through the skull mask, dark and unguarded.

“Yeah. The kind where I start sayin’ things I shouldn’t, just to get you lookin’ at me again.”

Your pulse jumped.

You hated how easily he could do this — melt your irritation with one stupid sincere line.

He leaned in a little more.

“Talk to me after this,” he murmured. “Let me fix whatever I screwed up. Just… don’t shut me out like that again.”

You breathed out slowly, anger softening.

“…Fine. After.”

A pause.

Then that damned smug rumble:

“Good. ‘Cause if you ignored me any longer, I would’ve started describin’ everything I wanna—”

“SIMON.”

“Right. Work. Mission. Professional.”

A beat.

“Still thinkin’ about it, though.”

And you could hear the smirk in his voice as he followed behind you, satisfied he’d gotten you to talk again.

___

König x Reader — “Caught Off Guard” (Fluff)

Summary:

A sudden, unexpected moment leaves you avoiding König the next day… and he doesn’t let it slide. Tension, heat, and quiet feelings rise when he finally gets you alone.

___

Last night was supposed to be normal.

You were both reaching for the same file, you leaned in, he turned, and—

your lips brushed his.

Warm, soft, unmistakable.

Both of you froze, then pulled away instantly, faces burning.

So the next day, you avoided him like he was an active threat.

Any hallway he was in? You turned around.

Any sound of his boots? You vanished.

He definitely noticed.

When you saw him coming down the stairs, you panicked and hid behind a wall.

You peeked—coast clear.

You turned around—

He was already there, leaning against the opposite wall, arm braced above his head, eyes locked onto yours.

“You weren’t there a second ago,” you murmured.

“Oh?” His voice was deep, low. “I move quietly when someone is avoiding me.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Why are you running from me, Schatz?”

You kept your voice soft, introverted, steady. “I wasn’t trying to. I just… needed space.”

“Because of last night?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I didn’t mean to feel your lips,” you said quietly.

He let out a soft chuckle. “It was an accident. But you act like I kissed you on purpose.”

You exhaled, eyes dropping for a moment.

“I wasn’t prepared for… that.”

That line hit him harder than anything else.

He went still—surprised, flustered, trying not to show it.

Then, gentler,

“So that’s why you hide.”

He reached for your wrists, lowering your hands with careful ease.

“Don’t run from me,” he murmured. “I’ll just catch you again.”

When you finally walked away, he stayed there for a moment, staring at the space where you disappeared, warmth creeping under his hood.

Scheiße…

He was thinking about it again—the accidental kiss, your quiet voice, the way you said you weren’t prepared.

His chest tightened, heat lingering at the back of his neck.

He didn’t stop thinking about it the rest of the day.

___

Ghost x Newbie Reader — “When the Sunshine Dimmed”

Summary:

A sunshine-bright, talkative newbie joins Task 141 and instantly clashes with Ghost’s cold, closed-off personality. Her constant attempts to break through his walls only seem to push him further away, and their growing tension reaches a breaking point after a mission goes wrong.

_______

You were the newbie who never stopped talking.

Tapping your fingers on tables, humming between breaths, telling jokes so stupid Soap and Gaz nearly cried from laughing.

It was how you survived stress.

How you kept the darkness away.

But Ghost never laughed.

Never smiled.

Barely ever looked at you.

Cold.

Shrug.

One-word replies.

Still… you kept trying.

You tried so hard to be on his good side that it hurt sometimes.

_______

You and Ghost were off-sync again.

The silence.

The tension.

The lack of communication.

It led to failure.

When you got back to base, Ghost ripped off his gloves and snapped:

“Maybe if you just shut your goddamn mouth, things would’ve gone better for everyone.”

Your whole body went still.

The one thing that had never gone still before — your voice — died instantly.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t tap.

You just nodded once, lips trembling…

and walked away.

Ghost watched your back disappear down the hall.

His stomach dropped.

He regretted it the second the words left his mouth —

but too late.

_______

You talked only when needed.

Smiled only when someone looked at you.

Your jokes were gone.

Your tapping was gone.

Your eyes were duller.

It hurt him.

More than he expected.

He tried to talk to you all day… but you kept drifting away, polite but distant.

By night, he couldn’t stand the emptiness anymore.

______

Ghost walked quietly through the corridor until he stood before your door.

He hesitated — something he almost never did.

Then he knocked.

“Come in!” you called brightly…

but your voice shook just a little.

He opened the door —

and froze.

You were sitting on your bed, head bowed, hair long and loose down to your chest.

He had never seen it down before.

Different than he has ever seen.

Just… quiet surprise.

A slow, soft shift in his eyes.

A flicker of something warm, something aching — like he was seeing a version of you he never earned the right to see.

He swallowed.

He couldn’t seem to look away.

And when you finally lifted your head and noticed it was him, your expression dimmed slightly.

“Oh… Ghost. Hi.”

It stung more than any bullet.

He cleared his throat softly.

“…May I come in?”

You hesitated.

Then nodded.

______

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him gently — almost cautiously, like he didn’t want to scare you any further.

You kept your eyes down, hands clasped tightly, hair falling forward like a shield.

The guilt in his chest twisted.

“Listen…” he started, voice rough, “I owe you more than just an apology.”

You stayed silent.

He took a breath — deeper than usual.

“You get inside my head.”

A pause.

“You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle. And instead of dealing with it, I pushed you away. I shut you out. I took it out on you.”

Your breath hitched softly.

He continued, quieter,

“When you stopped talking today… it felt wrong. Like someone turned off the light.”

A beat.

Then,

“You brighten everything. Even me. Even when I pretend you don’t.”

Your eyes lifted at last — hesitant, shiny.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate.

“You didn’t deserve what I said,” he murmured. “And I’m… I’m sorry.”

You nodded, voice small but sincere.

“…I forgive you.”

His shoulders relaxed — real relief, raw and unguarded.

He looked at you like you were something fragile and beautiful and dangerously important.

Then gently — almost with reverence — he reached forward and tucked a loose strand of your long hair behind your ear, fingers brushing your cheek.

The softest touch.

The warmest breath.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, the word melting into something tender.

And then he left.

Quietly.

Slowly.

Barely breathing.

Leaving you sitting there with cheeks burning, heart racing, and butterflies fluttering so hard it hurt —

while he stood outside your door, hand on the wall, eyes closed…

…because he hadn’t realized how much he needed you

until he saw the light leave your face.

_____

What the Heart Refused to Forget

Simon ghost Riley x Original character (Ivy Torris)

Summary:

You and Simon were a military couple fighting against a world that was too dangerous for the two of you to stay together. When he pushed you away to protect you, everything in your life shifted, forcing you into choices you never wanted and emotions you weren’t ready for. But on the day everything was supposed to end, fate twisted in a way neither of you expected, pulling you and Simon back into each other’s lives at the exact moment your hearts were breaking the most.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The base had always been noisy. Engines roaring, metal clanging, orders being barked across the yard.

But between Simon and Ivy… there was nothing.

Just a painful, unbearable silence.

Ivy stood in front of him, hands trembling so badly she had to hide them behind her back. She tried to find his eyes behind the mask, tried to see even a flicker of the man who once held her like she was something worth protecting.

“Simon,” she whispered, her voice already breaking. “Please… talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He stood stiffly, like hearing her voice hurt him. Because it did.

He finally exhaled, a shaky, quiet breath that already sounded like goodbye.

“It’s too dangerous,” he muttered.

Her heart stuttered. “What is?”

“This. Us.” His voice cracked, just once, before he forced it steady. “You being with me—it puts a target on you. I can’t let something happen to you. Not because of me.”

She stepped back as if the words physically shoved her.

“So your answer,” she whispered, tears gathering but refusing to fall, “is to cut me out? After everything?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t take her hand.

Didn’t fight for her.

“Ivy,” he forced out, “go.”

And there it was.

The final blow.

She bit back a sob so hard her throat shook. “Fine,” she whispered, her voice trembling like it was made of glass. “If you’re choosing fear over us… I’ll leave.”

She turned around quickly, because she knew if she saw him for one more second, she’d fall apart right there at his feet.

He watched her walk away.

His mask hid everything,

but inside him—

something tore.

He told himself it was for her safety.

He told himself he had to let her go.

But when the door closed behind her, Simon pressed a hand to his chest—

and felt the first tear he’d shed in years burn down his cheek under the mask.

⸻

Her parents thought she came home for rest.

They didn’t see the swollen eyes she hid behind sunglasses, or the quiet way she moved like every breath was painful.

They brought up the arranged marriage again.

Normally she’d argue.

This time, she barely had a voice.

“Alright,” she whispered weakly. “I’ll do it.”

Her mother hugged her in happiness.

Ivy hugged back in silence.

The moment her door closed, she collapsed to her knees. Her hands covered her face, but it didn’t stop the sobs from tearing out of her. It wasn’t just crying—it was grief.

Real grief.

The kind that shakes your whole body.

The kind that leaves you gasping.

The kind you feel in your ribs.

She cried until the carpet beneath her was damp.

Until her eyes ached.

Until she had nothing left but the empty space he once filled.

She didn’t say yes because she wanted a future with someone else.

She said yes because the one future she wanted…

had already walked away from her.

⸻

Simon stopped talking to everyone.

Even Soap.

He buried himself in missions, drills, reports—anything to drown out the memory of Ivy’s voice cracking when she said “fine.”

He moved like a ghost.

Silent.

Mechanical.

Empty.

The others whispered that he was colder than ever.

They didn’t know that every night, when the base finally fell quiet, he’d shut himself in his room, sink onto the edge of the bed, and cover his face with trembling hands—trying to breathe through a pain he caused himself.

Every tear he didn’t let fall the day she left now came back with interest.

He told himself she was safer without him.

But he had never felt more alone.

⸻

THE WEDDING DAY

Ivy’s mother zipped the back of her dress slowly, carefully, as if she were dressing a porcelain doll.

The fabric was beautiful—flowing, shimmering when the light hit it.

But Ivy… Ivy looked like someone dressing a ghost.

Her eyes were empty.

Her lips barely moved.

Her hands shook so violently she dropped her bouquet twice.

She turned to the mirror.

And the girl staring back didn’t look like a bride.

She looked like someone standing at the edge of something she didn’t want to jump into.

She swallowed a sob. “This… was supposed to be with him.”

She blinked hard, but the tears slid down anyway, running down her cheeks, falling onto the white dress she never wanted.

She wiped them quickly—didn’t want wet stains in the photos.

Even though the photos meant nothing to her.

⸻

Soap ran in breathless.

“Ghost—listen. Ivy’s getting married. Today.”

Simon’s world stopped.

His chair scraped loudly as he stood. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

“No…” he whispered, voice cracking. “No—”

Soap shoved him the address.

Simon didn’t even take his mask off.

Didn’t take his gear off.

Didn’t think.

He ran.

_______

Rain slammed against his body as he rode at reckless speed.

The wind roared past him.

His breath came in sharp gasps, the panic settling in his bones.

Every image stabbed him—

Ivy in white.

Ivy holding someone else’s hands.

Ivy whispering vows that should’ve been his.

He gripped the handlebars so tightly his knuckles ached.

“Please…” he begged into the storm. “Please don’t let me be too late… please…”

His tears mixed with the rain.

He didn’t wipe them.

⸻

When he reached the venue, the lights were out.

The guests gone.

The hall empty.

He staggered inside, water dripping off him, breath shaking so violently he could barely stand.

He fell to his knees.

“What have I done… God, what have I done…”

Then—

A sound.

Soft.

Broken.

A sniff.

He stood instantly. “Ivy?”

He ran toward it.

There she was.

Sitting on the cold floor, knees pulled to her chest, her wedding dress pooled around her like crushed silk.

Her makeup ruined.

Her eyes swollen.

Her breaths sharp, desperate, trembling.

She turned her head slightly when she heard him.

Tears were rolling endlessly down her cheeks—

the kind of tears you don’t wipe because they don’t stop coming.

She looked destroyed.

And Simon felt something inside him break so loudly he swore he heard it.

He knelt in front of her.

“I know it’s too late,” he whispered, voice raw. “But I need you to know… I’ve always loved you. I never stopped. I just wanted to keep you safe. And now… I wish you all the best.”

Her lips trembled.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly as she tried to breathe through her sobs.

“How could you…” she whispered, almost choking on the words.

Simon lowered his head. “I’m so sorry—”

But she cut him off, voice breaking apart:

“I didn’t marry him, you idiot.”

Silence.

Simon froze.

Then his breath burst out of him like he’d been underwater for months.

A wave of relief crashed into him—so strong his shoulders sagged and he nearly fell forward.

His eyes filled, burning behind the mask.

“Thank God…” he whispered. “Ivy, thank God…”

He reached out, gently touching her face with shaking hands, wiping her tears even as his own finally fell.

Their foreheads touched.

Their breaths trembled.

And then Simon pulled her into him and kissed her—

slow at first, then desperate, then full of everything he tried so hard not to feel.

Ivy grabbed his jacket, knuckles white, kissing him back with every tear, every heartbreak, every hope she thought she’d lost.

The bouquet lay forgotten on the floor.

He swallowed hard, voice barely holding together as he whispered,

“I love you, Ivy Torris.”

She froze — then a small, soft smile formed through her tears.

She bit her lower lip gently, trying not to cry all over again as she looked at him.

⸻

=================================================================================================================================

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Introverted!Reader — “Eyes Up Here”

Part 1 , Part 2

- ———

You were never shy—at least, that’s what you told everyone.

You just preferred quiet. Preferred not being the center of attention. Preferred slipping into the background where people didn’t look too closely.

It worked with almost everyone in 141.

Soap? Easy. He talked enough for three people. Gaz? Chill, easy-going, made conversations feel like breathing. Price? Respectful, calm, fatherly.

Ghost?

…Ghost was the problem.

Not because he ever did anything wrong.

But because every time he stood near you—silent, broad-shouldered, cold eyes watching—you forgot basic human functions.

You could chat comfortably with the squad, but the second Simon Riley stepped into the room your eyes would immediately find anything else: the wall, your boots, the table. Never his face.

And Ghost noticed.

He always noticed.

Today was no different. Everyone was gathered around the briefing table, exhaustion thick after a long mission. You stood beside him only because Soap shoved you there when Price called for everyone to squeeze in closer.

You risked a glance up—only for your gaze to stop somewhere at his jawline.

Ghost raised a brow behind the mask.

“My eyes are up here, y’know.”

Your heart stopped. Your voice completely abandoned you.

You swallowed, cheeks burning, and looked away without saying a word.

Ghost’s stare lingered for a long moment—long enough that Soap nudged him.

When the meeting ended and you escaped the room like your life depended on it, Ghost watched you leave.

“Cute,” he muttered under his breath.

Soap turned. “What was that?”

Ghost immediately cleared his throat. “Nothin’. Focus on the brief, Sergeant.”

Soap smirked. He knew exactly what he heard.

Later in the base…

Your room was your sanctuary.

After patching up 141 all day, you showered, changed into soft pyjamas—tank top, loose shorts—and finally let yourself breathe.

Music played softly through your speaker.

Venus – Bananarama.

You loved this song.

Knew every beat, every little hip movement. So you danced. Freely, confidently, alone—spinning, shaking your shoulders, mouthing the lyrics with a grin.

For once you weren’t medic of 141.

You were just… you.

You didn’t know the door had cracked open.

You didn’t hear the quiet chuckle.

Ghost leaned on the frame, arms crossed, mask slightly lifted in amusement you never got to see.

He watched you—watched you—absolutely owning your little private performance.

He hadn’t expected this from you. The shy one. The one who could barely look him in the eye.

But damn… you were adorable.

When you twirled with a little dramatic pose, he bit back a real laugh.

Then he stepped away, shaking his head with a soft grin.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself. “Didn’t know she had that in her.”

_______________________________________________________

You were half-asleep, rummaging through your cupboard for your period meds.

You’d made the brilliant decision to store them on the highest shelf—higher than you could ever reach.

You cursed quietly.

Stretched.

Jumped.

Failed.

And then—

You sensed it.

A presence behind you. Heavy. Silent. Looming.

Your instincts took over.

You spun—

And kicked straight forward.

A deep grunt exploded behind you.

“F— bloody— hell—”

Your eyes widened.

“Ghost?! Oh my god— I’m so sorry—!”

He cupped himself, bending slightly, groaning through his teeth.

“Love… remind me to never sneak up on you again.”

Love.

Your brain short-circuited.

He straightened slowly, stepping closer until your back touched the table.

His palms pressed on either side of you, trapping you in place without touching you.

Dark eyes locked on yours.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, voice low enough to melt steel. “Didn’t think you’d try to kill me.”

“I—I didn’t— I mean— you— I—”

Your hands flew up to hide your burning face.

Ghost leaned in, voice dipping even lower.

“You’re adorable when you panic.”

Your soul nearly ascended.

He glanced up at the cupboard, then back at you.

“What're you lookin’ for?”

"period meds..."

He huffed a small laugh, reached up effortlessly, and grabbed the box. He placed it gently in your hand.

“Here.”

“Oh— right— thank you.”

He turned to leave… but paused in the doorway.

“Oh— and one more thing.”

You blinked. “Yes?”

“I liked the dance.”

Your stomach dropped. He saw you?

Before you could combust, he stepped forward and softly—

booped your nose.

A gentle tap.

Light. Teasing.

Then he walked away, not even hiding the smugness in his voice.

“Night, love.”

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