cowboy!ghost is soooo desperate to get his hands on the cute nurse he’s had his eyes set on since he showed up in town.
the last patient for the day is already making their way to the exit when he steps inside the dingy clinic. he’s calm. too calm for a man who’s got the image of you writhing beneath him in pleasure sitting so vividly in his mind.
you greet him with that same saccharine smile, uttering something about how you were almost done for the day. the rest of your words were lost to the wind.
amber irises followed the sway of your hips, the natural pout of your lips as you concentrated on finishing up your doctor’s notes.
you were oblivious to the way he stalked up behind you, a bear cornering its prey, pinning it down with the shadow of its massive form. his hands find the edge of the desk, and you’re caged.
and he almost falls to his knees seeing how tiny you are beneath him, head knocking against his chest when you stand up to your full height.
a gasp leaves you, eyes darting up to look at your reflection in the window, but all you see is the darkness in his eyes, cloudy with something that has your thighs pressing together, the apples of your cheeks flushing a bright shade of pink.
ghost doesn’t let you get a word in, instead leaning down to press his lips to the shell of your ear.
“kept me waitin’ long enough, love. i’ll apologize to the doc tomorrow for the mess m’about to make.”
Simon Riley likes ponytails. Long or short, curly or straight, braided or loc'd, doesn't matter, so long as it's enough to pull on, to wrap round his wrist and tug, force you back on his cock again and again, face angled to heaven, mouth craned open in pleasure as you bounce your happy ass against his groin, grind your pulsing clit against the wiry hair below his shaft. It's a thing for him, bad enough that just the sight of you putting your hair up, hairband in-between your teeth has him throbbing against his zipper. Desperate enough to leave with nary a word, slamming the stall door shut to fist himself, abuse himself to the thought of you. Choke up tight on his cock til the head turns purple, coming so hard his back caves in.
Nothing about today had been particularly extraordinary, in fact it would be considered a very boring day in comparison to other days that have passed him by.
He had woken up, gathered his things, driven to work, done his duties, drove home, and was now on the couch with rugby highlights on the telly.
Except when he had woken up, he had done so next to you. His right side being hugged and enveloped by your limbs, all softness and warmth against him. Your face was buried in between his shoulder and the pillow in an attempt to block out the sun filtering in through the blinds to earn a few more minutes before your body awoke. Simon always liked to wake up a little earlier than really necessary just so he could admire your sleeping form before he started his day. The bed sheets around him were always soft and clean, plush mattress that the both of you loved to sink into, and his pillows the exact amount of firm he liked.
When he was packing his things into the truck for work, he found you there as well. Well, technically you were still in bed, slumbering away like a princess. But you had packed him a lunch as always, no doubt with a cheesy little note that he would add to the growing pile he kept in his desk drawer. His work and gym clothes were always clean and folded, his uniform perfectly pressed to base standards. There was one keychain on his key ring, a small silver letter matching your first initial. You had fixed up his duffel that he refused to replace, sewing patches on the holes and fixing zippers with pink ribbon. The modifications stuck out against the rough, black fabric but Simon couldn't help but smile whenever he saw them.
You were there on his drive too. A polaroid picture of you tucked under the corner of his sun visor, a reminder to drive safe. He hummed along to your favorite song when it came on the radio. Passing by the coffee shop the two of you frequented on the weekends it prompted him to make a mental note to plan a date night for you. He could recall your regular orders at the drop of a hat, no matter if it was your coffee order, your go to drink at the pub, or your favorite foods to look for on a menu. Simon couldn't even remember a time where he didn't know you inside and out.
The only thing that could ever truly distract Simon at work was you. You didn't even have to try, in fact his mind did it for you. Most of the time he would catch himself staring at the framed photo of you on his desk while trying to focus on paperwork, or thinking about you an hour after his lunch is over just because the note you wrote made him smile. The other times, you were texting him to grab something before he came home, what he wanted for dinner, or just mundane little updates from your day. But sometimes, if you were feeling particularly evil, he'd get an image sent to his phone that would make his world stop. Always tastefully done, like the work of art you were, but so lewd and slutty it made him ache.
Luckily for him, he had only received a request to pick up a bag of potatoes on his way home, nothing for him to drool over. He made quick work of the errand, grabbing your favorite flavor of ice cream as a treat. On the drives home, your picture under the visor served a different purpose. This way, it was a reminder of what was waiting for him through his front door. When he was on base, only about 30 minutes of driving ever separated him from you and your home together. A long day of annoying recruits, boring paperwork, and a loud gun range all melted away once he turned that doorknob and saw your face.
So now here he was, Simon "Ghost" Riley, sitting on the couch in his living room with condensation from a cold beer bottle pooling onto the edge of his forefinger. The highlights were on, but the volume was down low and his eyes were trained on your back as you stirred a pot on the stove. It always made Simon chuckle, the way you fussed over him when he got home, no matter if he was doing office work all day or coming back from a months long mission it was always the same. The stew in the pot smelled heavenly, and Simon already knew Soap was going to whine and beg for some when he brought it in for lunch tomorrow.
Once dinner was on the table, he still couldn't help but watch you silently. Domesticity was something Simon had to get used to. Gone were the days of staying awake all night in fear, no more uncomfortable hard surfaces or shivering in the dark. Gone were the days of him eating nothing but grilled chicken and protein shakes. And gone were the days of coming home to an empty flat, so dark and undecorated that it seemed no one even lived there. He was now in a gentle, loving rhythm that you had snapped him into, albeit unknowingly. You had slotted your way into his life so easily, it often felt too good to be true. Nothing was being said over dinner, just the sounds of spoons hitting bowls and the occasional laugh from you as your scrolled through your social media timeline. The two of you were never ones to shy away from silences, but when you caught his eye you chuckled softly at him and shook your head.
"I never know what you're thinking when you look at me like that." you mused, placing your phone down on the table.
"Like wha'?" he said, still chewing on a piece of meat.
"I dunno," you shrugged, "Like...well, like that. What are you thinking about?"
"You." he answered simply, a small smile gracing your lips.
"Me?" you laughed, "Anything in particular?"
Simon pursed his lips at that inquiry.
"Dunno," taking his turn to shrug, "Just never really thought I'd have this."
When you were a child, you learned there were many ways to say thank you. In every corner of the world, people had their own methods. Or there was the way handsome mafia men in movies thanked people by blowing heads apart with a revolver.
But Ghost's way of saying thank you was something you would never forget. You writhed beneath the palm pressing against your tailbone as though he were trying to overpower an enemy. He had said he would take it slow, yet now he was claiming you like there was no tomorrow.
Your back arched even further under his thrusts. The two of you needed each other so badly. Especially after you had done something insane and run straight into the middle of gunfire just to save your lieutenant lying wounded on the ground.
Without caring who might walk into the room, he had dragged you against him and started devouring your mouth shamelessly on the hospital bed. But kisses weren't enough for Ghost to express his gratitude toward his foolish rookie.
He took a sharp breath as pain stabbed through the wound on his left side. That alone made you instinctively try to pull away for a moment as you melted beneath him. Catching your hip with his right hand, he harshly dragged you back against himself.
"Fuck the pain. Don't stop."
Knowing he wouldn't let you slip from his arms, you returned to the rhythmic movement of your bodies. His thrusts licked at you like a pulse beating inside your hole, while the fingers sliding down your thighs kept squeezing your flesh, occasionally tracing faint circles against your skin.
"Li-lieutenant..." with your sweet voice crushed beneath his weight, he buried his face into the back of your neck with a groan. He breathed in the sweaty scent there as though it were the last moment either of you would ever have alive. It was a smell he never wanted to forget. One hand braced itself by roughly gripping your hips despite the pain shooting through him.
To avoid tearing the wound open further or bursting the stitches completely, he tried to keep his hips level and avoid sudden jolts. That restraint only drove his desire into something even wilder. While the lower half of his body numbed with pain, he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck drawn tight.
"That's it..." he muttered, groaning with deep pleasure tangled together with pain. "Don't pull away from me."
The hand resting on your thigh slid between your legs and as he stroked the aching spot there, he pulled you into a suffocating kiss.
His tongue felt like it was burning, touching yours as though you were the only thing capable of soothing it. Your breath hitched, and when he pressed you impossibly closer against himself, you let out a shaky exhale. His cock throbbed desperately inside the welcoming heat of your hole, almost as if it were pleading your name.
You had already come long ago, but now he was already forming filthy plans to pull another one from you. While those sly fingers moved slowly between your thighs, he kept devouring your lips like a man out of his mind. With every touch, you felt yourself catching fire, felt yourself nearing the point of bursting apart beneath him. Your body had become a blazing inferno.
And he knew it.
Even if you couldn't fully see his gaze, you could feel it sinking into your skin. As your muffled noises finally broke free into helpless moans, the two of you lost yourselves beneath each other's desire. The pleased rumbles slipping from Ghost mixed with your own sounds like a song belonging only to the two of you, you were so close to falling apart.
So close to dragging him over the edge with you and letting him shatter you exactly the way you wanted…
Suddenly with a light slicing through the dark room like a knife, you jerked your head up from beneath the covers. Soap stood frozen in the doorway like he had just spotted two predators in the dark. Shame spread through your body like poison while Ghost was still fucking you. Meanwhile his gaze, rested on Soap with clear displeasure. "They told me you were preparing the reports."
"We are. Now get out." Your body shivered at Ghost's deep voice rumbling from behind you. But Soap didn't seem to care about his dark stare or the way you shrank into the darkness in humiliation. "Looks more like you're doing quality control but—"
Ghost immediately snatched the pillow beside your head and hurled it at him, forcing Soap to slam the door shut as the pillow smacked against it.
"I—" he didn't let you finish. The two of you both knew you were about to suggest stopping this, and your lieutenant reminded you once again just how much he hated disobedience. "No more talking now, alright?" You yelped beneath him when he pinched the sensitive skin between your thighs. Grabbing your hips, he rolled you onto your back. Now your body was being caressed beneath your lieutenant's scorching gaze. "I wasn't even finished thanking you yet."
A.n: Omgg it's the first time I'm writing for him. Dammit the last Ghost fanfic I read was from last year, I've been away from call of duty for sooo long..I hope I did a good job, ughh not to mention I'm terrible at writing smut.
Do we want to hear about more of my favorite tropes?
Forced proximity is so delicious especially when you add in the omegaverse, trauma + a safe house during a snow storm.
ghost x gn!reader, mdni, mostly fluff but some vague mentions of trauma, not edited
Imagine a traumatized Alpha!Ghost who is viscerally reactive to omegas which makes being a career soldier perfect because there are so few omegas and they are all on the world's strongest scent blockers and suppressants. But sometimes for an alpha like ghost even the strongest scent blocker isn’t enough to block out that faint syrupy sweet scent that is a dead giveaway for an omega.
Enter stage left you, the omega CIA operative who has been working on a long term op in some far flung country, trying to garner the support of that country's political opposition. It’s the kind of meddling the CIA is known for. You’re good at your job, too good, and before long the country is on the doorstep of civil war, the clashes between the groups turning violent enough that Laswell is calling in a favor for extraction.
Problem is, the 141 is like passing ships in the night, Ghost just returning from a solo op as the other three are off on their own op. so the favor lands on Ghost.
He’s more than opposed to it. Feels a lot like a suicide mission to infiltrate the city you’ve been hiding out in, skirmishes already breaking out on the streets, civilians evacuating as best as they can to safer regions. But not you, you had to be dedicated to the op, a quality that Ghost would admire in another Alpha, even in a Beta, but for an Omega? An omega in distress that needs the big bad Alpha to come save you.
And like most well laid plans the mission goes off the rails from the moment Ghost enters the city. Comms down, rolling blackouts, bad intel, and when Ghost finally finds you? You’re armed to the teeth, a man bleeding out at your feet, throat ripped open, his blood dripping down from your face, clothes drenched.
What’s more worrying is the knife buried into your side.
From there he doesn’t really have time to consider the fact that you are an omega, that he’s drenched in your scent and blood after hastily stitching you up. It isn’t until he has the two of you tucked away in a safe house that he stops to breathe.
It’s cold, it’s remote, there’s a storm in the forecast delaying their final extraction.
Another trope I love is cold in a safe-house with only their body heat to keep them warm. (Cherry on top of someone’s basically hypothermic). In this case though, your body is in shock, you’re on the edge of distressing and Ghost is afraid to risk the smoke from a fire giving away your position. He doesn’t know this area well enough, Laswell’s comms are hit or miss in this weather, the last clear message he got from her was to get over himself and help you.
Help you.
There's only one way to help you right now. An omega in distress needs a firm hand, needs support, needs comfort. Ghost can be a firm hand, his whole life has been a test in showing dominance, but comfort? Support? He's seen Gaz and Soap with Omegas, even Betas, the soft touches, rough fingers smoothing over soft skin, whispered words into the shelf of someone's ear.
That's never been him.
But he feels the barest hint of instincts clawing at him, that Alpha need to protect that he's honed into a weapon but can be used for more, so much more.
For the first time in his life he gives into it and before he knows it he's kneeling next to you, your skin is cool beneath his hands as he manhandles you into a better position, curling around you in the sorry excuse for a nest that he's assembled, stealing every soft thing he could find in the safe house.
You are barely coherent when you feel a purr rattling through your bones, it makes your blood go syrupy in your veins, your body melting into the warmth at your back. He wonders as he holds you if you will be scared when you properly come to, when all the adrenaline and instincts have worn off, will you be scared? He told you who he was, what he was doing, Laswell had managed to give you a warning, but was it enough to explain the beast of an alpha he was? Would he scare you the way he scared all the other Omegas?
that cycle of hate and hurt that started in his childhood and has followed him into his adulthood.
he holds you as tight as he is willing to risk, purring louder and louder when you whine in your sleep. he scolds himself for not having paid more attention during Omega handling trainings, having already written himself off, he was the last case scenario when it came to Omegas, but here he was hoping this was enough.
Nik is the one who finds him in that safehouse. You're tucked into Ghost's chest, eyes still closed, body no longer shaking from the cold and adrenaline drop, both of your bodies wrapped tightly in an old worn throw blanket. He builds a fire and watches from his perch on the ragged sofa as Ghost fusses over you, moving you this way and that to make sure your wound is safe, your body is warm, that you are protected. Ghost is so gone to his own instincts he doesn't notice Nik there until you are starting to stir, your scent warm and relaxed, your body pliable and heavy with sleep.
Nik's already got water, food and pain meds ready, he just needs to convince Ghost to let you go.
here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.
let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3
thank you again!
after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.
it never ends, does it?
apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.
it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.
you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.
you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.
your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.
it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
“hello?” you say as you answer the call.
“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”
you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”
you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.
“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.
she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:
“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”
you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.
why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?
your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.
laswell is coming here to do damage control.
you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.
you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.
but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?
you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.
and when you start something, you see it through.
you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.
price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.
“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”
“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.
“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.
“whatever she told you—”
“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”
price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.
“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”
“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.
“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.
“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.
and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.
you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.
like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.
on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.
in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.
when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.
it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.
it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.
and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.
what they condemned you to.
what he condemned you to.
he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.
price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.
“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.
“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.
he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.
instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.
“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.
“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.
and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.
but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?
you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.
more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.
blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.
you would’ve thrown it away anyways.
you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.
his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.
you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.
“done?”
and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.
it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.
because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.
and yet he didn’t stop you.
“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.
he shrugs. “you needed it.”
he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.
“least I could do,” he says.
you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?
“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.
maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.
“no,” he says, and you know he means it.
he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.
he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”
that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.
and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.
“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.
the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.
“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.
“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”
“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.
“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”
you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.
“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.
he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”
“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”
you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.
“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.
“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”
you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”
his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.
those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.
you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.
their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.
“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”
you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”
finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”
you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”
none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.
a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.
you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.
the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.
none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.
(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)
the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.
you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.
you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.
you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.
“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”
you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.
you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.
you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.
you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.
nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.
your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.
how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?
you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.
the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.
a new beginning, you think.
you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.
the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.
eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.
who else knows you’re here?
perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.
you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.
its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.
Hello Poppy <3 Bit anxious as i have never sent in a request before. Hence why I am sending my first as an anon as im a bit shy. But, I was wondering if for the 10k event you could do a small Ghost x Reader, slice of life fluff where Ghost comes home after a tiring day just to find reader asleep on the couch curled up with Riley? (The doggo needs some love!) Possibly trying to relocate cuddles to the bedroom.so he could join or just Ghost admiring. Either works. Just a sweet lil thing if you could, I adore your work and want to give you a big congratulations! <3
Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader
cw: none // wc: 263
10k event masterlist // 10k event rules // main masterlist
It’s late. But it happens.
Simon can’t always help it. Even when work remains close, and there are no missions taking him to distant places, it sometimes keeps him for itself. Keeps him away from you.
There are few cars on the road. Little traffic. It takes Simon no time at all to pull into the drive, to turn off his vehicle, to unlock the front door, and step inside. Silence greets him though there is a soft, warm glow from the living room. Simon follows that light, stopping just inside to survey his surroundings.
On the sofa, you’re curled into a tight ball, a large pillow tucked under your head, and a large, fuzzy blanket covering you. Riley is there snuggled beside you, using your thigh as a pillow. The retired bomb dog lifts his head; ears perked up at Simon’s entrance. Simon shakes his head and the pup stays, watching intently as Simon walks up to you.
Retrieving the remote, Simon points it at the television. Are you still watching? asks the tv before it shuts off.
There is a soft ache in his bones from his day at work. Simon stretches and considers moving Riley for his own snuggles. Yet you’re far too peaceful, and he’d hate to disturb you. Instead, Simon shuffles into the kitchen, makes himself a cuppa, and returns to the living room, settling in the recliner.
He will watch and wait until you wake up. Only then will he take you into his arms and shepherd you to the bedroom where he can stretch out, too.
As per usual, just an idea, and writers can take it and run with it. Just let me know where to read your work.
It was Price's fault that you could never live a normal life again. A stupid mistake during his rookie days. The first civilian he had ever seen hurt through his work, but not the last. He honestly questioned if this was his calling when he saw your blood pooling over his hands. He could tell you were younger than him by years. Maybe not even an adult. His Captain made him take some time off after that.
But you asked to see him. His captain made it clear that it was his choice, but the guilt was eating at him. At minimum, he owed it to you to let you yell and scream and throw things at him, or at least that was his logic.
Months have passed, but you were still in the hospital. A traumatic brain injury like that would leave you in the hospital for much longer, he supposed. When he gets there, he is shocked at how much smaller you are. There are deep bags under your eyes, and your long hair has been shaved, just starting to grow back.
He is floored when he comes in, and you just stare at him, confused. He learns then that you lost the ability to recognize faces. He explains who he is, expecting anger, but instead, you give a sad smile.
"I wanted to meet you. Not because I am angry, but because when I was bleeding out, I came to for just a second and saw the fear in your eyes. I saw the anguish. I have had a lot of time to think about what happened. Ultimately, I do not blame you. There is no way to train for a situation like that, and I would most likely have done the same thing. I need you to know that you do not have to hold guilt on my account. You save lives, and you are good at it, and I want you to live."
Price spends the rest of his leave visiting you at the hospital. he starts wearing a hat so you can recognize him. He helps you through physical therapy. Eventually, he returns to service after some encouragement, but he keeps in contact with you. Guilt still claws at him, but now he remembers why he chose to carry that burden.
Price keeps up with your recovery and celebrates the little victories with you. How you learn to cope. How you can recognize people by their stance and small tics and tells. He tells you how you would make an excellent information gatherer.
Price held you after your fiancé broke things off, unable to bear a wife who could not recognize him. Never mind that you had memorized the sounds of his footsteps. That you could smell him before he even entered your home. You swore off romance completely after that. Price hated that man. Price hated himself for robbing you of the ability to hold relationships.
Years later, after Price's marriage fell apart, Price too swore off romance. Then you lost your job. Price offered to let you stay in his apartment. At the time, it was a one-room shack, but he was never home anyway. You protested until he somehow convinced you that he needed a house sitter lest all his things be stolen while he is gone. When he was home, he spent hours arguing with you about who would take the couch. He always won and took the couch, but you would cook the most mouth-watering dinners to spite him. Omitting the several times dinner was set on fire. Now you bicker like siblings.
You took up writing after several more failed jobs. Eventually, making a good amount and you and Price buy a proper home. Now, a month after Christmas, you are insisting on Price bringing his men to celebrate in your home since they worked through Christmas this year. Price is not sure how to explain who you are to his men, so he just states his flatmate is fixing dinner for them.
The boys are not expecting to see a pretty little thing in Price's kitchen. At first, they think you are his secret wife. Until you use a spoon to fling mashed potatoes at him, which results in you two roughhousing on the living room floor. You do not live with a man like Price and not learn a thing or two about fighting. Though obviously, he would never actually hurt you. When the play fighting never takes a turn for the hot and heavy, the boys let out a collective sigh of relief. Gaz dares to ask how you met and you both freeze and change the subject.
At some point, Price does clear up that you are not involved at all while you start serving dinner. "I am too high maintenance for you, old man." Price flips you off. You flip him off, too. Soap, being Soap, immediately starts jokingly flirting. Only you do not react. After all, it has been years since you last saw your own face.
As you sit down to eat, you see it out of the corner of your eye. Ghost is taking off his mask. You do not turn to look, not like you can see it anyway, so you keep bickering with Price. But the second you turn to respond to Soap's teasing, that is when you see HIM.
Price pauses mid-sentence. He has not seen that look on your face since you were engaged. No one else in the group knows how to take the look. Seeming to think you are shocked or scared.
Meanwhile, you are shocked. The cool goth Price brought home is covered in scars. Absolutely unrecognizable from the man he once was. But you can see him. YOU CAN SEE HIM! YOU CAN SEE HIS FACE! You try to play it cool, completely ignoring what happened, but the rest of the night, they all catch you staring at Ghost and trying not to be noticed.
Later, after the boys have left, Price asks you. "Price, I can see him. Price, I can remember every detail of his face." Your voice is full of wonder. Price hums in response. Looks like he is going to be playing wingman. After all, Simon is a good man. If he is going to let anyone take you home, Simon is a good choice. Knows he'll cherish you regardless of your condition.
Price finds absolutely very reason to have you around the boys. Suddenly, you are bringing Price homemade lunches to base because the mess hall food gave him ulcers. Suddenly, Price wants to have game night at his house every other week if they are not on missions. Boys want to go drinking? Cool Price and his flatmate were just thinking about going to that bar. Soap is all for it as he is still trying to make you blush.
Unfortunately, Most of those bars are frequented by other soldiers who think your fascination with Ghost is fruitless. Some of them are not as polite as the 141. Which is how you end up with a broken heel. Ghost's arms wrapped around you as Soap slams a man into the floor. One hand is supporting your waist, the other on the back of your head, gently pressing you into his chest to prevent you from seeing what is happening as he guides you outside. Ghost asks why you keep coming to their outings when you are obviously uncomfortable.
"I just want to see it again, even if it is only a bit, so you can have your drink." Ghost blinks in, slowly processing what you said. He comes to the conclusion that you have a morbid fascination with his deformation. "So if I let you see, you will stay away from places like this?" Ghost finds himself asking. After all, you are like family to Price. If anything happened to you...
You, however, start nodding immediately. This is how Ghost ends up sitting with you at base, running your fingers over his face. As time goes on, you keep wanting to see. To be closer. So now it is not an uncommon sight for the team to find you in Ghost's lap, staring at his face while he watches a movie or reads. Ghost has become so used to your presence that he does not even notice when you start cuddling him, paying less attention to his face and more to every aspect of him.
Ghost himself does not realize that everyone thinks you two are dating until Price calls him to the office to give him the most embarrassing combination of birds and bees and overprotective speech known to man. There were threats of being neutered.
Simon is still surprised when, during your regular time with him, you lean into him and kiss his neck as you fall asleep
part two
Would y'all be interested in a continuation of this with the boys all getting happy endings, but Soap gets Winter Soldiered for a bit?
