Cod Simon Ghost Riley - Blog Posts

Uploading some older art I've done some time ago bc I think it's cute and I might redraw it sooner or later.

I'm not to happy with some of it but I still love it. I originally made this lil guy as a oc for CoD MW2 (kind of like a service dog hybrid for Simon Riley specifically) I might revamp the concept eventually but for now this is all I have

your honor i’m BEGGING and PLEADING to see simon riley in clone armor PLEASEEEE😫

Okay but Ghost, who is an omega, letting you breed him for the first time. Price had put him on leave after a particularly brutal mission knowing full well that Simon’s heat was on its way. He had crawled his way back to your flat like a wounded dog, whining softly as his body began to give out. It was only fair that he let you knot him afterward, not sharing his equal hope that it would take.

-

Sorry I haven’t written in so long! Enjoy this because it’s all I have for now lol

I’m finally brave enough to start reading Ghoap fanfics and I am actually scared

Simon Riley is the sort of man to only speak through intimacy. And I’m not talking sex; this man wouldn’t even take his shirt off around you until you begged. Not that he was shy or uncomfortable, but simply because his love language is intimacy of a non physical sort. He’d learn to cook your mother’s favorite recipe. Clip a bouquet of wild flowers at the correct angle so they stay fresher for longer. For you. Research your favorite book genres and authors so he could speak with you about them and give you new recommendations. Watch you so closely that he could tell from a flicker in the corner of your mouth and a specific movement of your eyes that you wanted out of a social situation. His devotion would be endless and complete. Get home from deployment and wait around the house like a dog until you got home. Braid your hair when you’re sick and oil your scalp late at night before you showered. Avoid letting himself sleep until the rise and fall of your chest against his arms settled into the pattern of your rest he had meticulously memorized. This man gives everything and then some without asking for a single thing back.

The Years - Ghost x Reader

Ghost who met you well into your military career, an expert strategist and even better with guns, Price had added you to the team after a year of working on various missions with you.

You weren’t simple though. After joining the military to help pay for med school, you had found out that you were better at killing people than you were saving them. They’d offered to transfer you and just have you work as a medic, but you continued on and eventually found your place in the American special forces.

Price had seen your cunning, your tactical brilliance, and your speed in the field and claimed you for the 141. For the past four years you had worked with them, never not by their sides unless you were on leave.

It was in these time periods, away from you, that Ghost sat in his flat and did nothing but think of you. The way you keep your hair braided and the breath you take before firing your rifle. The fact you hate the color yellow and love Chinese takeout. Think about when a year into your time with them, right before Price had asked you to join, that your husband had cheated on you.

You had told him this story in the dark confines of a bar as Gaz, Soap, and Price had a vicious game of billiards. He hadn’t spoke the whole time, watching you with a focus not on your face but on the rage he had to keep in check

They had finished a mission early and were allowed to go on leave for the holidays, or until you were needed again. The car in your driveway had been the first sign. Upon opening the door, the moans trailing down the hallway and the clothes strewn on the floor told the story. You hadn’t bothered to go in crying, simply grabbed your handgun and kicked open the door. The bitch looked just like you.

“Did you kill ‘em?” was all Simon asked as you had trailed off, fist clenched around a heavily nursed glass of bourbon.

“No. I think back and I wish I had, but no. I could have got away with that back in Texas, but here, you brits don’t have justified murder.”

So you had joined the team, growing reckless in the field. It took a bullet to the thigh and a knife wound to the abdomen, along with four ripped stitches, for Ghost to wrestle you to the ground and demand. Demand for you to care enough about yourself to not die. To not leave him.

You came back from that final leave of absence stronger. Smiling even, as Gaz had pulled you into a hug so tight it made Ghost twitch thinking about the jagged wound in your stomach.

For those next years you had grown closer to your team, learning to rely on them and they you. Things become simple. But you aren’t simple. And so things get complicated when Soap mentions bringing in some girls after a particularly successful mission.

You tolerate the strippers for all of thirty minutes before you storm out, the sight of one of them eyeing Ghost like he’s not Simon Riley but instead a way to get an extra fat tip.

The boys are too drunk to notice him immediately follow, except Price, whole smiles to himself before turning back to the girl prettily sitting on his lap. It takes Ghost a few moments to catch up to you as you walk out of the barracks.

“Ghost leave me alone.” you shout before he can speak.

“Why did you leave?” he calls out after you, grabbing you by the shoulder and turning you to face him.

“Because I’m not in the mood to watch you all oogle women in four inch heels and minimal clothing all night.”

He curses below his breath.

“You’ve never ‘ad a problem until now. So what the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

You can feel the way he searches your face, mask doing little to conceal the desperation in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder tightens imperceptibly, every inch of his body wired to the way your expression shifts.

“Ghost.”

He chases the centimeter you back away from him, sensing the way you recoil from the honesty he’s asking of you.

“Tell me.”

You sigh.

“That girl wanted to fuck you.”

“She did.”

Your lip curls and you turn once again and stalk to your room, fully intending on slamming the door in his face. Except he doesn’t grant you that pleasure and shoves himself through after you.

“Ghost what the hell do you want from me?” you practically snarl at him.

“I didn’t want to fuck her.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“You do.”

This makes you pause, looking him up and down. Standing in your room, chest heaving from chasing after you and eyes practically blazing. He breaks the silence first, taking a step forward as his hands clenched at his sides.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what.” you ask, more confused than before.

“For not being good at this. Not…not good at any of this. I didn’t think it was worth trying to learn. I didn’t know.”

“Know what?” you cry, closing the distance between you two.

“You feel the same.”

He says it as a question, not a statement the way it should be. The way he intends it. He’s not brave enough to say that like he knows what’s right and wrong. Not after he’d spent years in love with you and hadn’t said a damn thing.

“I do.” you let the anger out in your response to hide the tears in your eyes.

Ghost pulls you into his arms. The tears fall. Your body trembles in his grip. He hushes against the hair of your scalp.

“I’m sorry, love.”

Your arms lift to wrap around him, burrowing your face into his chest and breathing him in to calm the shaking that racks your body. When you finally calm, he lifts you gently and places you softly on the bed. It takes a few seconds to get comfortable, but he soon has you curled into him as he strokes long lines down your back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” he whispers.

“Me too, Simon.”

Cowboy!Simon who rides a big old Belgian Draft horse with a palomino coat. He knows a smaller horse couldn’t handle his weight and all of his hunting gear, so the sweet gelding he found tied up and abandoned to a tree was perfect for him.

Cowboy!Simon who has no interest in a wife or the word of God, only the small cabin he built for himself in the woods and the pitiful garden in his backyard.

Cowboy!Simon who comes home from a several day long hunting trip to find a small thing like yourself cursing silently under your breath as you rip at weeds and meticulously pick mites off leaves. Behind you, a small red Appaloosa eyes him warily as you fail to notice him on his massive horse.

Cowboy!Simon who decides at that very moment that he doesn’t need a wife or the word of God, just you to angrily tend to his garden. He’ll cook you dinner too; he killed a massive buck while he was gone.

Anyway

Simon Riley who is finally back from deployment after 8 months out in God only knows where. Fresh blood still under his nails when he arrived at the shitty flat he called home. It was made incredibly worse when he realized there wasn’t any food in his fridge and his pantry laid bare. The two cans of beans did not count. So he dragged himself to the closest grocery store and picked out necessities, half dazed as people gave him second glances. Finally headed toward the exit and passing by the coffee shop inside the store, he was stopped by a rowdy laugh.

Simon couldn’t remember the last time he heard a laugh like that.

Upon turning he saw you.

It took every bit of his willpower to remember how to even speak when he trudged up to the counter, grocery bags heavy in his hands. He didn’t register the soft greeting you gave him. What he did notice was the way you looked him up and down. Disgust or interest, it didn’t matter. You were his now, and he would do anything to hear that laugh again.

The blatant favoritism toward Ghost vs Soap is crazy. Give my half bald man some loving PLEASE

The way Ghost laps at your pussy after coming back from a months long deployment has you on the brink of insanity. Each rub of his balaclava (hastily pulled up to the nose) against your clit burns in just the right way, your soft cries falling on deaf ears. He slobbers at you like a damn dog, devouring with a sense of worship only a man who has known God could. Pushing his tongue as deep inside of you as possible, testing your soft insides with an ebb and flow as your hips buck against his face. It’s only when he moves back up to your clit and sucks that it becomes too much, the soft bite of his teeth coaxing a strangled sound out of your throat as you orgasm. He had missed this.

Realized I have free will and WILL be posting every thought I have!

Simon Riley, the lieutenant in charge of training your batch of new recruits, who absolutely despises you. Every time you fall over from exhaustion on a 10 mile run, he’s always screaming in your ear and telling you what a useless slag you are. The moment one of your bullets misses the very center of the target, he’s down your neck telling you to pull it together before tea time or he’ll have you running laps until noon. The constant pressure and seeming disapproval from the man you look up to so much has you breaking down in tears one day when you sprain your ankle scaling a ten foot wall. It’s only when he’s by your side, big and rough hands gentle on your calf as he surveys your condition that he notices the fat tears rolling down your face and realizes his mistake.

“Love, I know this is hard but I need you in good shape if you’re going to be on my team. I ain’t letting you anywhere else but by my side. Now let me patch up this ankle.”

Sleepless

Ghost never sleeps. At least nobody ever saw him do it. On missions, he'd always take the night watch, the most he did was close his eyes and snooze a bit, immediately waking up if anything happened. When he slept on base, his room was always locked, and he obviously had the room farthest from the rest. Peaks of being a lieutenant. But now here you were, in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere, crammed together in the tight space. Ghost was not pleased, to put it mildly. He didn't show it, but you could see it in the way his jaw clenched under his mask and his voice got even more gruff.

"Y' go to sleep. I'll take the watch", he ordered, sitting down heavily on a chair. "With all due respect, sir, you look like shit. You should sleep a wee bit too", you remarked, looking him up and down. Even with the mask he couldn't hide his tired and droopy eyes. "Watch your mouth, sergeant", he gruffed. You smiled and raised your hands "Just being honest, Lt" An annoyed and tired sigh escaped him. "Go to sleep. Don't make me force ya"

You giggled, but relented. Taking off the heavy vest and settling down on the floor. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, the exhaustion from todays work kicking in.

A loud bang ripped you from your peaceful slumber. You shot up, alarmed, gun at the ready. After a few seconds another bang. Worry set in. Was Ghost in trouble? Had you been discovered?

Quickly you got up, clearing the house. Nothing and no one was there. Until you got to the entrance, where Ghost was set for night guard. You didn't see him immediately, which by his size was hardly possible. He was leaning against a wall, facing the door. As soon as you saw him, you froze. That wasn't Ghost. That wasn't the deadly, tough and cold man you knew. He was scared. Hunched in on himself, arms wrapped around himself, knees pulled up to his chest. He was trembling.

You didn't know what to do, so you just stood there. He shook and trembled like a scared puppy. It hurt to watch him like this. "Ghost?", you asked, carefully. He began muttering under his breath. "No no no no, don't touch me, don't fucking touch me!", his chest began heaving with effort, his fists clenching the fabric of his uniform. You took a step closer to him. "Stop, please stop, it hurts, please!", pleas kept falling from his lips.

Should you wake him up? It didn't seem like a good idea, but he kept banging his head against the wall, which you were sure was too loud for your both sakes.

So you placed a gentle hand on his hand, shaking him slightly. "Ghost? You gotta wake up", his eyes shot open in an instant, they went from fear to rage in a split second. He growled lowly, leaping forward and pinning you on the ground under him, his giant, gloved hand around your throat.

His eyes bore holes into you, but they didn't seem focused. He seemed to be still somewhere else. "Ghost!", you called out, trying to get him to let go of you. No reaction. "Lieutenant!" Still nothing. It became hard to breathe. "Simon, please!" His gaze went sharp, focusing on your eyes.

"Fuck, shit", he cursed, immediately letting go of you. He sat next to you, looking worried. "I-I'm so sorry", he whispered. You could see remorse in his eyes.

"Everything is fine, Ghost, I'm fine", you assured him, despite a blue ring forming around your neck. "No, it's not, I hurt you", his hands reached out to you, without touching you.

"Is that why you never sleep with us (get your mind out of the gutter)?",you asked. He nodded. "I don- I can't. The next time I maybe wake up when it's too late."

You sighed, pulling him to his feet. He looked lost.

"Then I stay awake with you"

Bloody hands

Trigger warning: Graphic descriptions of pain, wounds and violence.

Note: The way I described it here is how I learned it in my tactical field care course, which is very different from what spec ops learn, so sorry for the inaccuracies. Also, there will be tactical inaccuracies as well, I have no idea what strategies the SAS uses on their missions.

Pairing: Ghost x Soap

Trope: Hurt/comfort, whump, angst

Word count:

It was a simple intel mission, something they’d done dozens of times before. Soap grabbing the intel from an old abandoned warehouse, Ghost in sniping position from a hill near the warehouse.

„Smooth as butter“, Soap thinks as he scouts the warehouse. The few hostiles were quickly eliminated, and he starts searching for the laptop. „How’s going in there, Johnny?“, Ghosts deep voice cracks through comms. „Beautifully, sir“. „Good. As soon as you got the intel, come to my location. Evac will take about half an hour to get here“. Soap rummages through a desk. „Understood“.

After a few minutes of searching, he finally finds the laptop. „Got it, Ghost“, he announces. „Well done, Johnny. Now get your arse over here“ „Yes sir“.

Soap quickly leaves the warehouse, carefully making his way towards the hill about two hundred meters away. „How’s the view from there, lt?“, he jokingly asks. No answer. „Ghost?“, he asks again. Still nothing. He gets a bit worried. „Ghost, you OK over there?“. Silence. He curses and picks up his pace.

As he reaches the foot off the hill, he sees something bloody in the tall grass. He scrambles towards the figure, sighing in relief when he identifies it as not Ghost. But a knife stuck out of the mans neck, it was one of Ghosts. He was in trouble.

As quickly as he could he runs up the hill, searching the ground for Ghost in his ghillie suit. When he finds him, his blood runs cold. Ghost is lying face down on the ground, a puddle of blood pooling around his torso. „Fuck, Ghost!“, Soap curses, quickly kneeling down next to him.

He turns him around and immediately grimaces at the sight. The mask was broken, his eyes closed. Blood pools out a bullet wound in his stomach, dark and slow.

„No no no no“, Soap mumbles, immediately pressing down on the wound, grabbing the med kit from his backpack. „Ghost! Wake up!“, he tries to urge the other man, putting on latex gloves and scissors, cutting away the fabric from his torso. Ghosts eyes flutter open. „Johnny“, he mumbles.

„Hey, hey“, Soap tries to talk to him, keeping him awake somehow. Ghost tries to speak, but his voice strangles into a pained moan when Soap starts packing the wound with quick clot gauze.

He tries to hide it, for Ghosts sake, but Soap panics. Ghost is hurt. That doesn’t happen. Some cuts and bruises, sure, but not like this. He was in pain, and he couldn’t hide it. Soap had never seen Ghost lose his composure, but here he was, hands gripping the fabric of the ghillie suit with white knuckles, small moans and whimpers leaving his lips as Soap tries to keep him from dying.

„It hurts“, Ghost mumbles, writhing under Soaps hands. „I know, I know, I‘m sorry“, Soap tries to comfort him, running his hands over Ghosts body to check for other injuries. The thoughts in his mind are running a hundred miles and hour as his hands press against his muscles, trying to ignore how he feels underneath his fingertips.

He grabs the morphine pen, uncapping it and stabbing it into Ghosts thigh, releasing the pain medication into his blood stream. „It’ll be better soon, I promise“, he tells him. His fingers reach up the the dishevelled mask, slowly pulling it off „I have to take this one off, lt. Gotta make sure you don’t accidentally swallow your tongue, yea?“ Ghost faintly nods, not enough strength in him to speak, a warm, comfortable cocoon starting to envelop him.

The sharp and agonising pain in his side slowly lessens to a dull ache, which is far more manageable. He tries to stay conscious, for Soap, but it is no use. He’s so tired, and no amount of struggling keeps him from slipping into a comforting darkness.

Soap in the mean time attempts to stop the shaking in his hands. He’s a sniper, a demolitions expert in the SAS, for fucks sake. He can keep his cool in the most stressful situations, but right now, he’s scared. Scared that it won’t be enough, that Ghost will die under his incompetent hands, killed on a stupid mission in a strange country.

Soap takes a look at his watch. Evac should be there in ten minutes. He prays to God he’ll be able to keep Ghost alive in the mean time. He doesn’t know what to do if he can’t. Ghost has passed out. At least he doesn’t have to feel the pain anymore. Soap would do anything to take it for him. With shaky hands he grabs a tube from the kit, intubating Ghost as gently as he can.

There isn’t much else he can do now anymore, only making sure Ghost keeps breathing and his heart keeps beating. He takes a look at the other far less damaging wounds, a fairly deep gash on his thigh and some bruises. With careful hands he cleans the gash from the dirt and dried blood, tightly wrapping a pressure bandage around it.

There isn’t more he can do now. He just has to wait and hope. A shuddering breath escapes him as he leans back on his knees, looking at Ghost. He looks so… Small. It is terrifying. Soap is used to being cared for by Ghost, whether it be being pulled out of the line of fire by the straps of his vest or big hands pressing into his body to stem a flow of blood. But not the other way around. The most he did for Ghost was helping him wrap a bandage around his arm once. But now, the mighty, strong and scary Ghost lies on the ground, hurt and weak.

It wasn’t the first time Soap had seen his face, but definitely the longest. His eyes were closed now, but Soap knew they were beautiful. A deep and rich brown, like the bark of an oak tree in summer. His lips were dry but of a slight pink colour, and way too plump for his own good. Soap wonders what they’d feel like on his, on his skin, on his-

The familiar sound of a chopper coming closer tears him out of his thoughts. He quickly scrambles up, packing the leftover plastic wrappers of the med kit in his bag pack, kneeling next to Ghost with a hand on his chest.

Two soldiers storm out, a stretcher in their hands. Soap helps them to roll Ghost onto it, and he gets quickly carried inside the chopper. A medic awaits them, and Soap hurries to report about Ghosts condition to him.

„Sit back, I‘ll take it from here“, he says and turns to Ghost. Soap lets himself fall heavily onto a bench, his own exhaustion getting stronger. He fights to keep his eyes open and trained on Ghosts unconscious figure, taking his hand in his and squeezing it, hoping he could feel it.

„You’re gon‘ be alright, ok? I‘m here, I won’t leave you alone“

Nightmares / Part I

Note: I made this two parts since I really wanted to post this but couldn't find the energy to write for the others tonight. Tomorrow you'll get Price, Rudi and Soap tho (I used alphabetical order, that's why they're last). Trope: Fluff, angst, hurt comfort Word count: 1.303 Trigger warning: Mention of torture

Alejandro: Alejandro was no stranger to sleepless nights. It took an eternity for him to fall asleep, worries and sorrows keeping him awake. When he did finally fall asleep, the nightmares came. He'd stand in the town square of Las Almas, having to watch as his family, friends and comrades were put against a wall. He couldn't run or scream, just stand there. When he suddenly stared in the barrel of a gun he finally woke up, shirt wet with sweat, the rooms silence filled by his heavy breaths. "Joder (Fuck)", he mumbled, getting up and putting on a new shirt. It was 0200 (2 am). He decided to get a tea. As he stepped in the community room he was surprised to see the lights on, you standing in pyjamas in front of the boiling kettle, a mug in your hand. "(Name)? What are you doing in the kitchen an two in the morning, tesoro?" You turned around, grinning but tired. "I could ask you the same, Ale" He sighed and grabbed a mug and tea bag (Spanish orange) "Can't sleep. You?" "Same. Do you... Wanna talk about it?", he shook his head. "Not right now, I think.... Just need to think about something else" You shrugged. "Understandable" You two sat down on the couch, sitting in silence, drinking the tea, each lost in their own thoughts. "Would you rather fight one hundred duck sized horses or one horse sized duck?", you suddenly asked. He looked at you like you had grown two horns. "Ehhh, madre mia, the horses, I think?", he answered. "Me too. Even though it would depend on the horse" He chuckled. "Are you trying to distract me?" You grinned "Is it working?" He rolled his eyes "A bit". You leaned you head on his shoulder, and after a moment he put his head on yours. "Good" You continued to banter about random nonsense until, finally, fatigue overcame you and you finally fell asleep. It was the best sleep either of you had gotten in a while.

Gaz: Falling asleep wasn't the problem. But as soon as Gaz drifted off into dream land, he was haunted. Faces of fallen comrades screamed at him for not saving them, the screams of agony of their last moments, the pleas of enemies he tortured filled his mind. With a muffled yelp he shot up in his bed, chest heaving. "Fuck", he muttered, getting up and pacing up and down in his room. His heart was beating like a racehorse. He grabbed his gym bag and decided to head to the training rooms. He was surprised to see the lights on, the thudding of fists hitting the punching bag filling the room. "Not bad, (name)", he stepped closer, looking at you. You sighed. "Can't sleep either?", you asked. He nodded. "Yea. Damn nightmares", he punched the bag, making it swing violently. You stepped back, sitting down on the mat and leaning against the wall. "Wanna talk about it?". He thought for a moment before turning his attention back on the bag. You thought he'd just ignore you and stay quiet, but as he started punching the bag, he muttered under his breath. "I couldn't save them. I killed them" His punches got harder and more aggressive. "It's my fault. It's my fault". You weren't sure who he was talking about, but it didn't quite matter right now. "Hey, hey, Gaz", you tried to calm him down. "Cmere", you patted the mat next to you. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, but then finally sat down next to you. A shuddered breath escaped him as he slumped in on himself. You opened your mouth, but quite honestly you weren't sure what to say. So you just sat in silence, but it wasn't an awkward feeling. It felt... Safe. Suddenly, you felt his head on your shoulder, and smiled, leaning yours against his.

Ghost: For Ghost, a good nights sleep was as common as a unicorn. Everytime he closed his eyes, he was there again. Buried alive, in a coffin, squished next to a decaying body. But this time, he didn't get out. He thrashed and screamed, unbeknownst to him not only in his sleep, but it was no use. He was trapped, he was trapped, he was trapped. Panic flooded his every fiber, but he just wouldn't fucking wake up. His eyes widened when he finally woke up. His breath came in short, shuddering gasps, tears staining his cheeks. He wanted to run, he needed to run or else he'd suffocate. He almost fell over putting on his pants and running shoes before he ripped open his door and ran. He didn't know where, he just needed to run. The sky was still dark, with the faintest shimmer of violet light creeping up the horizon. He aimed for the woods behind the barracks, mindlessly running along the paths. "Fuck, Riley, watch your step, big boy", a sudden voice squeaked. He opened his eyes which he didn't remember closing. He looked down, seeing you knocked over on the ground. "Sorry", he mumbled, giving you a hand and pulling you up. "What are you doing here at this time of night?", you raised an eyebrow. He shifted his weight. "Can't sleep". "Me too...", you looked at him. His gaze was weird... Dead, somehow. "Do you... Want to talk about it?", you asked carefully. "No", he said, voice firm. "Come with me", you grabbed his arm, leading him to a bench nearby, guiding him down and plopping next to him. "I'm here for you, you know that, right?" He gulped. "Yea..." A deep sigh escaped him. "...Thank you". You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "No problem", you mumbled, feeling him relaxing under you.

Horangi: They were here, they'd kill him, fuck, he needed to hide, he needed to hide. Horangi panted, clenching his fist in the sheets. His eyes opened wide and he rubbed the scars on his face. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and stepped outside, sliding down the wall. He lit it and took a deep breath, letting his head roll back and closing his eyes. "Whatcha doin there?", you voice suddenly sound beside him. "빌어먹을!" (Fucking hell, may be a bit wrong since I don't speak Korean) He had jumped up, sighing when he saw it was just you. "Stop sneaking up to me like that, (name)". You chuckled. "Heh, sorry". You sat down next to him. "Can't sleep?", you looked up at him. He nodded. "I don't wanna talk about it". "Then lets just... Sit" You leaned against him, feeling the tension melt slightly from his form.

König: As soon as he closed his eyes, the memories came. He was strapped to a chair, only dressed in boxer shorts, his hood gone. He felt exposed. They whipped, beat and cut him, the scars still evident on his skin. He stood up on shaky legs, the scars on his body aching. A small tin of ointment stood on the table, which he grabbed and carefully rubbed it in. He was not gonna fall asleep anytime soon again. With a heavy sigh he put on his clothes and shuffled towards the armoury. He plopped down on a bench and started cleaning his guns. "Hey there", he hadn't heard you, and immediately pointed the empty gun at you. "Scheiße! You scared me!", he mumbled. You giggled, sitting down next to him. "Sorry". He rolled his eyes and watched him clean his weapons for a minute. "Can't sleep?", you asked. "Nightmares", he answered shortly. You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling his muscles move under it as he wiped down the barrel of his gun. "You can always talk to me, you know?", you mumbled. "Yea... Danke"

Fluff and theft

Note: This is my first try at writing x reader, so I apologize if it is a bit cringe or weird, I‘m still learning. I also have never played the games, so I don’t have a perfect view on their personalities, but I‘ve tried to get it as accurate as possible. Word count: 619

Prompt: "Is that my shirt you're wearing?" Gender neutral reader; platonic, can be read as a bit more.

Ghost:

It wasn't your fault, really. You fell into the mud on the obstacle course, and well, that was your last clean shirt. Conveniently there was one of Ghosts giant shirts laying around in the laundry room. It was so comfy, but you could use it as a dress. Where it looked tight on him, it completely engulfed your body.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", a deep voice sounded behind you as walked in the common room. "No....", you mumbled. Ghost chuckled. "I give you a ten seconds head start", he said. Shit.

You ran. But it was no use, of course. Ghost was way faster than you. When he caught up to you, he quickly put you in a head lock. You couldn’t move, but you could feel he was still being gentle. „I need my shirts, (name), you know?“, he grumbled. You snickered. „Yea, and so do I“ You knew he was frowning, even if you couldn’t see it. „I‘ll get it back tomorrow. Washed. Otherwise, you’ll be doing at least ten laps around base“, he said.

„Yes sir“

Gaz:

His shirt just looked so inviting, it really wasn't your fault. When he forgets his shirt in the laundry room, oh well, he has to expect it to be stolen.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", an amused voice sounded from the kitchen when you walked in the common room. "Maybe", you said. Gaz chuckled and rolled his eyes. „Are you planning to steal my wardrobe?“, he asked. You looked at the shirt, which had a big „Garrick“ written on the front. „Noooo, you know I‘d never do that“. Gaz snorted. „Oh, I know you would, (name)“. You looked at him with played offence. He just shrugged. „We’re team mates, I know you a bit at this point“. You flipped him off and tugged at the shirt. „Just so you know, this is mine now“, you stated, walking out the common room. „Oh no no no, no it isn’t“, you could hear Gaz and started running. „Catch me if you can, pretty boy!“, you shouted.

Soap:

Mixed up laundry, it happens. It wasn’t your fault, now you had a big shirt in your basket, which clearly wasn’t yours. Not that that’d stop you.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?", Soap chuckled when you walked into the common room. „Yup. It was in my laundry basket“, you said, opening the cup board. „Is that so?“, he grinned, looking you up and down. The shirt was way too big for you, not that you minded. It was comfy. „Not that you’re not looking good in it, but I kinda need that shirt“, he said. You shrugged. „You can have one of mine“. He laughed. „I highly doubt that’d work. You’re way smaller than me, shorty“. „Oh well“, you said, „then you’ll have to get a new one issued“. He rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, stepping behind you. „I‘ll get it back tomorrow“, he said. „Maybe“.

Price:

It wasn’t your fault Price left his shirt in the locker room. He should care more about his stuff.

You walked in the common room, Price sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen. He looked at you slightly confused. "Is that my shirt you're wearing?" „Yup. You left it in the locker room“. You looked down at the shirt. „Comfy. Mine now“, you stated. He chuckled. „I don’t think so, soldier. I need that back“. You gave him puppy eye „But it’s comfy“. He rolled his eyes. „I‘m not gonna get that shirt back, am I?“. You giggled. „One day“. He shook his head. „One day I won’t have anything to wear“. You smirked. „I won’t complain“

Alive / Part XI

Trigger warning: Talking and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 669 They started the hike in silence. An awkward silence. They both knew they'd have to talk about it, but neither of them knew how to start. They knew how to kill, but they didn't know how to love.

About an hour of silence went by before they stopped. It was a beautiful view from a hill down the valley on the one side, and a steep cliff looking down on the wind whipped sea on the other.

Ghost took off the backpack he was carrying, taking out a water bottle and handing it to Soap. "Thanks", he mumbled before taking a few sips.

After a few minutes of more silence passed. "We have to talk", Soap said. This one phrase made Ghost more nervous than he'd like to admit. Less nervous than when he was on a mission that could easily end deadly. "Yea...", he mumbled.

Soap seemed nervous too. "I'm sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have done that", he said awkwardly. Ghost wanted to tell him he didn't mind, but that wasn't the truth. At least not the whole one.

Soap sighed. "When I uh, when... The accident. I could hear you. You said you loved me", he looked at Ghost with those blue eyes of his. The same colour as the stormy sea, dangerouse but, oh, so tempting. Ghost wished he could live in them. Soaps words hit him. He hadn't expected him to hear them. Hell, he thought he was dead.

"You, you what?", was all he could say. Soap smiled. "You heard me. And I heard you." His gaze seemed to stare into Ghosts soul. "Do you love me, Simon?", he asked, plainly. Ghost was taken aback, not knowing what to say. Well, he knew what to say, but he didn't know if he could say it.

Ghost sat down clumsily on the grass, Soap sitting down a meter in front of him. "I thought if you liked me too, I could, you know, I thought you'd like it...", Soap tried to explain himself. Ghost wished he could tell him, tell him everything, but it hurt, it hurt so bad.

"I'm sorry, Simon.", he apologized. Ghost wanted to scream. "I love you", he mumbled. Soap looked at him with a mix of surprise, sadness and hope. He smiled. "Well, that's good. Because I love you too, you muttonhead". A quiet sigh of relief escaped Ghosts lips.

Soap seemed to be contemplating what to say. Ghost leaned back, lying down on the green grass. Soap did the same thing, lying next to him. "If you like me too, then why'd you seem so.... Averse?", he asked.

Ghosts mouth opened and closed like a fish. The words, the truth wanted to rip out his body so desperately. But he knew it'd rip him apart. But if he left it unspoken, it would eat him from the inside.

"They hurt me....", he whispered. "They touched me, they made me do things", he got choked up. "I had to, I had to, I had to survive, it wasn't my fault", he got panicky. "Hey, hey, Simon", Soap tried to ground him. "It's alright, I'm here, I'm right here", he placed a careful hand on Ghosts side. "You're safe now"

Slowly Ghost started to calm down a bit. "I just want you to know that we don't have to do anything. I'm just happy to be here with you" Ghost wanted to scream yet again. He didn't deserve this, he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in many things. Pretty much nothing.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?", Soap asked. Ghost gulped. "They touched me... I didn't want them to, I didn't want it", he breathed heavily. "They forced me on my knees... I couldn't breathe". Soap sighed. "I'm so sorry that happened, Simon".

They just kept lying in silence. It was a comfortable silence. The memories still hurt. But it felt like they couldn't quite reach him. He felt safer.

He felt safe. For the first times in ages.

Notes: I know that this description of deep trauma is pretty unrealistic, but this is for the sake of the fanfiction, since I don't want to write a hundred parts of unlinear healing and therapy until they finally bone.

Alive / Part X

Trigger warning: Mentions and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 459

The rest of the breakfast was tasty, but awkward. Ghost felt like Molly knew. (She does). She kept glancing at him and Soap, who were sitting next to each other, a mischevious smirk on her face.

After finishing eating, they helped clean the dishes and went up to their bedroom to brush their teeth. Ghost was quiet, but he could feel Soaps eyes on him the entire time. He wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy what happened, not at all. It just felt so.... Weird. Unfamiliar. He's had his fair share of experiences, but it has been years. And in the mean time there were some.... Rather unpleasant events. He stood in front of the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He could feel their hands on him, doing whatever they wanted to with his body, forcing him to go on his knees and please them. He wanted to puke, nausea overcoming him. "I had to , I had to, I had to survive", he repeated over and over in his mind, a tear rolling down his cheek. It had taken years before he could even touch himself again without having a panic attack. Since then no one had touched him in that way. He didn't want them to. Sometimes he missed the intimacy, but he was afraid to crave it, knowing he wouldn't be able to allow someone so close to him. But now there was Soap. Ghost damned himself for it, but he trusted the man. Fuck, he loved him. And for the first time in what seemend like a lifetime, he craved touch. His touch. His hands dug in his neck, knuckles white and leaving small, red shapes in his skin.

"You ok in there, lt?", Soaps voice sounded from outside the door. "Er, yea, 'm fine", Ghost hurried to answer, voice a bit choked up. Soap didn't say anything. Quickly wiping his wet eyes and putting on his stoic expression, he stepped out the bathroom. He was certain Soap could see that he had cried, but he luckily didn't say anything.

"So, you wanna go for a hike?", Soap asked lowly, inching closer to Ghost, putting his hands on his waist. Ghost suddenly felt claustrophobic. He loved his touch and hated it at the same time. He stumbled backwards. Soap looked confused at a bit hurt, no, more regretful.

Ghost cleared his throat. "Yea, why not. Lovely weather", he mumbled. He began to look for his cargo pants and a shirt. Soap was awfully quiet. Ghost wanted to slap himself for repulsing. He craved him so much it hurt. It scared him.

He turned around, wanting to say something. "I'm sorry, Johnny", he said.

But Soap was already gone.

Note: I did not plan for this to turn out this dark, but I wanted to bring in an explanation for Ghosts mixed feelings on intimacy, since his sexual abuse and rape are canon. I've personally never read the comics, so this is just my interpretation. I also want to mention that the reactions to sexual trauma are extremely subjective, how I described it here is just my personal experience.