Cod Mw2 - Blog Posts

141's Princess (Someone is flirting with Kyle?)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There was a spoken rule (yes, very spoken) that none is allowed to flirt with sergeant John Soap Mactavish.

Soap was a lovable person, nominated by popular vote the 141 base sweetheart. He was kind, funny, sociable, easy to talk with, open to everything, helpful and good with the rookies. The 141 always sent Soap to greet newcomers and visiting soldiers because they wanted to spread a positive image, and they always liked Soap the best.

The consequences of being such lovable and social person was the flirting. Soap had at least three cases of flirting per week, either from new rookies or from a visiting sergeant or liutenant or whatever. Soap knew they were flriting he wasn't that oblivious has people deemed him to be. He likes to flirt back to a certain level, but it's fun banter for him, but he also knows when to stop and back down, and also knows when someone starts to be a little obsessed.

However, to those unfortunate souls, the 141 also knows that people flirt with Soap, all the time. But each has their own reactions.

Price lets him be. He has an immense trust in the scott that was earned through life-death situations and many vulnerable moments. He also knows that Soap realizes what he's doing, so Price is confident that Soap will tell him if things get out of hand. That doesn't mean that he won't pull the sergeant closer when that happens.

Gaz acts like a jealous lover in a playful way. He also trusts Soap a lot, he has also seen the way Soap handles this situations and he knows that the scott won't let it go far. But when they are together and that happens (which is most of the times because soap and gaz come in pair) Gaz acts like he's a jealous teenager, pouts and pulls Soap closer until they are in each other's lap.

Now Ghost...that's a whole different story. He's the reason that the spoken rule of not flirting with Soap was established. It's a known fact that Soap is Ghosts favorite in the base, between the 141 Ghost is loving towards all of them but tends to lean towards Soap more and they were okay with it after a long talk. That to say that Ghost has a "Someone is flirting with soap" sensor that tingles when that happens and as fast as he can he's there scaring the shit out of the person. He looms behind soap until the person gets the fuck out. He nominated Soap's guard dog, and one more reason to fear Ghost was added.

There's this spoken rule, but every one still tries their way with soap. But Sergeant Williams, one of the recent visiting sergeants from other base, wasn't looking for sergeant mactavish.

Williams found Soap funny and cute, like every first impression that the sergeant gives. He could see the charm, but wasn't enough to make him chase Soap like most people he saw doing it. No, who he wanted was the dark skin beauty that was quietly smiling behind Soap when they greeted him.

Sergeant Garrick was his name, code name gaz. Yes, he was quiet but cute, all smiles and very polite, in Williams eyes it was his perfect match. Soap was too much for him, but Gaz was just perfect.

Williams approached his liutenant Rogers, who arrived first in the base, in the mess all "So the sergeant-"

"Don't even try it. Sergeant soap is off limits, unless you want to experience Ghost wrath, then go ahead I ain't gonna save you."

"Okay..." damn, Ghost was weird jesus, poor guys that didn't know about this " but I wasn't talking about soap, I was talking about the other sergeant."

"Who? Gaz?" Williams nodded "I don't know...he's quiet, kind and nice. He helps out a lot and teaches well, but not that outstanding like soap."

"So...no weird liutenant at his back chasing people away?"

"No? Wait, you gonna try for him?" Rogers asked curious.

"Yeah! He's exactly my type, and since he doesn't seem to have anyone protecting him like soap, maybe he will accept my advances"

"You can always try, I guess"

Williams was in his lucky day.

Johnny saw a tiktok of a cow costume that was basically a thong and a tiny bra. Send it to Kyle just for the funsies, but the other sergeant just answers

"I like that actually, would wear it"

And so Johnny, first and foremost, spirals and jerk off to the though of Kyle's dark skin in a tiny cow costume with his ass in a thong, talking how Johnny would eat that chocolate cake-

Secondly, he created a plan.

He went into one of those weird websites that have weird fetish costumes, and order three cow costumes that were rhe exactly replica of the one he saw on tiktok.

Then he shared his plan with Kyle, who agreed and was on board with it. Kyle was essential for this plan because he was Johnny's secret weapon.

Then he went looking for Simon, the hardest piece to achieve. He showed the Liutenant the plan and tried his best to convince him to join him. That one took a while, while meant two weeks of begging and one week of rookie babysitting instead of Simon, and the blond was on board.

The plan was:

1. Aquire the cow costume for three people. Check

2. Convince his other two boyfriends to wear those costumes. Check

3. Share the mastermind plan. Check

4. Choose a good day where Price would be spending his day out. Check (altho that one was hard)

5. Convince price that give them the key to his office (Kyle did that one). Check

6. Infiltrate price office and wear the costumes. Check (Simon kept grumbling and refused to take off the mask until Kyle made him puppy eyes)

7. Call price to his office. Check

8. It's showtime!(Johnny stop that!)

Price when he saw them all standing there wearing the costumes was...not what Johnny expected. What the scott though was that price would either yell at them, laugh at them or sigh and leave them behind.

He did not expect the man to close the door, lock it, all while using one hand to unbuckle his belt with a face that prosimed one week of barely able being sat.

"Simon, kneel." The reaction was instant, the blond kneeled with his head down. "Kyle, kneel." Same with him too. The only one standing was Johnny, who gulped as Price approached him with a dark look. "I reckon it was your idea, Johnny."

"Y-yes, s-sir."

Price hummed, eyes racking over the scott "I'm trying to figure out if I should use you first or leave you for last" price hand laid on Johnny peck and squeezed, pulling a whimper from the younger "Depends on how pretty you beg."

Johnny dropped down to his knees, eyes already watered, lips in a pout and face close to the others crotch, looking up with his most pitful face "p-please, d-daddy."

"Good boy."

Gaz angst part 2??? (141 side)

Soap didn't even get a goodbye or a text from Kyle. He heard from Price that Kyle had been requested to Farah temporarily, meaning it was when Farah said he could come back.

Soap was sad and hurt. Why hadn't Kyle said anything to him? They were best friends! They shared everything with each other. But, apparently not everything was said. He had thought that them finally being in a romantic relationship would bring them together even more, closer than ever.

It had the opposite effect.

Soap and Kyle remained...stagnant. while he got closer to Ghost and even more closer to Price, with Kyle nothing changed besides the adding the sex and the kissing. There was no new findings or sudden revelations, nothing the way that happened with the other two.

It reached a point, when the new sergeant appeared, that Kyle started to hide. He didn't spend much time together with the others, it got to a point that suddenly who was soap prank partner was the new sergeant, the one that went to the club was the new sergeant, and every single activity that he used to do with Kyle, it was done with the new sergeant.

And now...Kyle was already on the plane when Soap got to the departing zone. No words left for him, just a mere "I don't think so" said to Price.

Although Soap was perceptive, quite observant, and always in tune with his loves emotions, Soap cannot find what happened, what led to this moment, what did they do to end up like this.

Ghost knew the reason for this, but he didn't do anything about, so he was as much guilty as the other two.

And it was crushing him inside.

Ghost saw how while soap, him and Price were getting closer, keeping already formed and constructed old bonds, Kyle was being left behind, with no ways of bonding the same way they did.

The 3 of them bonded over past interactions that led to friendships, over traumas and dark moments because they had them, over being men with scars so deep. They had foundation to bond even more, but Kyle hadn't, Kyle appeared at that moment, Kyle went through the normal processes of military, Kyle had a good family, Kyle had lively a fairly uneventful life and that made him the sore thumb in their relationship because...how could they bond.

Kyle tried, oh how ghost saw the youngest sergeant try every book in the game, but the fruit of his efforts could no grow because they didn't allow him to. Ghost realized that he didn't know anything about Kyle besides what his file said. He didn't know what the man liked, what he did in his free time, his interests, his talents, his flaws. Ghost realized, as the new sergeant made way and fitted exactly in Kyle's spot, that Ghost only saw Kyle as a military asset, not as his lover or friend, he only saw Kyle's performance, nothing more.

As he watched the plane go, slightly behind soap, that they deserved this, they deserved a silent disappearance from Kyle.

Ghost heart silently crushed as he saw what they had done.

Price didn't even go see Kyle depart.

Alex had called him, scolded him that almost asked for a write up, but Price it was coming from a close friend to another, and the captain knew that he deserved that scolding and much more. Alex then passed the phone to Farah, but she spoke calmly and short, which made Price feel even worse.

"I warned you about Kyle, and I gave u an out because I would act if u hurt him and you did, I hope all that stupid effort you did was worth this out come."

He should had gone and seen Kyle depart, but he didn't feel dignified or even worth of it. Price had hurt the most fragile member of their four way relationship, after many warned about it.

He needed to get ready for Laswell disappointment, she being the one person that cautioned him the most.

Price had sworn to protect Kyle heart and mind. Kyle's anxiety was a constant barrier in his life, a reminder that he wasn't as strong as he thought he was, his feelings always easily coming to the surface. He was fragile, more than the others thought he was, and Price promise the young man that he would protect.

Look what happened.

They pushed him away, consciously or not put him in a category under them because his live was not as complicated as theirs. They created his relationship where it was 3 plus Kyle because they sometimes remember he existed. The new sergeant worsen that because this man had a similar life as them, broken by other and scarred as much them, so they pushed Kyle back fully.

They broke Kyle enough to make him excited to leave them, to not believe they loved him.

As the plane flew, Price sat on his office, tears silently running down his face, knowing that he broke a promise made to his love.

I love the headcanon that Kyle has a good sense of style in every way possible. Talking about good fashion style, good taste in decoration, and good overall.

I imagine that when it's time to go to the club, soap goes to Kyle to ask for an outfit bc he knows Kyle has the most stylish clothes and is actually good at styling.

Gaz angst bc I feel like it (part 1???)

Kyle realized that he was the background character, the one that everyone forgot until he offered his services. It's even more crushing knowing that he was in a relationship with the others 3 members of the 141.

He realized that after a new sergeant became a permanent stay. He was everything Kyle was but better. He matched energy with Soap, handled Ghost with care and Price saw him as an equal. Those were Kyle's jobs, but when someone better comes along, he gave up. He started to hide, spend time by himself, wishing that one of them would come and ask him if everything was okay. But when Kyle wasn't offering himself to them, he was forgotten.

The true breaking point was when Alex called for their weekly talk and Kyle just broke down.

"I can't do this anymore." Between sobs, hiccups and lack of breathing, Kyle was able to say what happened, how he felt. Alex understood, tried to calm him down through the phone and suggested a solution.

"Come here, I will tell Farah, she will request you temporarily."

Alex was furious but also not surprised, because he knew Kyle was going to have a hard time fitting with 3 men that already each other on different levels. Kyle was a new addition, Kyle was a regular soldier that happened to be good what he did, Kyle didn't have anything besides his skills to standout and bond with this men, men that were excellent at what they did, men that knew intimate parts of each other from the very beginning, men that bond over past happenings. Kyle didn't had those, his only set back his fragile mind and his even fragile heart. Alex warned Kyle that he was entering a new world that did not connected with him, but Kyle accepted the challenge. And this was the result, a Kyle, someone who did his best to hide his fragile mind and heart, broken by love, because he still loved them, Kyle said he cannot not love them, he just needed to find himself.

"Farah requested you for her forces." Price said, handing him a paper for him to sign that he conceded to go "says the time is indefinite, she will send u back when she deems fit."

Maybe Kyle should had waited a minute, pretending to ponder or to ask time to think, but no, he grabbed the pen, said nothing and sign.

"Are u sure? U gonna be apart from us"

"I'm sure." Again Kyle should had seen less eager, but he couldn't.

"O-okay"

"Can i go? I have to pack" Kyle asked, again, hurriedly, really not caring anymore, now knowing that he was going to be with the two people that always put him back together.

Price blinked once and twice, stunned confused and hurt, but he stuttered out a yes and watched the sergeant leave "we will miss you." He said lastly, as Kyle was at the door.

The last words he received from his sergeant, the person he loved, hurt him in ways he couldn't think of.

"I don't think so Captain." And Kyle left. Closing the door in that soft way he always does.

Price stood up, ready to follow Kyle and ask what did he meant? What they done to evoke something like that? What can he do to fix it? But then his phone rang, and he was about to ignore it when he saw Farahs name light up.

"Yes?"

"Did Kyle sign the paper?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna send it later, I just-"

"You had your chance John, send the papers now please."

"What do you-"

"Let him come here, send the papers now, Captain."

Drunk Price is a loud, funny and active person. It doesn't happen a lot actually is a rare occasion, because the old man has a three day hangover and complains alot. But when he let's himself go, he switches from the stoic, settled and mature captain to a young like John, that makes friends easily and laughs like a maniac.

Ghost, the lightweight he turns out to be, becomes super sleepy, like drops on the table and doesn't wake up. It's like the insomnia disappears and he just catches up all the sleep he doesn't get. The only one that can wake him up is sober price.

Soap just quiets down. He doesn't sleep, doesn't run or be his sober self, he just quiets down, sits besides Simon and answers by nodding or shaking his head, smiling a little smile.

Gaz becomes sweet. Like fully flustered, very noticeable even tho his dark skin. He says in place and has always a sweet smile and face, looks at people with puppy eyes and follows price or sober soap around like a lost puppy. Drunk Price always ends up dragging him to his fun even tho Gaz just stands there and sways.

Do u want me to write seperate occasions of this headcanons??

Price: sunshine?

Soap: yes, captain?

Price: baby?

Gaz: yes, captain?

Price: little baby boy, cutie patotie, sweetheart, light of my life?

Ghost: what the actual f?!?!

Kyle WIP (learning how to render just for him♡)

Headcanon of mine is that gaz has a gc with Farah, Alex and Nikolai, where he just sends random pics and funny stories that happened in the 141 and also uses to vent about things.

Farah works as his older sister, she scolds when needed and always listens but she's soft with Kyle. She also sends a lot of weird pics of Alex when he's doing stupid things.

Alex laughs with Kyle and sometimes gives pranks suggestions for Kyle and Johnny to do. Other times he sends parodies of pics from price bc he 100% knows they look a like.

Nikolai doesn't answer much, but when he does it's just like price - he texts like an old man, with punctuation but sometimes he throws emoji and it's weirds Kyle out. Nikolai selfie are like the funniest things bc he only takes them from low angles.

Sometimes I scroll through twt and here on the cod tag and stuff and I be thinking...why does no one draws gaz like bro I see more Konig art on the mw tag and he's not even in that universe give some love to gaz pls

Idk if u realized but I really love gaz

Idk if I will keep doing this, it's just a though maybeee

Soap was Ghosts boy, and no one could be between them. Even when the 4 of them started to date, Ghost showed clear favorites towards Soap, which was something the other two were expecting.

Gaz is Price's boy, but not the same way as Ghost. Yes, he was protective of the younger, surely spoiled him and favorite him in certain aspects, it wasn't the same as Ghost with soap, Ghost was borderline obsessive. When they all started dating, Price wasn't so attached to Gaz, they both agreed to built a similar kind of relationship with the others.

Well, that was easy with soap, not only bc of the Scott's personality but bc they already had a deep connection with him. Gaz was his best friend and Price was role model and mentor.

Price had an easy time with Ghost, Gaz didn't. The sergeant couldn't find a way to connect with Ghost, not bc of fear of the man or intimidation, but bc...he just doesn't know. Kyle himself is a soft and fragile person, he's scared that he will ruin the relationship before he even got to built it, so they were...normal around each other but not lovely dovey they were surely walking on eggshells around each other. Even during it, they didn't engage much besides kissing.

Ghost didn't know how to be with Kyle bc he was scared of hurting the man. He knew the sergeant was the opposite of Soap, more soft and fragile altho he was strong willed and an amazing soldier. It's just...he didn't know what to do so he just stick with soap.

They didn't have a date together, didn't spend time together alone, not sleeping in the same bed, not sharing a meal alone, and if they did it was 100% in complete silence. It felt like they gave up on the relationship before they even though on.

Price and Soap noticed and tried their best to do something about it. Gaz did tried after their pestering, but seeing Ghost not returning the effort made him give up.

One day, Price and Soap received a mission, having to leave later that day, meaning that Ghost and Gaz would be alone at the base for and undefined amount of time. Soap stomped through the base with Price reluctantly trailing behind because he was forced by Soap's puppy eyes to follow him, into Ghosts office.

He knocked but didn't wait for an answer, barged in and stood in front of Ghosts desk, with Ghosts sitting on the other side, arms crossed and face determined.

"We are going to be shipped out"

Ghost glanced at Price who just stood there smiling weirdly.

"Yes, I heard."

"Ye gonna be alone with Gaz."

Ghost nodded, waiting for the scott to continue.

"Ye better start man up and actually woo gaz in a decent way because if u don't I will be very very mad."

"How mad?"

"No cuddling and no kissing mad."

Ghost was being sarcastic abt the mad thing, but it's starting to dread on him not having soaps touch for a long time, knowing the scott it would be a very very long period.

"It's not like I don't want to try, it's just I don't know what to do, I don't want to hurt him."

"Do you love him?" It was price this time, voice not soft but also not accusing, neutral, as a way to not pressure ghost.

"I want to." Ghost deflated a bit "I just don't know how."

"Kyle is fragile, he tends to wear his feelings on his sleeve when it comes to those he let's in, but ghost" price approached, stopping by soaps side "I also know you, and I know that you will love Kyle the way he needs. I also know that Kyle will love you the way you need to."

Saw this on a tiktok or ig I don't remember but I wanna do it price version:

Ghost enters Price office and sits on the couch, proceeds to do his paperwork there.

Price places his phone on the table and looks at Ghost from his chair: hey Ghost?

Ghost: yes captain?

Price: you hungry?

Ghost thinks for second: a bit, why?

Price: wanna eat what my mother made?

Ghost still looking over his paperwork: did she sent stuff? That's nice. What is it?

Price: Me.

Ghost drops his paperwork and begins to have a coughing fit while blushing under the mask: what?!?!?!?

Price: so?

Ghost thinks for a second before sighing and proceeds to take his mask: lock the door please.

Soap is a menace in the club. Talking about crop top time and belly chains, talk about drinking and making new friends, talking about acting cheeky and risky just to piss off Ghost and Price when he comes (which isn't often)

Talking about going to the dance floor, in the direct line of vision of ghost, purposely dancing dirty and sexy because he knows he can shake his hips, mohawk messy and cheeks flushed. Taking soap to the club either ends up on the bathroom or barely making to the bed.

Well, Kyle decided to come to see why Ghost would complain about going to the club with soap but still going. Price came along too.

Kyle is not social, actually he prefers to settled down on a corner and drink his bear while people watching. He can talk with one or two people but being in the club meant more of a quiet time for him. Price is like that too but likes to go with company.

That said, Soap dressed up Kyle just to realize that the man wouldn't join him. And Kyle realized that Soap was true menace in the club.

And very beautiful too.

Okay I can't think of anymore to write I just wanted to out this idea

I like to think that Gaz uses Soap to get stuff he wants. Don't get him wrong, he knows if he bats his eyelashes and pouts a bit he will get a free pass for almost anything (it works better with Price) but it takes a while for that to happen.

But with Soap? The man has natural puppy eyes ans cute face, plus those blue eyes put anyone under a spell. Soap just needs to pout and look like a kicked puppy to get a free pass for anything.

And Gaz is not jealous, no he's not, because that means he can use soap for whatever he wants because soap is weak for Gaz and his pretty and Gaz always brings rewards for Soap. It's a win win situation.

"You do know that Gaz uses you for free stuff?" Ghost had questioned soap one day while they were cuddling on the lieutenant bed.

"Pfft, of course Ah do! What do ye take me for, an idiot?"

"Sometimes."

"Hey!" Soap hits half heartedly Ghosts chest next to where he's laying on "but I do know I always get something out of it anyways. Besides I like to see him pout to get me to do it."

"Both of you are hopeless."

Ghost started to noticed the new choice of Soap underwear, that being tongs and panties. Not that he's complaining, he's actually very grateful for whoever influenced his scott. The boxers were great but having full access with no barriers is even better.

But Ghost was curious, who gave soap the idea? It was going to be difficult to find because soap was a social butterfly and made friends with anyone.

"Soap has been wearing a different kind of underwear." Ghost commented with Price one afternoon in the captains office.

"Hmm I have noticed."

"Aren't you surprised?"

Price shook his head, not looking up from his reports "Kyle as been wearing since he was young, says they comfy and cute at the same time."

Why didn't he think of Kyle? Soap and Gaz were attached to the hip, best friends and probably more from the way Soap talks about the brit (not that Ghost mind, he actually likes hearing about gaz) of course the biggest source of influence would be Kyle.

Ghost waited until he knew that Kyle and Johnny were in the Scott's room to pay a visit. It was one of their "bestie nights" so Ghost knew they would be together at this hour. He knocked once, a distinctive knock that warned Soap that it was Ghost. He heard the accented "come in" and entered the room.

And yes his hunch was right. There stood Soap in front of the mirror wearing some black tong that left absolutely nothing covered and Kyle was by his side with a tong too, but his was bright res contrasting with his black skin, looking pensive at Soap.

"Maybe black is too much?"

"Hmm, Ah like it."

Kyle turned towards Ghost "what do you think?"

"Yeah, wanna stay and help us out?"

And well, Ghost is only a man.

yeah poly 141...but I don't see gaz in it???

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC - Part 2

Part I

Author's block and tummy aches don't make a great team. Apologies that it took some time to post this. Enjoy!

Warnings: none other than mistakes, it's fluff.

-

Being a primary school teacher is far from easy. From the endless hours spent correcting homework or grading tests to preparing visual materials, your work never ends. Maybe you should listen to your colleagues and double down on the work you put into this. But you can’t deny the satisfaction you get from seeing your students get excited in class even when you assign extra work for them over weekends and holidays. But now that you came down with the flu, another downside of working with kids, you couldn’t care less about the little punks.

You lay down in bed covered in the thickest of blankets, shivering and barely able to breath. The house is empty and you’ve never felt so alone. You wish Simon would walk through the door and snuggle you until everything is better again. He was deployed again, and in the past few months you managed to talk to him for a total of 10 minutes. He’d call you to check on you and let you know he was fine, but he’d be quick to tell you he can’t say more about his whereabouts.

Being married to him brought a hell of a lot more stress than you could have imagined. Not knowing where he was or what he did was eating you on the inside. You worried about your husband’s well being but you always reminded yourself not to pester him too much. His job is stressful as it is, no need for you to put anymore pressure on him when he was home. You painted an image of his coworkers through his brief comments on what they did on base. The most you heard about was the Scot, Johnny, the young lad had made an impression on Simon. Even though he’d complain that Johnny was a ‘pain in the arse’, you couldn’t miss the small chuckle he let out whenever he spoke of him. You concluded that this young Scottish man was the closest thing to a friend your husband had.

The clock on the nightstand reads 2AM. The fever and headache are back. Your body hurts everywhere. you stand up readying yourself to leave the warm cocoon of the blanket and go to the kitchen to make some tea and take some more medicine. The otherwise short trip to the other side of the house seems now like an endless maze, it’s dark and you can barely see; you keep one hand on the wall just to be safe if nausea takes the better of you. You take a seat at the dinner table as the kettle starts warming up.

There is a faint click at the front door, so soft that at first you believe you imagined it. But it turns out that it was real, that the sound was a key turning the lock and the knob twisted, and the door opened. You watch everything as in slow motion, your brain too fuzzy with the flu. The massive body dressed in all black walks in illuminated from behind by the street lights, leaving their shoes on the rack. It’s Simon…. He’s home but you don’t have the energy to move. In the still and quiet atmosphere of the house the bloody kettle lets out a blood curling whistle signalling the water is boiling. Simon’s eyes dart towards the kitchen space, not having noticed you until now.

  ‘What’re you doin’ in the dark, love?’ he chuckles coming over to you. He’s becoming suspicious when you don’t make a single move to get up and greet him as you would. He first reaches for the knob to turn off the stove, then he pulls off the balaclava, reaching down to your sited position to kiss your forehead. ‘You a bit warm…’ he hums and you nod sniffling your runny nose. The rest is a blur, you can faintly remember him pouring the tea for you and handing the medicine. Next thing you know strong arms carry you to the bedroom, the same arms you fall asleep until morning.

Simon is trained in the art of staying still no matter what waiting to get a clear shot of the enemy. But since he met you, that skill has been put to a better use. He had no qualms with becoming your body pillow over night. He just loves the feeling of you pressed so closely to him, head rested on his peck near his beating heart. He would gladly stay there for an eternity is you asked him.

Anything for you. Always, no matter how costly or how small, he’d do anything to see you happy. That’s his love language, while he struggles to word it he makes up with his actions. And you’d never trade him for anyone else in the world. The following days are spent with him not leaving your side, pampering and loving you the way you’ve never been loved before.

Once you feel better, he asks you to go on a date just like first time he asked you accepted with a school girl giggle. It’s safe to say you’re in love. The date goes well and you find yourself walking through the park like two hopeless romantics, talking and laughing. He tells you that Soap caught a whiff of him being married to you and now he won’t stop pestering him with questions about you two. ‘Maybe you should invite him to dinner… if you want to.’ You smile at him. ‘Maybe’ he grunts not looking at you. Bringing Johnny to your house, to meet you, it involves risks. But he knows that he can trust the sergeant with his life, so what if his only friend meets his wife. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Bonus:

On base, Ghost approaches Soap in the armoury, making sure no one is in ear shot. He gives the Scot a date, time and the name of a bus station somewhere in suburban Manchester. At Soap’s questioning look Ghost lets out a grunt ‘Wife wants you to come to dinner.’ At that Soap grins and accepts politely which prompts the lieutenant to threaten to kill him if he tells anyone about this.

The day when Johnny arrives at your doorstep comes faster than expected. You open the door and greet him, rather warmly which is a stark contrast to your husband’s harsh demeanour. Opposites do attract, he supposes. At dinner you listen to him talk, about their time on base, stories from missions, nothing too detailed though, and about his own family. He shows you pictures of his sisters and his nieces and nephews. They’re cute. You talk about your pupils, sharing stories of your own. Johnny perks up at the knowledge that you are a primary school teacher. He asks if he can have your number in case he needs help with their homework. You gladly give it to him, asking in return to keep an eye on Simon for you. He accepts your deal.

Johnny leaves after a couple of hours, going back to the hotel, even though you insist he can take the couch. But you know that Simon is glaring at him over your shoulder daring him to accept. Once he left you turn towards your husband hugging him and kissing him. You thank him for letting you meet his colleague, and he reminds you that he’d do anything for his lovely wife.

A couple of weeks go by. You’re in bed with Simon having a heated kissing session when your phone rings. Groaning you pull off from him and grab it. Johnny’s name lights up the screen and you answer. The conversation is short, something about math and how to use the graphic method to solve a problem. Simon listens intently seeing you smile conspiratorially. When you end the call, he grabs you and pushes you underneath him, trapping you between his body and the bed. ‘Why does Johnny have your number?’ the low rumble pulls a laugh from you. You know you have no chance to lie to him, he’ll see right through. You explain to him that he wanted it so he can ask you whenever he doesn’t know how to solve his nephews’ homework. He watches you not really convinced by your answer. ‘You hate talking to parents on the phone. What did you get him do? Spy on me on base and report back to you?’ Busted. You laugh and let out an even more unconvincing ‘no’ for an answer. He knows you too well.

Ahhhhh.... My favourite number, 13. Well, my darlings, your wish is my command; tomorrow I will post part two to that HC, maybe I'll write some more for the zombie AU, and then I'll tease you with a little something new. Kisses

P.S. I will confess that I mistakenly selected 'poll' instead of something else for the masterlist, but now that I've seen how it works I will edit that too.

Simon Riley x biker!reader HC (neutral reader)

Warnings: short drabble written during the commute to uni, mistakes (as per usual), riding without a helmet (please wear appropriate protection when engaging in dangerous activities), bikers being hot as f..., you can't change my mind

Enjoy

- you cut him in traffic one day, he has to press hard on the brakes to avoid you, a stream of curses leaving his covered mouth

- he gives chace after you, in a moment of unexepected road rage, so rare to see such raw display of emotion from the mountain of a man

- he catches up to you at a gas station

- he comes toward you with full intent on ripping you a new one

- you take your helmet off and tilt your pretty head in amusement

- he loses it on you

- you just laugh in his face 'bloody right I did. You drive like an old lady'

- he's stunned, never had he get this kind of reaction from anyone, except his colleagues in 141, who are like brothers to him

- he knows he's intimidating

- he knows he could twist your pretty neck right there and there

- but your stance is countering all his desire for violence

- your hands rest on your hips, head tilted, weight rested on one foot, as if to say 'you done?'

- he gets silent, panting with annoyance and adrenaline from earlier

- you huff a laugh and leave him there as you walk inside to pay and buy a snack

- when you return you find a small white piece of rectangular paper

- he left you his number followed by a small drawing of a skull

- you huff a small laugh the audacity

- but you take it and put it in your breast pocket and ride off

- you send him a message

- it's the emoji of a red motorcycle 🏍️

- you don't get a reply until weeks later

- it's the skull emoji 💀

- you smile at that, but don't indulge him anymore

- he has your number now, he can make a move if he wants, you're done chasing after men

- and a move he makes

- another message follows a month later

- no greeting, no sweet talk, just some coordinates and a date and time, little skull at the end

- you grin, it's on, old man

- you meet him there

- there being the most beautiful place in the British isles

- a parking lot at the curve of the road, high up on the hillside

- the city sparkles in the distance

- you seat with him at the wooden bench and table

- you talk, it's a forth an back, light banter fills the night air

- he's not putting pressure on you, he just enjoys your presence

- it's refreshing

- you depart on the promise that you'll see each other again, when he's in town

- a while passes until you meet again

- it's as unexpected as the firs time

- he's just leaving base quietly listening to his colleagues plans for the off time they got

- you're riding your bike stopping at the red light in the intersection

- your bent over position and tight leather suit catch the attention of the men

- one of them, a tall bulky Scott sporting a close-cropped mawhawk whistles in apreciation

- the engine rumble and the music in your earphones prevent you from hearing the lewd sound

- simon spots imediately, eyes shrouded in recognition, an infenetly small change that other wise anyone would overlook

- Johnny has a keen eye and a fascination with his Lt. Making him much more interested in noticing such traitorous change in the stoic man's posture

- Johnny starts commenting on the hooked stare to your form, Kyle's attention piques at that

- but the comment dies on his lips as you turn, visor pointed at the group

- and then you wave at them, at Simon, but the two sergeants don't know that

- not until the massive shadow moves toward you ignoring his companions protests, brown eyes glued to you

- the moment he gets near your bike you pat the seat behind you

- Simon barely has time to get his feet on the stands, grabbing your waist by instinct, which, due to his far taller stature makes him fold his body flush against yours, one hand on the gas rezervoir and one hand snaked around your stomach

- the light turns green and you turn the acceleration lurching you forward

- both Johnny and Kyle remain dumbfounded at the events witnessed, not quite believing the reality at this point

- they turn to look at eachother, shock plastered on their handsome faces

- 'steaming jesus' the utterance hangs in the air

- they will make their personal mission to find out more about the mysterious rider that just whisked their superior from under their noses

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC

As I lay in bed, it's 5 am. My alarm is supposed to ring at 7 am. Insomnia hits again. So here we go! Enjoy the product of my foggy brain!

Warnings: fluff, some mentions of torture, curse words, insomnia, nightmares, threats, stalking but it's good natured, some mistakes ( grammar and spelling), interact at your own discretion.

-

When you first met it happened in the nonstop supermarket at the intersection a couple blocks from his apartment. It was 3 am. You were looking for coloured paper, he was looking for Kentucky burbon.

Both of you couldn't sleep for very different reasons. He just got back from a long mission, unable to sleep in his own bed, his own apartment, not as familiar as the base, always bustling with activity. The house was too quiet. Ears straining to hear something. An understimulated brain makes up sounds, that turn to memories, then night terrors. He was out in search of relief, getting so drunk he'd pass out and get some shut-eye.

You on the other hand were finishing up on materials for your little students. And then you needed coloured paper to finish. You huff and puff, and almost curse out but refrain from doing so, looking at your wristwatch you determine you have a few hours until the school day begins. Do you trudge to the intersection, hopping, begging for mercy and coloured paper.

You were the only ones there besides the half-asleep cashier. Your sound of triumph at having found what you're looking for travels to the liquor aisle. Simon's eyes point in your direction, not really sure he actually heard it or hallucinated it.

At the register, you cut him off not even noticing his dark-clad 6'3 body, whiskey bottle in hand. He let out a 'bloody hell', an almost whisper, but your teacher's instinct kicked in. 'Language' you'd said in a chastised voice eyes darting to fix him with a glare, the same you'd do to the children in class. But instead of a meager 'apologies, miss' you get a grunt out of him. You glare some more and turn away, making a barely audible comment directed at him. Naturally, he confronted you on that and you went on and gave him a lecture on how people like him make your work 10 times harder and how they are a bad example to future generations.

Both him and the cashier look at you like you've grown two heads. Honestly, the young guy behind the cash register, thought you might start a fight with the graveyard shift regular wearing a balaclava and buying alcohol well into the hours of morning.

But you didn't. After having said what you had to say you turned around on your heels, slapped the two packets of coloured paper in front of the young man, and then angrily put the money in his outstretched hand. You left in a flurry of murmurs, not even acknowledging the farewell words.

'feisty' he had commented eyes trailing on your departing figure. He chuckled at your interaction. That day he drank himself into unconsciousness thinking of you, and your plush lips spewing insults in his face, eyes alight with passion, face scrunched in barely contained annoyance.

You were a primary school teacher, that much he has gathered from your discourse. He wanted to see you again, and walking around aimlessly he came across the nearest school in the neighborhood. He started searching for your face behind closed windows. He had found you and waited for you, like the stalker that he'd turned into. He hoped you wouldn't call the cops on him.

As you near the gates, two rows of 3rd-year students behind you, loudly talking about how much fun they had with you. You laughed at their happy and springy attitude. They were the best students you've had so far.

And then your eyes met brown ones in a staring match. You'd walked closer starting to threaten him to go before you got him removed from the premises. He smiled under his balaclava, eyes watching in admiration. 'let's grab dinner...' he interrupted you. 'huh?' that was the most articulate answer you could muster. 'I owe you a proper apology. So dinner on me.' He explained in chopped sentences the voice deep and laced with a Manchester accent.

You forgot what you were saying and blushed hard, a cute smile plastered to your face. You were so easily swooned by this stranger and his interest in you. He could have been a killer or kidnapper. You threw caution to the wind. You said yes.

And now, now you were happily married, a couple years into it, actually. The house you bought is small but cosy. The living room table is always full of clippings of coloured paper and half finished materials strewn about. It's home for Simon.

He knows you're busy with schoolwork when he's deployed, so he doesn't worry about you missing him too much. But you do, and he misses you tenfold. So you make something for him, a little couloured origami frame that contains a picture of the two of you, for him to have. He carries it in his chest pocket, but only on base, where he knows it's safe to do so. Being captured with personal things like this in his possession could give the enemy leverage over him. He knows that, he's an expert in interrogation techniques. But he doesn't tell you all this, he knows you're sensitive to violence. So he instead promises that he will keep it close to his heart, all the time. His lucky charm. You're enamoured with him and he basks in your love without shame.

To be continued...

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part VI

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Warnings: torture, violence, gore, mistakes.

- the sixth time you meet it’s after a lot of frenzied searches

- the missions have been slow a while now; you mostly act as a handler for TF141, alongside Laswell; the boys got used to your calm voice in their earpieces, guiding and directing them through buildings and underground bases; your “hacking” skills come in handy when Laswell gets caught up with something else

- they always come home in time for you to get supper together; it’s a nice way of living; so different from the loneliness you felt before; now you have a small family to call your own; the banter between you and the sergeants feels the air; you throw jokes to one another; Price quietly chuckles at his younger subalterns; Ghost on the other hand stays silent most of the time;

- you always sit next to him, in the mess hall, in briefing rooms, in helis, or cars; it’s something he’s not sure yet how to interpret; yes, the two of you got along just fine; you have the same dark humour that makes the other soldiers in the base shiver when they hear you laugh at your jokes; you can sit in comfortable silence for hours; you don’t pry into each other’s lives, which he’s thankful; you hadn’t even asked him his name, and you already know one another for more than two years; he won’t admit but he doesn’t like the way his heart feels when you laugh at one of Soap’s jokes, or discuss with Gaz one of the new books you’ve bought, or even when Price comes close to you, peaking over your shoulder and talking quietly with you about the files you’ve got in front of you;

- Ghost does not allow the thought, that he might be jealous on his comrades’ interactions with you, take roots inside his mind; he can’t; you’re just doing your job and you just happen to enjoy the 141’s company, in the most platonic way; he knows that your bond is far superior to that of the other’s; you saved his life, saw his face, and he in turned saved yours; that must add up to something;

- yet he feels that something’s wrong with him; Price pointed out that ever since you joined TF141 he seems quieter, and less present; he’s becoming more and more his namesake; he denies that, and argues that he’s just tired, now that he’s getting older; Price calls out his shite; the captain is older than him, and he’s far more active than him;

- but the captain can’t do more than that, a friendly conversation; yours and Ghost’s relationship is extremely professional; he rarely sees the two of you interact in the common room, or anywhere else for that matter, that’s not the battle field or the briefing room; you also work incredibly well; you two and Soap had made quite the trio when it comes to field work; he affectionately calls you the Unholy Trinity of Task Force 141; trails of body are left in your wake and almost all missions go well without the tinniest hitch; the men joke around that surely you are some kind of witch that made a deal with the devil to have success; you laugh and chalk it all up to skill, hard work, and a shite ton of sheer luck;

- though you keep reminding them that your luck will run out one day, they ignore you, joking that you’ll have to tolerate them until you retire; you’re not as optimistic; you’re the realist of the whole team; you know the risks are ten times bigger than theirs

- most of the times you go in alone, unarmed, no back up, no communication; you only have yourself to rely on; and you know that when the fatigue catches up with you, you’ll slip up, make a mistake, that’ll get you killed or worse

- and then the worst you feared happens; you go MIA during a simple infiltration; the boys find no trace to indicate where you’d been taken to or by whom; Laswell can’t find any sign of you, no matter how hard she tries, or how far she’s stretching her informant network; nothing; denial turns to angry searches, busting down doors and torturing anyone they come across; that turns to desperation, they start looking into the most unrelated events they find, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they get a glimpse of your name, or an alias, or something, no matter how small; and that turns to silence, they stop bringing you up, start avoiding your name or anything that might point out you’re not there; after Laswell mentions you in one of their briefings, that the time to change your status to KIA is due, Ghost smashes the chair you used to sit in

- it’s one of the most violent reactions he’s had outside the battlefield since you’d disappeared, and Price starts to worry that his lieutenant will do something stupid if they don’t find out what happened to you; he threatens Laswell to not touch that file of yours; ‘Not yet, Kate. Not yet.’ He says in a sadder and calmer voice    

- acceptance never came; the thought that maybe you’re not even alive, buried somewhere unmarked, or body burned beyond recognition is a thought they’d long banished; wherever they went they kept their eyes peeled for you; their hope of finding you never wavers

- and then their prayers are answered; they get something; it’s not much; a 3-second clip; it’s blurred, to few pixels to really make out any details; and the camera seems to be moved violently, barely catching the hunched posture of a person tied to a chair; Laswell got it form one of her contacts; it’s from a half destroyed hard drive they recovered from heli the dropped out of the sky

- it’s not much; actually, is far too little to go on with; the video doesn’t show a face, nor reveals any names; the background so dark they can’t make out anything; But they agree it’s you; from the size of your body, to your complexion to the colour of your hair, now longer and falling over your face; it’s been months since they last saw you but they know it’s you   

- ‘Proof of life’ Price concludes; ‘But fur who?’ Soap voices the question they all thought of that; ‘It don’t matter’ Ghost points out, voice gruffer than ever; ‘Where is more important.’ Gaz specifies

- they get to work; they comb the crash site, having received the location from Laswell; at first they don’t find anything; but Ghost’s keen eyes find it; it’s a small piece of silvery metal, wedged in the dirt; it’s only half, but he can make out the letters clearly; cyrillic letter; he grunts; ‘Price…’ he shouts to get everyone’s attention; when they come closer he shows it to them; ‘Russians’ they conclude

- the hunt begins; Nik is there to smuggle the Brits over the Russian borders and to provide them with an extraction vehicle, in his case an old rusty Russian helicopter, that can barely fly under the radar, it flinches and grunts at every gust of wind, but it’s as covert as can be; they don’t bear any insignia visible on their black camo uniforms; their faces tucked under black balaclavas; even their guns are Russian, some AK-47 Nik provided them with no striations on the barrels; they even agreed to keep their mouths shut, letting the captain converse with anyone that they might encounter; no one can no that a team of Brits put their feet on Russian soil

- they carefully went over all the details just like you got them used to when you did infiltrations; they are as prepared as ever; the plan is simple; take out the guards that make their rounds through the facility and take their place; that will give them sufficient time to look for you and find a way out to get you out; “if” they find you; the information came through Laswell and it was already a couple weeks old; chances are you’ve been moved;

- they search everywhere; you’re not there; time for plan B: infiltrate their data base; Price gets his hand on a computer and plugs the USB containing the backdoor virus; it takes some time to install, then to reboot the whole system; Laswell gives the green light that they’re in; they get out of there leaving no trace that they ever were inside

- the next two weeks are gruesome; Ghost spends most of his time destroying the punching bags in the gym; he barely eats and barely sleeps; he starts hearing your voice in the night when he climbs the ladder to the roof, perched up like an owl, having a smoke away from everyone; he hears a soft whisper, or a small chuckle; he’s going crazy, he thinks; crazy with worry for you;

- it’s been years since Simon felt worry for someone; when his family was killed, he vowed to never get close to another soul again; but then you had to save him; you didn’t even know him; risked your life for a stranger that cannot repay you for that act of kindness

- but he can; he can make sure you’re safe on missions; that’s why he’d always stalk your figure through the scope; that’s why he’d have you with him and Soap every time you’d split up; so he can keep his eyes on that pretty face of yours; that’s why he’d threaten the other marines on base with the court martial when he’d hear lewd comments about you being their whore and so much worse; he’d be wringing their necks if Price didn’t keep such a close eyes on his actions  

- he misses you, and your presence, and your sweet perfume, and your voice, and your eyes that would look straight into his when he told you a joke, smirk matching his own; he missed the way you’d drink your tea together in the morning, in silence broken only by soft sighs and the sound of the sofa under your weights; if he got up before you he’d make sure to boil enough water for two mugs and he’d put the tea in the moment he could hear your footsteps heading to the common room; he was so accustomed to you that he could make out your footsteps even in the busiest corridors; lighter than most, almost quiet but quick, lively; he misses that too

- the way you’d make your away towards him and with a nod take the seat next to his, softly brushing his shoulder with yours in an unspoken acknowledgement… I’m here, next to you… your simple touch made his skin boil underneath his clothes and yearn for more; he’d take advantage of situations out in the field; he’d grab you and help you climb over obstacles, he’d give you a head anytime he felt you needed it; and you’d never refuse his help;

- he’ll be dammed if he doesn’t find you; just like you found him when you first met

- two weeks pass by slower when you’re almost always awake, Simon knew that already; but he’s the first to get on the tarmac when Price gives the order for heading out; Laswell managed to pinpoint your location; one of the Russian commanders moved you to an off the record, but not really cause ‘Russians are shit at keeping a low profile.’ Laswell adds, compound where they’d keep foreign prisoners for interrogations; the American woman sends them out to get you out and wipe any witness that has seen your face

- exactly what Simon wanted; the green light to do what he’s best at: mauling his enemies;

- the compound they keep you in is underground, ventilation system outdated, like pretty much any piece of technology they keep; they record the interrogation on an old Sony camera; you doubt it can register your mumbled responses, not that you’d say anything useful; you’d match every question with a curse in a clear American accent; you don’t want to give them anything that might be traced back to your British boys;

- they can’t get anything out of you; not your name, not whom do you work for, or where you’re from, what you were looking for when you infiltrated their operation, etc.; they were met with an unsurmountable resistance; no matter how many times they’d beat you, drown you, burn you, cut you, electrocute you, or humiliate you; they took away most of your clothes, leaving you in your underwear and what little remained from your tank top, enough to cover only your upper torso; you were cold, hungry and in pain; you had been in this condition for months; but you wouldn’t give up

- in the academy they taught you that the longer you lasted the more chances of being found; that thought has crossed your mind more than once; but you don’t allow yourself to hope; that would only weigh you down the more time passes; no, you look for ways to free yourself and learn the personnel’s schedule; and you wait for the best opportunity

- that window of opportunity is near; for a week now you worked on pulling out the nail in the chair that holds the chair’s handle together; you managed to pull out the nail and twist your wrist to try and scratch at the rope; the motion is uncomfortable and painful, the skin of your wrist is cut open by the rope that soaks up your blood; you’ve been at it for hours, trying to cut yourself loose; and you finally manage; surprise overtakes you as the rope unravels and your hand is free; the limb aches with exertion as you shake it to get the flow of circulation to get back to normal

- then you lean forward and grab at the knife left there from the previous session, still wet with your blood; freeing yourself is more strenuous than you would have imagined; as you bend down to free your ankles you almost pass out from the sudden rush of blood to your head; you lost of it, enough to hinder you in your escape; but you push through

- when you stand up you grab the chair for support and move in slow motion afraid you’ll pass out; you have a plan in mind already; get dresses in the coat left on the hanger by the door, and lay in wait for the interrogator to come back for another round; now that your body is filled with adrenaline times moves slower, but it doesn’t take long for the door handle to start to move; you wait for the tall and skinny man to enter; if he were a little leaner you wouldn’t have had a chance; but this failed physician that took to torture won’t even know what hit him; you stab him in the neck with a somewhat quick strike;

- he dies drowning in his own blood; you manage to drag his corpse under the table, leaving the pool of blood untouched; maybe they’ll think that you finally bled out and someone took your corpse to the morgue to be burned; you don’t care as you grab the handgun off his waist; the same one he’d threaten you with when you wouldn’t answer;

- judging by the thick clothes your assailant wears you know outside is cold; so you do what they told you at the academy; you undress the corpse an take his pants an shoes; they’re huge on you but you can’t complain; you shiver at the warmth still trapped in the wool fibres;

- you make your way outside checking for any guards; you found none, as expected; you heard the Russian complain that is too cold and stuffy down here that nobody but him frequents the lower levels; some people don’t know to shut up and you are glad to exploit that; with his gun, knife and car keys in hand you make your way through the dark corridors; you follow the boot prints left on the filthy floors;

- the only guards you encounter are the ones stationed by the door that leads to the stairs; you make quick work of them; one shot for each of their heads; you almost fall down on your ass as the gun kicks back in recoil; you take a moment to lean on the wall taking a few calming breaths

- your ascend is slow, laboured breaths escaping your gaping mouth; you strain your eyes and try to decipher the word on the walls marking the level and the facility; you’re looking for the parking lot; you find it after climbing to the second to last level; Russians really don’t know how to keep a facility secure; as you climb the emergency stairs there is no one to stop you; they underestimated your ability to escape this hell hole; their mistake

- as you reach the parking lot you look for the physician’s car; it’s a rusty red Lada; it’ll do just fine; as you get in the passenger side you start hearing gunshots; it’s faint; maybe you imagined it; but no, it’s there; you don’t wait to find out what’s happening, as you turn the key in the ignition you pull out of the spot and quickly drive towards the exit; whatever firefight broke out in there, pulled away every guard from their stationary position; for a moment you think about TF 141, but you quickly dismiss it

- you make your way out, a little dizzy from the spiral ascension; once out of there you notice that there’s forest around, and some snow; you hit gravel and as you look back you notice the exit; the only indication that there is something men made here; you doubt that tunnel can be spotted from a drone; the trees block the line of sight; that confirms your suspicions

- the gun fire must be coming from another escapee, not as lucky as you; you drive down the dirt road following every twist and turn hoping you won’t see any other cars; you check the glove compartment; now that the adrenaline rush is over your body aches like never before; you search for some pain meds but you only find a wallet with some cash in it; Russian rubbles, enough to keep the car going for a while; maybe you’ll find a gas station; it’s risky but you are I dire need of food and water; that might give you enough strength to push forward

- the 141 moves quickly taking care of the two sentinels at the mouth of the tunnel; two well placed shots and they’re down; Gaz and Soap move the bodies in a bush and hide their car in the tree line; hopefully nobody will come looking for this two in the next crucial minutes; they comb through the facility dropping anyone they encounter; their pistols bear silencers masking the loud sounds; they move deeper and deeper, but soon the alarm is sounded and a full fight ensues; the guards are no match for the 141; they drop like flies; but the fight costs them precious minutes;

- Ghost breaks away from the rest of his teammates; he knows they got it; he needs to hurry to find you; he needs to make sure you are still breathing, and that your pretty eyes still hold fire in them; he gets to lowest level where the holding cells are; he checks behind every grate and every door until a he gets to what seems to be the place they torture the prisoners

- he notices how filthy and cold it is; but what makes his blood freeze is the chair and the large pool of fresh blood; no…, he’s too late; he came to late; a wave of blinding fury surges and like a tsunami Ghost thrashes the room; he stops only when he discovers the body of a tall Russian man behind the desk; his throat slit; pants and boots missing; atta girl he can’t help the smirk taking over his face under the balaclava; you were capable, he knew that, but you still manage to surprise him; he gets out trying to radio in the discovery to the rest of his teammates

- the radio crackles with static, concrete walls too thick for the signal to penetrate; he’s made his decision; he’s going after you even though he knows Price will kick his ass later; you need him; probably not as much as he needs you; he chases the droplets of blood you left on the ground as you walked towards the emergency staircase; at the door, two more casualties; no, you didn’t need him; you had it handled

- in the parking lot he finds a military truck with the key in the ignition; he follows you as quickly as the car gets on the dirt road

- you drive for what feels like hours; your mind is struggling, eyes out of focus and body feeling heavier with every minute; you don’t know why or when the car starts to shake and tilt, you feel yourself flying out of the seat; everything goes black

- Ghost’s eyes scan the road in front of him through the thick snowfall; he almost misses the red car that swerved of the road and now rests on the side in a ditch, snow piles on top almost making it disappear; he gets out of the truck and approaches the car pistol pointed at it; he wipes away the snow that covers the window on the driver’s side; inside he can make out a body that’s laying on its side face obscured by the thick collar of the jacket; he pulls the door open carefully and nudges the body to see if they’re conscious or not; when there’s no movement he peels the collar from their face

- Simon thinks he is no longer able to panic; he survived through his father’s and brother’s abuse; then he joined the military where they taught him to surpass any fears and to control himself; then the Mexican cartel who buried him alive; that experience showed him what terror looks like; only to return home and find all the people that he held dear massacred; Ghost is the result of so many horrifying events; he is the cautionary tale of what prolonged survival in a malignant environment looks like

- the level of fear matches that of when he found the body of Beth hugging Josep’s smaller one; he acts without thinking, grabbing your limp and cold body and pulling you out of the wreckage; your head is bleeding from where you hit it on the window; lips are blue and your skin cold to the touch; he checks for a pulse; he can’t tell if he feels yours or his own; his hands are trembling with rage and powerlessness; he grabs for the radio’ telling Price he’d found you but you need medical assistance immediately; there’s no answer on the other side; just static

- he hoists you up and takes you to the stolen truck placing you in the front seat; he climbs in the driver’s seat letting you down slowly over the seat head resting on his lap; he puts the heat on high trying to make you warm again; he checks for your breathing and he’s thrilled to find that small puffs of air come from your open mouth

- he starts driving, he doesn’t know where; he neds a safe house to treat your wounds and to keep you safe; the snow is falling heavy, making impossible to see where he’s driving; then he sees it; to the side he can make out a building in the tree line

- the abandoned cottage is nothing more than a ruin; but it has four walls and a roof and he’s glad to see a small fireplace, dry wood abandoned next to it; he puts you down on what he can only assume is what remained of a thick rug long forgotten by its previous owners; he works quickly and efficiently, in mere minutes a fire burns casting a warm glow in the barren room

- he moves to work on you; he peels the jacket off only to find that you are nearly naked under the stolen clothes; he gets angrier at the Russians wishing he could bring them back only to subject them to the same kind of torture they did you and some more; he quickly checks for deeper cuts or signs of infection; but he can’t find none; they must’ve given you antibiotics to keep you alive as much as possible;

- he cleans the cuts with the antiseptic wet wipes his med kit contains; then he dresses the wounds with gauze; your thin body looks like a mummy from the amount gauze; he addresses your head next wiping the blood of and bandaging your forehead; he sighs in relief when your lips and skin slowly turn pink from the warmth; you lay in between his legs as he sits on the floor, your head laying on his thigh

- he tries contacting 141 again, but to no avail; looks like he’ll have to hold out here tonight; he’ll stay awake to protect you until you wake up

- it’s morning when you stir, he watches your face intently from above you; your eyelids groggily open eyes trying to focus; as you lay eyes on brown ones, hidden behind a black balaclava you start to panic; you weakly push at his hands and chest, mumbling and trying to get away from him; he doesn’t relent though; his grip is firm on you and in a commanding voice he orders you to sit still; hearing your name does the trick; you didn’t tell those fuckers your name; and his embrace is not restraining more like protecting; you think hard and try to remember eyes flickering over the balaclava; ‘Ghost…’ you croak when your vocal chords decide to vibrate; ‘Gho…’ you repeat even more brokenly; he shushes you and reassures you that yes, he’s here and no, he won’t go anywhere; not without you; that puts your mind at ease and you close your eyes again

-when you wake up again is noon; he feeds you some water through cracked and dry lips and he gives you a dose of morphine to help with the pain; that sends you back to sleep

- the third time you wake, you are being carried by strong arms; the sound of blades cutting air becomes louder and louder; Ghost walks backwards shielding you from the snow that’s being picked up by the gusts of wind;

- he climbs the heli; Nik greets Ghost, as Soap and Gaz pull him and you inside; the ride is silent, no one says anything; the Russian pilot takes you to a better equipped safehouse

- you wake up to someone entering the room; you’re in a warm comfortable bed, IV connected to your wrist fluid being pumped in your veins; you open your eyes to a dark-haired man bringing in a tray of food; you panic again when you hear him greet you, voice laced with a deep Russian accent; he sees the look on your face and he slowly puts the tray on the table; ‘Don’t vorry, I’m Nick. A friend ov 141. I von’t hurt yu, agent’; he tells you it’s nice to finally put a face to the name, and that you are prettier than Gaz told him; you watch him in silence, regarding him with apprehension; when he stops talking, you look to the door and ask for Ghost

- he chuckles knowingly and then informs you that “your boy” is being ripped a new one by the captain just outside, and he leaves you to tell Price that your awake; you don’t have time to correct him cause he already out the door; Price walks in soon after, you’re glad to see him; ‘Ah, there you are’ he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; he asks you how you’re feeling; numb thanks to the morphine; he wants to know what happened

- it was a trap; they were waiting for you, Russians; they wanted to know who you were and who did you work for; you told them nothing; he knows; he asks you about your time in the facility; you don’t quite remember much, just the torture and the questions; he tells you that you did good, and that you need to rest now;

- Gaz and Soap stop by to talk to you a bit; you tell them you’ll be fine; and then you ask for Ghost; they rub their necks a little ashamed; you asked them what happened; Ghost got scolded for going AWOL in search for you; Price even threatened him with the court martial; you huff; and swing the blanket off; you sit at the ledge of the bed; you’re glad to find you’ve been clothed in a pair of slacks and a long sleeve shirt; you grab the IV needle and pull hard on it; then you stand grabbing the table for support

- the two sergeants move forward to catch you if you fall; you wave them away and move towards the door; you search the living room for any signs of Ghost; instead, Price and Nik talk about something at the dinner table; when Price sees you up and about, despite him telling you to rest, he mutters a ‘Bloody stubborn they are’ and points toward the kitchen; you thank him; you can hear Nik commenting something about you and Ghost deserving each other; but you keep walking, slowly, one hand on the wall for balance

- Ghost stands by the window, his back turned to you; he ignores your poor attempt at greeting him; without thinking you cross the distance and hug his waist burying your nose in his hoodie; he tenses

- ‘I’m probably high right now,’ you nuzzle your face in his back inhaling his scent: soap, cigarettes and something you can’t quite tell; ‘thank you, for coming after me’; you let go of him turning to go back to rest; he grabs your upper arm and gently turns you; he watches you closely, you can feel his breath on your face, and smell the cigarette on his lips; his balaclava is pushed up his nose; he stares into your eyes as he speaks ‘Tell me to stop’ his eyes shift to your lips

- ‘Please don’t’; he kisses you, deeply and for a long time; you pull away for air ‘Ghost, I…’ ‘No,’ he cuts you off; ‘Simon, my name is Simon’ you smile lost in his pretty brown eyes; ‘Simon Riley’ and he surprises you taking his balaclava off; you stare at him, trying to memorize every scar and blemish; he’s handsome, in a rugged way; blonde hair, pale skin, and brown eye; you kiss him again.                                                

Previous part here.

Masterlist

Warnings: violence, gore, kidnappings, threats of murder, feelings, and others.

CoD MW2/3

Simon 'Ghost' Riley 💀

Echoes of Salvation. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x afab reader (zombie AU)

Ongoing series

Part I Part II Part III

Ghost x undercover!reader - Head Cannons

(little mention of female characteristics in parts IV and V; it can be read as neutral reader: parts I, II and III)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC

Part I Part II

Works that I will write in the future

Ghost x afab reader (Old Guard AU)

spirit!Ghost x witch!reader (forest spirit monster AU)

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part V

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, I got some inspiration from The Rookie for the undercover part

P.S. I wrote all day and now as I post this it's 2.30 a.m. and I'm too tired. I'll make links and all the other things work tomorrow. I'm thinking of adding one more part.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the fifth time you meet it’s at the shooting range on site

- Price informs you that the TF 141’s crew likes to challenge each other for the title of the best marksman and you’re invited to participate as a guest to help you bond better with one another, and indirectly and subtly gauge your skill in action, as you’ve deduced; you surprise them with the affirmation; you’d like to point out that underestimating you, will be their mistake, but you refrain from doing so basking in the advantage you have over them

- you don’t make the winning title; you knew you wouldn’t; that title is always disputed between Ghost and Soap; but you do make a good impression; though you avoid having to get in a shootout on missions, knowing there’s more risks than worth the trouble, your aim is excellent; you can hit a target both stationary and mobile targets at various distances; not many can manage the feat, but you take training seriously, always in competition with yourselves, not others; being focused on self growth is one of your unspoken passions; you take interest in anything and everything that presents benefits to being a better undercover agent

- the final round is a battle between the grumpy British and the jesting Scott; it’s a close score, but Ghost comes out victorious; your heart flutters as he turns to you making eye contact; brown eyes scan your face for any sign of emotion; but you don’t play his game; you turn around without another word or reaction, on your way to getting back to your work;

- unbeknownst to you, Ghost watches your departing figure like a hawk, action which the rest of his teammates take notice of; ‘Dowie ye coudnae impress th' bonny lassie, Lt.?’ the Scott chuckles at his own words; Price has to intervene before Ghost can reduce the numbers of members the 141 has

- your preparations include finding an outfit that’ll catch the attention of that lewd middle aged fucker; and there is no person more suitable for that than Soap; you ask the captain to lend you Soap and a car to take to the town next over where you know you’ll find a dress shop; he agrees without qualms, knowing it isn’t a joyride but an important errand for the mission; he doesn’t have to know that the two of you had fun, caving ang giving in to gossip like school girls; you talked about anything and everything; Soap is awfully curious about your work, asking you to describe methods and procedures; you indulge him with the promise that he’ll help you pick a dress and shoes; he can’t say no as he gets too ogle at you trying on different dresses that hug your form perfectly and expose all the right parts of you, attracting the attention there;

- ‘Bein’ an undercover agent is similar to being an actor or actress. The only difference is that you might get killed or worse if you forget your lines.’ You synthesize trying on a fitted red dress that shows just enough cleavage and is long enough that you don’t have to worry that your behind will get exposed with wrong move; you and Soap decide that this one is the perfect one, paired with black stilettos; with a bit of makeup and a blow out you’ll look better than most models, as per Soap’s opinion; you agree without a smidge of modesty

- everything in place by the time you have to roll out and begin the mission

- you book a room at hotel that’s close enough to the club your target like to frequent; the plan is simple, seduce him and bring him to the room where the TF 141 will be waiting, ready for some not so pleasant information extraction

- everything goes smoothly; you manage to catch his attention the moment you walk up to the bar passed the VIP lounge area; he flies like a moth to the flame ignorant of his own demise; with his capture your fist phase of the mission is done; now comes the harder part

- you teach Soap how to be an undercover agent; he’s quite good at it, just as you anticipated it; you teach him all the important stuff and go over so many scenarios that he must be prepared to face; you teach him how to cover his tattoo seamlessly, with waterproof foundation; all goes smoothly

- ‘You’ll let me do the talking, as I’ll play your employer. Remember, you’re my bodyguard. If I die you won’t get paid. It’s ok to show concern for my safety but don’t make it emotional. You can’t be attached to me in there. You don’t know me like that in character. Rule goes if I’m dead or captured you save yourself, no questions asked. You can figure later wat to do, once you’re safe. You don’t panic, no matter what. Keep it cool, it makes it easier to find on the spot decisions. Remember, it doesn’t have to be perfect, it has to be credible. Ignore any comments and insults, but never back down from a confrontation. Shew ‘em you’re strong, dangerous if needed, ready to fight if necessary. But don’t provoke. Confrontations mean unnecessary risks. We need those. And if the situation goes to shite we pull out. Mission can get fucked; our lives matter more. Understood?’

- ‘Yes ma’am.’ And with that the undercover boot camp is over; ‘Get as much rest as possible. Out there you’ll be on high alert every moment. It’s not the same as on the battlefield where you worry about where the enemy is shooting. Here you must fool the enemy, get them to trust you, to accept you as one of them. You’ll have to worry about your words and gesture. The smallest flinch can trigger a chain of events that’ll get you killed.’

- ‘Got it. No flinchin’’he ads in jest; you know he’s smart enough to understand the dangers and not take anything lightly; but this is his way to cope with the stress; you allow it

- you establish your identities; you are the chemistry student that cracked under the pressure of debt, and took to the streets to cook; you’ve got experience and you can prove it; your notoriety already out on the streets through well placed rumours

- he’s your back up; freshly out prison, you’ve got inmates wrapped around your little finger ready to attest to that; he did time for arms deal and an armed bank robbery that ended with an IED explosion; he knows how to build them how to make them work; he’s a professional; learned from his grampa who served in the IIWW; he’s your bodyguard; his job is to keep you safe, no matter what; his nickname: Scotty, for obvious reasons

- the plan is sound now let’s see the execution; you get approached by one of the cartel lieutenants one day in broad daylight; he proposes to you a meet-up with the boss where you can prove you’ve got skills; you accept on the condition that your bodyguard stays at your side through it all; he accepts; the day comes where you two are picked up and taken to your audience with boss; he asks you live proof and you cook for him, fast, efficient and professionally; you obtain fentanyl with a purity of 98%; highest there is; he’s impressed; but he asks Scotty to step outside with his own bodyguards and let you finish the details of the deal; a matter of security, he’d argument; the fewer that know the better

- you agree and give Soap the order to go and wait for you outside office; he’s hesitant but obeys; good boy you mentally praise him

- but once your left alone the real test begins; he grabs your hand and pulls you flat against the desk, a gun to your head; you’ve been in this situation before so you don’t lose your cool, but on the outside you play the scared woman cornered by her would be killer; you know Ghost watches through the scope from the next building’s rooftop eager to drop him at your sign; Price and Gaz are on the roof waiting for a sign to breach through the windows; but the goal isn’t killing him; the goal is using him to catch a bigger fish; so you play your part begging and swearing up and down you’re not an infiltrator; Soap can hear your distress through the door but he doesn’t do more than threat the guards; ‘If mah client dies ye'r a' deid. Git it?' they share a look and nod in apprehension; he stays put

- ‘It’s all a show, Soap. If you don’t hear the catch phrase then you needn’t worry about me. I can handle my fare share of assholes.’ He trusts you know what you’re doing

- crying you get the drug lord to believe you; you show weakness and he soaks in it; men are easy to manipulate once they think they’re in control; he lets go you run out the door and get Scotty to get you out of there; once in your hotel room you both exhale in relief; you did good work an it worked seamlessly;

- phase three consists on working for the drug lord, getting him to open up to you; it allows you to point out Scotty’s skill; he considers it and then takes the bait making him his assistant in the arms deal related problems; Scotty gives good advice; he gains more trust; and with that comes the biggest opportunity: getting access to their computers; he instals a remote backdoor and boom: Laswell has know access to everything; she finds the location, date and time of the RV where the next deal will be negotiated with the head of the terrorist cell; everything works like a well oiled machine; this triggers the final phase

- phase four, affectionately called The Take Down begins immediately; Laswell sends Price back up, highly trained marines; they strike at right moment; you and Soap are present for the whole ordeal; it’s a bloodbath really; both the cartel and the terror cell gets annihilated; you get out without a single scrape; you laugh once more as lucks favours you again

- after the mission you all spend the evening at the bar; Laswell joins you in spirit being stuck over the pond at the CIA HQ, debriefing a plethora of generals and other higher ups of your success; you on the other hand relax over a few drinks; nothing too wild; just a quick celebration to let your hair down

- you step outside for a smoke; Ghost joins you; you sit in silence until you voice the question that has plagued your mind for months now; ‘What did ya mean by that?’ he stays silent, fretting, searching for the right words

- ‘Ya saved me arse.’ He settles on the crude phrasing; you’re confused; ‘Care to remind me how?’ more silence; he sighs; ‘Ya dragged me outta that facility. With y’r pretty little handsies and body half me size. Ya made quite the impression on me.’

- realisation hits you as you make eye contact; brown orbs stare into yours filled with admiration and something more; something you can’t quite put your finger on; you blush and look away; fuck

- you stay silent; but then you make a mindless admission: ‘I made the right decision that day.’ ‘That, ya did, love.’

- the following day you make another decision; instead of going back to HQ, you ask Price for a private meeting; he agrees believing you want to request escort back; you don’t; you tell him you made your mind; ‘Y’r mind about what, agent?’ without a beat you voice your choice: ‘I wanna stay, indefinitely.’ He eyes you up and down not really believing his ears; any person in their right-mind would take that golden ticket and get as far from the front lines; but you’re not; you’re bonkers; the sergeants were right; but he can’t stop you; that golden ticket guarantees you an open seat in any branch

-  he doesn’t admit but he’s pleased with your choice to join his task force; you’re one of the best and he’s got an eye out for those, like a collector; he’s only a bit worried about your bond with Ghost; he hopes it won’t end up in disaster; but he trusts your professionalism and moral code to do what’s best for the world above all

Previous part here.

Next part here.

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part IV

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, I got some inspiration from The Rookie for the undercover part

P.S. I loved Frenchie from The Boys and I just couldn’t help myself. Apologies 😊

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the fourth time you meet it’s no longer up to chance but up to your discretion

- the last mission scored you one of the most prized rewards in your field: a golden ticket; basically you get permission to retire from your field an choose another with less risk and a larger pay check, a “thank you gift card” from the director of the MI6, the King and England herself; it’s a type of mobility many dream of, having checked off the bucket list almost dying in al sorts of crazy situations and the young adventurous attitude toward danger having morphed into a veteran hesitant mentality; you are given plenty of time to decide where you want to go       

- a month later you hear rumours of a task force newly formed, one-four-one they’d call it; cheesy you think not really giving anymore attention; and then the briefing about some partnership between under cover specialised agents and this mystery task force for a top tier mission; you think about it, you haven’t had any action in three months now and anymore desk work will drive you up a wall if it continues; you skim over the file on the task force with disinterest, mostly because task forces like these were made up of brutes, eager to pick fights with the enemy and partially because most of the words had been redacted; a few are left out in the open among the sea of black ink: task force, covert mission, high-performance, low collateral casualties, you hum in thought

- what makes you not only volunteer with a manic grin, but actually consider having found the place for your relocation; under the captain’s name John Price, follow three more names; the last two are unknown to you and unimportant, two Sergeants, one John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and another Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick; but the one is impossible to mistake: Lt. Ghost; no first name, no last name; the only person whose file you ever read to bear that name.

- your application for the mission gets accepted almost instantly your reputation proceeding you almost any briefing room now; you’re informed that you’ll depart within the hour and other things you need to know about it; nothing really matters as you know you’ll get the chance to confront that knobhead that has plagued all your waking hours and some dreams with his obscure choice of words as you departed;

- you’re ready in 30, not really owning much and usually being moved from HQ to HQ, or base, or house within small time frames, which doesn’t allow for many personal things anyway; you wait in the shade, dragging from a cigarette, to pass the time, until the heli lands on the heli-pad; you don’t get to wait much, the pilot is here a little early; good; you don’t like to wait

- the flight is short the base not, far from the MI6 HQ; you pass the time reading a book you took, some title that caught your attention at the library across the street of where you usually buy cigarettes; the story doesn’t raise to your expectations, the writing style is mediocre and the characters have as much depth as a glass of water; you contemplate throwing it out the window, but refrain when the pilot announces ETA: less than 5; you hum heart beating a little quicker at the excitement you feel for finally being able to decipher the meaning behind those blood words

- as soon as the heli touches down on tarmac you’re out the door, no words of goodbye to the pilot; he’s used to it’

- the welcoming committee consists of the two Sergeants, now finally connecting faces to the names you read on the files; they’re casual in your attitude towards you which is a little invigorating, but they wouldn’t drop the “ma’am”; they’ll get over it; you’re probably a little older than them

- John ‘Soap’ MacTavish is chatty Scott, who’s a little to nosy for your liking, but within reasonable limits; you’re not sure if is actually trying to charm the pants off of you or that’s just how he is usually, throwing compliments left and right, but those have no effect on you and slide right off without much care; he sports an unusual haircut for some of the strictest branches of army that’s ever existed, SAS you see the patch on his shoulder, and a wacky tattoo representing the Task Force 141 insignia on his huge forearm

- Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is almost opposite to “Soap”, he’s more laid back, observing more than talking, making small comments when the Scott’s cascade off words gets interrupted, chuckling at his comrade poor attempts at complimenting you; he’s not as well built as Soap, but he stands a couple inches taller than you

- ‘He’s always like that?’ you direct your attention to “Gaz” as the two of them walk in front of you like two loyal guard dogs

- ‘Yes ma’am, though he get’s easier to ignore with time.’ You both chuckle, a huge disservice to the Scott that protests ‘Oi’ followed by a 'What's that suppose tae mean?' in the thickest Scottish accent you’ve had the chance to hear

- ‘You’re bothersome, bruv.’ Soap hits Gaz’s shoulder in brotherly fashion and the playful banter begins; you tune them up, and think about finally getting to change out of your civilian clothes and into something blacker, more unflattering and less eye catching than the light blue skinny jeans that have managed to flare out more than one whistle as you passed; arseholes and jar-heads come to the forefront of your mind

- you’re led first to your room and left there with the promise that one of them, most likely Soap, cause he already volunteered to do it, will come collect you for the briefing before supper

- you’re left alone to install, unpack, get changed and unwind from the irksome travel and the fact that you are being watched like deer in the headlights, fresh faces always attract the interest of the crowd in places like this

- the walk towards the briefing room is short but Soap manages to pour so many words in that interval that you’re almost sure he’s going to run out; once inside Soap’s chatter dies down and you make eye contact with the captain

- John Price gives off the energy of a strong father figure, his facial hair adding to his age; he not much older than you but the stress of leadership is visible on his face, eyes winged with crow’s feet; he gives a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod as you and the sergeant enter; he waits for Gaz to join you before he begins the briefing

-   as for the hulking beast of a man, clad in black, brown eyes surrounded by black army issued face paint and hidden behind that grotesque mask of his, oh no, you haven’t miss him, just ignored him; you felt his gaze burning your skin, searching for eye contact, which you vehemently denied; suffer just like I did, bloke

- Gaz comes in and is witness to the unthinkable; you the new face, pretty one might say without lying, so much different from these hardened man, more in common with the civvies than them, go and sit right next to Ghost, no space left in between the two of you; and what’s even crazier, you don’t acknowledge him; Soap and Gaz share a look; the captain seems amused by your actions and the sergeants confusion; no one, absolutely no-fucking-body ever sat next to Ghost, willingly and without starring dumbly and frightened at him; no one, never

- you take your seat, and place your notebook and pen neatly in front of you, facing the whiteboard as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; the two chaps sit down slowly, eyes trained on you half expecting you to realize your mistake and jump out of the chair; but you surprise them once again when you finally decide to meet the glare directed at you head on and to crack a smirk at the lieutenant

- their minds are blown, mouth open in disbelief, they glance at one another; their minds are set, you get labelled as the agent who clearly lost their mind somewhere in some gone wrong mission; they’ll bombard you with questions later

- as for Ghost, he’s as still as puma waiting to spring to attack; if looks could kill, you’d be disintegrated to the last atom; you’re as unbothered as a new born foal, unaware of its impending doom

- Price clears his voice, catching your attention and diminishing the tension that clouds around the semicircle table

- he makes an introduction for you, stating the reason you’re here, and what you’re specialized in: undercover espionage; you give a nod to all the men

- on a laptop in the furthermost side of the table a connection is established and a blonde American woman greets you; she’s CIA, their handler and yours for the upcoming mission; you have no qualms to work with the other most prominent intelligence agency, the one from over the pond, as long as you get to do your job as you know best; you feel the respect the men have for her and the fondness in the captain’s eyes once they greet each other; they’re old friends, that much you can tell   

- you decide you’ll respect Kate Laswell and trust her, as much as one can trust when one builds their carrier on lying to others and distrusting everyone; she’s pleasant so far, familiar with the men, and cuts straight to the chase just how you like it

- the target is one drug overlord who decided to take things up a notch and deal in arms with terrorists; the goal: disrupt the block-chain and cut the heads off the snakes; simple enough nothing that you haven’t tackled before

- you’re given green light to propose how to approach and infiltrate this business; you explain that you have to get quite high in their hierarchy if you want a shot at real damage; you skim over the information available on his deals: fentanyl, the most recent drug that’s flooded the streets; you know how to “cook” it from a previous cartel you took down; you’ll enter as just that “a cooker”, but you’ll also need a bodyguard to make yourself seem more important, but more on that later; you point out the name of the current one, the first target

- if you manage to get that person out of the game, you’ll have a chance to fill that spot, maybe the most important chain link in the whole operation

- you already have in mind the persona you’ll assume, a chemistry drop-out that took to cooking drugs; you know that your skills far surpass the target’s and you know how to cook a purer form of fentanyl; as for your bodyguards’: a crook; fresh out of prison on the lookout for work that pays well; one with knowledge of guns and explosives, surely to pique the terrorist cell’s interest in their skill

- Soap offers for the role, impressed so far with your knowledge and method of operating; you’re through, and he’d like to learn more on infiltration; you agree hearing he’s got what it takes to be convincing enough

- Laswell, Price and Gaz all hum in agreement at your plan waiting to hear their part in it; simple: Laswell can help with credentials and all the raw materials you’ll need to pull this off; Gaz, the captain and Ghost will be your back up, providing fire power

- the first target is easy to take down: he’s a middle-aged creep, who likes pretty young women and heavy drinks, parties like he’s twenty not fifty something; they already have info on his preferred hotspots; you’ll go in lure him out for the men to bag him and make him disappear

- everyone agrees so far adding small details here and there; it’s only your first few hours or so and every single one understands why you’re held in so high regard; it’s all warranted

- Ghost is the only one who hasn’t said anything, allowing you to direct the briefing, already know you’re more than capable and have far more experience with such delicate planning

- once everything is settled you start planning out the preparations you’ll need to make beforehand; Soap will train under your supervision; you point out he already looks the part, a delinquent; the comment lacks any trace of ill intent, but everyone can’t help but chuckle at his huff of indignation followed by ‘ ’M not’; you sweeten the deal praising his charming nature and easy-going attitude; he smiles at that but it’s short lived by your next comment

- ‘You'll do fine as long as you let me do the talking. I doubt you calling anyone 'bonnie lass' will get you very far.’ That gets everyone to let out a chuckle, everyone knowing Soaps anticks; even Ghost lets out a grunt reminiscent of a laugh; the bruised ego Scott follows up with a ‘Pish off’ that’s met with laughter from you; you let the insult roll off in good humour

- the briefing ends, Laswell disconnects, and the rest of you stand up to make your way to the mess hall in time for dinner; Price holds you back, and you obey; you talk a little, mostly him, praises fly at you, for good planning, attention to details and overall how well you managed to fit in with them in such a short time; you thank him, having heard this all the time; you try, really hard, to be pliant and easy to work with; no need to be a hard-ass; you’re all on the same side

- he agrees with your well-spoken point of view; but he can’t help but ask what’s the deal with you and Ghost

- ‘Worked together before. We get along well.’ Your answer seems to put at ease some of his worries about the teams chemistry; with that out of the way he leads you to the mess hall where he gets you to sit with them at the table; you can feel everyone else’s eyes on you as the new face of the 141’s; but you ignore them chatting with “your” team; you kind of like the sound of that; you can quite imagine working along side them for the rest of your carrier, however short, as you know the death rates among undercover agents grow the further they go; very few get to retire in one piece, actually you can count them on one hand, at least the ones they tell you about at the academy

Previous part here.

Next part here.

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part III

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, smooth Ghost

P.S. I loved Frenchie from The Boys and I just couldn’t help myself. Apologies 😊

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the third time you meet is in the small briefing room, you sit next to one another, in silence, eyes forward waiting for your MI6 handler begin his presentation

- the plan is similar but this time you’ll have a gun on you, that thought brings a little more than a smidge of comfort; when you make contact with the supplier and confirm that the merchandise is legit you give the sign: three nods, as natural as possible; at that alpha team and bravo team will breach

- you stand up for everyone to see what you’re wearing, cream coloured jacket and light blue jeans, you picked it yourself and you explain that you’ll be more visible to them among the black clothed guards

- when contact is made your job is to get out of dodge, because everyone expects a fight and you aren’t dressed in protective gear to survive being caught in the middle; you’ll make yourself scarce thus not even giving the impression of association with the black ops teams; just a coward that runs away at the first signs of a fight desperately trying to save their skin; this will save the work you’ve done in creating this fake persona for later use

- the hours before the mission gives you a déja-vu feeling: you read, he listens to rock music; you raise your head from the notebook and motion for him to take of the headphones; he obliges

- ‘Why rock?’ you seek the useless information, not from curiosity but a weird need of talking to him

- ‘Pumps me up…’ that’s what you expected of him, you know heavy metal is used in boot camp training to simulate the chaos of battle, when hearing is no longer a dependable sense and one must rely on his vision, gut feelings and training; it’s something he’s familiar with you conclude

- you ask permission to listen for a bit and he allows it, handing you the headphones; you place them on your head and listen to the disharmonic sounds emanated straight into your eardrums; you close your eyes and bob your head to the rhythm getting lost in the screams of the vocalist

- a hand firm on your bicep startles you; Ghost is tilting his head towards the door; you turn and see a general; in a swift move you are up, headphones thrown on the couch where you just sat; you don’t salute as you are not part of the army but you are straight as a plank in utmost respect to the new comer

- the general to you about your achievements so far and that keeping up with the work we’ll get you very far very quickly in the hierarchical structure; you reply that you like your work and wouldn’t give it up for a boring desk job; he chuckles and with a ‘Have it your way, agent’ he turns and leaves you two to your pre-mission coping mechanisms         

- Ghost smirks even more ‘A woman of action this one’ he comments, you turn eyes glinting in mischief, smirk unknowingly mirroring his ‘Bloody right’ your answer is met with a small chuckle

- ‘Would murder for a cuppa…’ you utter with a sigh

- ‘Understood’ he disappears out the door without missing a bit and you are left smiling to yourself like little schoolgirl

- in the car, you go over the plan one more time, you check the gun and the two magazine Ghost gives you; the Glock feels comfortable in your hand but its weight does little to ease your mind; you’ll be alone, surrounded by tangos, and now there is a new variable: the supplier and his men; they might open fire at the slightest misinterpretation of words, or worse, they might try to cross you over an try to kill your party and get away with the money

- everything is accounted for as much as not knowing the rendezvous location allows

- he makes sure to reassure you insisting on his position in relation to yours, in your made-up chess board scenario ‘I’ll look for yer’ you nod

- everything you’ve been through repeats like clockwork, this time the drive is longer; your gun is taken from you, and you feel your legs numbing from disuse where you sit on the hard van floor

- at your destination you get shoved around and put in the back seat of a limo; in front of you the buyer; you ask for your gun, motivating you won’t go win ‘without proppa protection this time ‘round’; he promises to give it to you when you get there

- he asks about you and your motivations behind switching sides; you tell him the fabricated story, how you got fucked twice, once by your commander and once by the government, when they threw you out without any means of survival while your commander got a pat on the shoulder and a laugh at another ‘young score’

- he understands a tells you a little bit by his motivations; you’ve heard this kind of talk and your sick of it, but you empathize with his hate for the British Government; he discloses to you that soon he’ll hit them hard, and all thanks to you, like being in league with him is something to be proud of; human filth

- after a short ride you get there, wherever that is, you don’t care; it’s just another job; your handgun is returned to you ‘a sign of good faith’ and you check that not even a single bullet is missing not as inclined to trust

- you are led to another warehouse this one filled with crates and random things strewn around; you are met with a gang of thugs, definitely not trained to properly hold a gun, or fight for that matter; you regard them with the superiority of an expert in guns and explosives, which is not an idle affirmation; you do in fact know what you’re doing not just faking it; the only thing that’s fake is the story behind it, the skill is there

- the supplier introduces himself as ‘Frenchie’ his French accent quite obvious; you request to se the merchandise; he comments to his thugs about the lack of manners in the British Isle; you stare him down unphased; he laughs;

- the buyer backs you up, voice demanding, reasoning along the lines of ‘pressing matter’ and ‘time sensitive issues’; Frenchie takes you to the back where crates full of C4 and more professional equipment, far superior than what you had to work with; everyone awaits your verdict in silence; you approach the crates to take a better look, and scrutinizing everything, though there is no need

- this is the real deal, military grade equipment, syphoned from somewhere where command is lax or corrupt; everything is brand new, though there is no flag, no insignia to indicate their origin

- you prepare yourself for the incoming breach; the signal this time a loud whistle of appreciation followed by a ‘got some hell of a gear ‘ere, huh?!’; Frenchie does not get the chance to brag about it as windows shutter, tear gas canisters fizzle, doors burst, shouts are heard, bullets start flying

- you duck and move to the side away from the crowd of thugs that try to return fire in vain as they fall like flies in a cacophony of screams and shouts of pain and terror

- you find the nearest door and burst out coughing having inhaled the bloody tear gas yourself; devilish contraptions you hated with a passion from your days in the academy when you first had tasted it; but as you struggle to regain your breath and get as far away without seeing where you are going a shadow follows close to you

- as your breath settles to a more manageable pace you hear a gun click and you slowly raise your hands in surrender; you turn around slowly as per the buyer’s demands; he clicks his tongue and wonders what a coincidence that black ops bust the deal right after you confirm the merchandise to be legitimate; you don’t deny it and he takes a step closer putting the gun to your head; but he takes to long to shoot you feeling more preoccupied with the villain discourse

- a gun shot is heard and he drops dead; wide eyed you watch as Ghost struts to you rifle shouldered in a professional manner and his figure the epitome of a perfect stance; he gives you a look over checking for any stray bullets you might have caught in your hasty exit

- and with a nonchalance at corpse that paints red the asphalt at your feet he calls in the kill over the radio

- the rest is a flash, you get checked by a combat medic for any signs of wounds, he dismisses you when he finds none, and your escorted away from the scene and to a black SUV to take you away to HQ now that your job on the field is done

- Ghost finds you again right as you climb in the back; he holds the door with one hand and the other is casually placed on the hood right above your head as he leans his tall frame to talk to you; but you beat him to it and a quick and sincere ‘Thank you’ escapes your lips

- ‘We even then, love’ he says quickly slamming the door shut; the first thing that catches your attention is the pet-name he used that makes the tip of your ears feel hot; and then his words hit you; you’re confused and a ‘What did ‘e mean by that’ escapes your mouth without volition

- ‘Huh’ the driver turns to you ‘You ok ma’am?’ he asks in mild concern; you didn’t even notice him, a young pale blond blue-eyed private regards you in confusion; your meagre answer comes in the form of ‘Yeah…, peachy. Just drive.’ A far away look takes over your face ‘Yes. Ma’am’

- you smile in thought; you’ll have to seek him out to ask for clarification; smooth bastard.

Previous part here.

Next part here.

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part II

Warnings: blood, violence, kidnapping, mistakes hehe, a bit of fluff

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the second time you meet you don’t even recognize him

- you are sent to meet up with a freshly assembled team, a few hand-picked men and women with various skills, the most capable, for a new sensitive covert mission

- with your experience and prone eye to details, you’re quickly made team leader alongside an S.A.S. Lieutenant

- he wears a skull mask sewn on a black balaclava, 6’4 wall of hard muscle, and the most intimidating gaze you’ve ever seen in someone’s eyes

- you don’t back down when you are introduced to one another, handshake firm, brown eyes meeting your own for a long time, as if caught in a duel of gazes

- you learn his name, in fact his callsign ‘Ghost’

- you deem it fit for his choice of gear and his mannerisms

- he rarely speaks and when he does it is short and to the point, making astute observations or asking good questions, the rest of his time is spent in silence, sharp eyes scanning the room full of people or the files handed to him

- for how big he is he sure likes to disappear unnoticed acting just like his namesake

- nothing is known about him, in truth no one on the team knows much about the others, no more than the essentials: their callsign and specialization, the rest is redacted

- you are not a curious person and you leave him be, but you can deny that he’s intriguing

- you find out you work well together; you plan and scheme for the operation, making up fictional scenarios and coming up with backup plans for every backup plan there is

- you don’t socialize much outside your work, but the silence between you two doesn’t feel awkward, more like understanding, a silent pact to not disturb the other from mental preparations and other thoughts regarding the near future danger that awaits you

- the plan is quite simple: you’ll pose as an ex-military expert in explosive devices, who just got dishonourably dismissed for having slept with a superior office at the base, and with no pension and a wish for revenge on the government that failed you; you get recruited by a terrorist cell via dark web that wants a large amount of explosive for a big hit on London;

- the buyer wants a meetup in a couple of days and a live demonstration that your devices work and do the desired amount of damage

- you’re the main piece on the chess board, the rest are there to support you and extract you in case the meetup goes awry

- and you prepare accordingly, mastering the art of explosives in just a few days, you are a fast learner, you work very clean and organized which make you look the part

- one day before the expected meetup, everything is ready, all the plans have been poured over, every detail accounted for

- it’s the calm before the storm as they say, you’re more quiet than usual, mentally going over every possibility and carefully repeating answers to possible questions

- Ghost notices this and in a small gesture of kindness or maybe just good fellowship he brings you a mug of tea, your favourite Earl Gray with a splash of soy milk; you’re surprised to find out that it’s perfect, from temperature to ratio to taste; he’s been watching you and taking notes of your methodical way of making tea; you can’t help but appreciate that and the attention to details; a man after your own heart

- you thank him and he smirks under his balaclava at your reaction of pleasant surprise that you quickly school with a small nod focusing your gaze to a fixed point on the coffee table in front of you

- the last few hours before the mission starts is spent in the lounge room; you read your notes for the final time and he listens to music on his headphones, so loud you can hear the rhythm

- he sees you absentmindedly bouncing your leg to the music, not once asking him to turn it off; he smirks again noting that you probably have similar tastes in music as well, he’ll have to test that theory

- when you carpool together to head towards the location sent to you by the target, he senses your tension and tells you a joke, a dark one that makes you smile a bit; he seems to be smirking a lot at your interactions lately

- he pulls the SUV a few blocks further away and before you make your way out of the passenger seat he grabs your upper arm making you freeze entirely, he’d never touch intentionally until now

- you make eye contact and reminds you to pull out if something feels wrong and you nod in agreement

- he reminds that he won’t be able to listen to you because you can’t take a wire with you (you’ll surely be patted down), but he’ll be close, and he’ll have eyes on you on all times through the scope of his sniper rifle; the bravo team will be close by to provide back-up; this time you’re not alone

- that thought is a lot more reassuring than you thought, you trust him completely, having seen his marksmanship skills at the firing range

- with that your mission begins

- you walk towards the alley you’re suppose to meet your target and you’re not surprised to see a black van pulling over, two brutes climbing out of it grabbing you and putting a cowl on your feet while dragging you inside the car

- your plan included this situation and you know that Ghost will follow the car at a safe distance until you reach the final destination

- you feel hands on you, patting down hard and pulling your shirt up looking for any hidden device; it makes your skin crawl but you manage

- you count around 45 minutes of driving and when the asphalt ends and gravel begins you know you are close to the actual destination  

- when the car stops you are shoved out of the car and they drag you somewhere inside

- when the cowl is ripped off you find yourself in a hangar with windows on both sides and a thick concrete wall in the middle that’s only connected to the floor

- you are surrounded by men in dark clothes, faces covered by shemagh scarves and in the middle a man dressed in a suit beckons you forth greetings kept to a minimum

- you are brought to a table where explosives and an array of electrical components lie in a heap

- his voice is deep, not as deep as that of Ghost and is laced with an eastern Asian accent 

- the instructions are simple, make an IED with what’s on the table in under 20 minutes, it has to work and it has to take down that wall 

- a timer is set before you and you get to work

- 16 minute and 54 seconds later you’re done and you mount the device in the middle of the wall

- every one gets as far as possible, turning away from the blast

- when the dust settles the buyer claps impressed that little remains of that wall

- you begin negotiations; you push for £1.000.000.000 he refuses, you argue that you need to buy supplies and they’re not cheap; he proposes a lower fee and that he’ll provide what is needed; you agree on the condition that he brings you to his supplier arguing that you want to do a quality check first, eliminating all and any error in the manufacturing process; he takes a moment to think about it; you argument that he can be double crossed and buy useless crap at huge prices and that you can lower those prices based on what the seller has to offer; he agrees and tells you that soon you will be contacted the same way you were today; you hum and ask for part of the payment now ‘for the trouble’ you say as you nod towards his brutes; he accepts.

- you’re taken back to the alley you were picked up from, the ride played in reverse, once again the cowl is thrown over your head

- Ghost picks you up from the park nearby, your established pick-up point

- once inside the passenger seat he notices the small exhale of relief you try to mask as yawn

- he drives in complete silence eyes front; he breaks it asking for the deal; you summarize; not only did you manage to meet the buyer and impress him but you managed to convince him to bring you to his supplier; he whistles in appreciation

- you feel your cheeks warm up; shock: you never blush, never, not at compliments not ever; you hate it but also like it a little.

- you ask him in return, and he clarifies that he had you in his sights all the time, ready to drop anyone that dared as little as breathing wrong in your direction, just as promised; you hum in a show of respect and appreciation, he nods in return; you are amazed how easily you can communicate non-verbally with one another - you make a great team         

Next part here.

Previous part here.

Echoes of Salvation: Negotiations (Part II). Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab reader

Part I

Warnings: none, really, just some casual fluff and domestic stuff, maybe some grammar error and misspellings.

Enjoy!

The story starts after the dash.

-

Synopsis:

It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.

You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.

One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.           

-

Once you get back inside you notice the little girl fast asleep on the couch a peaceful look on her face. Bellamy keeps closely to your side not letting you move without following. The masked brute stands a few paces away at the other end of the sofa, his eyes carefully scanning over his sleeping daughter. Once satisfied that she is comfortable he turns to you and gestures towards the kitchen and for you to follow him. You wait a few seconds and keep a healthy distance once you start following him. Once inside he points at the door and you shut it. You look around searching for a safe place for you to sit now that you’re trapped in here with him. You decide to sit on one of the chairs the one with your back to the wall. Bellamy lays at your feet eyes glued to him.

He leans against the wall opposite from you, arms crossed over his chest. He watches you, studies your face for a while. You try to appear nonchalant at his cold fixating glare, but your hair stands up, goose bumps forming on your skin. He clears his throat ‘I have a few more questions for you’ he says voice just as gruffy as before. ‘Like wise’ you quip from your seated position.

'Have you had run-ins with the infected?'

‘I haven't seen any for the past few months. and even before that they are rare and far in between. And to my knowledge there isn't any other person alive around this area.’ You answer as truthfully as you can.

'You're pretty isolated out here. No neighbours within a decent radius?'

‘Only the Johnsons, Neil and Margaret, they used to live about a half a mile down the lake bank. They were a retired couple.’ You reply a little sad.

'Used to?' he asks intrigued.

'Yeah. They died soon after the infection started spreading' you shudder, the image of Neil coming back to you in full force.

'How did they die?' his head lens to the side as if to take a better look at you.

‘I found Margaret dead in their garage throat ripped out. I'm guessing that Neil got infected when he went to the market in the nearby town. When he got home, he must have turned and killed his wife.’ You fumble with your hands picking at your nails and avoiding his sharp gaze.

'What about the husband? What happened to him?'

You dreaded this question. You take a deep breath to steady your quick heart and face downward in shame. 'I Killed him...' you say after some consideration. 'He attacked me and Bellamy and.... I had to...' you mumble your words not wanting to remember anymore of that terrible day.

He watches you intently, there's no sign of surprise on his face. 'You did what you had to do. There's no need to look shameful.' He seems understanding, but something about his look causes a chill to run down your spine. 'How did you do it?' He adds softly.

'The hatchet. I was out cutting wood for the stove.' you keep mumbling, a distant look on your face as you focus your eyes on spot on the table cloth.

'I see.' He says without any kind of judgment in his tone. You find it hard to look at him at this moment. 'You didn't hesitate.' He adds.

'I did. I acted out in fear more than anything.' you say lowly rubbing the back of your neck trying to rid yourself from the cold sweat taking over you.

He continues to observe you calmly, as if trying to understand you on a more fundamental level.

His expression changes slightly, becoming softer, less intimidating. 'Was it hard? Taking a life?'

'Yes.' You say looking straight into his eyes tone genuine. 'But I'll do it again if I have to.' you admit to him hinting that you are not as weak as he thinks you to be. You did manage to survive all this time alone and it wasn't all luck. You worked hard to build and improve the defence around your house and make it sustainable for a long period.

He notices your determination, and for a brief moment, he seems to respect it. 'I believe that you would, I’m counting on it' he says, voice still low. 'How did you survive on your own for so long?' he changes the subject having made his opinion of you on that matter.

'I learned how to farm. When I first move here six and a half years ago, I bought books on how grow vegetables and some medicinal herbs. Margaret was kind enough to show me how to grow chickens, I have a few in a coup behind the house' you motion with your head in that direction. 'In the back, there is a small plot of land with an orchard. Apples and cherries. I also invested in solar panels. I still have electricity and running water. Though on cloudy days the batteries half charge. I have to keep an eye on consumption.

He nods slowly, taking in the information you have shared with him. He seems to be taking mental notes of your capabilities as a homesteader. He speaks again, ’What did do before shit hit the fan?'

‘I am a licensed architect so it was easy to design everything around here, the doing was the harder part' you say proud of what you managed to achieve.

'An architect', he repeats in a low, amused voice, 'and you chose to live in the middle of nowhere?'

He pauses. 'What made you come this far out?'

'I wanted peace and a quiet place surrounded by nature. Cities were to crowded for my liking. I never felt at home there. But here' you look around you, 'here is perfect.'

You hear him let out a breath, seemingly agreeing with your statement and your choice of location.

He studies you for a few seconds, then says, 'You don’t have anyone else? Family? Parents?'

'No.' the answer is short and a far away look takes over you. that is a story from another time. 'Where did you come from?' you turn the attention on him rather than giving anymore information about yourself.

He hesitates for a moment as if deciding whether or not he should share anything about himself.

'I'm ex-military.' comes the final answer, spoken in his usual blunt manner.

'That much I figured' you nod towards his uniform. 'Is she your daughter?'

He nods without saying anything further. There's a strange tension coming from his body language. He seems to be on high alert. He clears his throat as if he needs a change of subject. 'You said you are an architect?' you raise an eyebrow at that 'Yes, why?'

'Are you any good?' He presses, not beating around the bush and being direct with his question.

'Um... as good as they come, I guess!?' you tell him not trying to appear humble.

'So, what is your specialty? Residential? Commercial? Industrial?' he asks very specific.

'Residencial, but I do have some knowledge of the rest. Why do you ask? You try to understand were the sudden interest in your carrier choices come from.

'Just curious.' He says casually, but something in his eyes suggests that he's interested in finding out more. 'And that cottage you're living in.' he points at your house. 'You designed it?'

'Yes' you say eying him suspiciously. His questions were awfully precise. But once again he changes the direction of your conversation wanting to know more about your house. He asks you about the house, the structure and the layout, how you keep warm, where do you get wood for the fireplace.

'You're pretty self-sufficient.’ He concludes.  ‘How often do you have to go out for supplies?' his question catches you by surprise. Ever since you saw the news about the outbreak you haven’t ventured anywhere close to civilization, afraid that you’d encounter infected and be ripped apart.  

'I haven't really left the property in the past year. The further I go is the lake for fishing. Most of what I own comes from the time when things were delivered to your door or post office. I used to buy items in bulk.' you shrug, it made more sense to you that way. ‘There was no reason for me to leave. Plus, there is a lot of work to do around here, animals to feed. Which reminds me of something…’ you say fixing him with a hard stare mirroring his own. He waits for you to continue.

'You'll have to pull your weight around here. Food and accommodation are not for free.' You set clear boundaries. You may be kind enough to let them stay, considering the threats he’d flung your way earlier, but you won’t be taking advantage of.

He sighs almost offended by what you said, ' I don't plan on freeloading.' He assures you. 'Good' you intend to hold him to his words. He grunts in acknowledgement before going on to speak, 'I hunt regularly, and I know my way around a gun. I'm capable of offering protection.' He says in a serious tone, almost like a pledge. His military training is showing.

'There is not much fighting to do around here, but I'll keep in mind.' you say with a chuckle. It'll be fun seeing him do household chores. You wonder if he'll keep the mask on while feeding the chickens or picking apples.

'I do have one last question.' He says, suddenly sounding more unsure of how to phrase it. You nod at him to go one whipping the smirk on your face and

'If our partnership is to work…’ he pauses seriousness taking over him like a heavy veil, ‘you will have to abide to my one rule.' You sit up a little straighter, your attention fully on him.

'My girl comes first. In a survival situation, every decision I make will rely on her safety. No negotiation.'

You nod your head in agreement. 'Got it. I'll try my best not to get in your way.' You promise tone filled with sincerity.

'Good.' That seems to conclude the interrogation. He seems to relax a bit, and his demeanour is less hostile than before. He rises to his feet and turns to walk to where his daughter lies on the sofa. You watch as he drops his gun and knife on the table and sits on the armchair guarding the sleeping girl.

You let them settle in while you busy yourself with chores. you go out to feed the livestock you keep, collect any fresh eggs, and tend to your garden. The sky begins to darken, wind picks up. you can faintly hear thunder cracks in the distance. It's going to rain tonight, you muse to yourself. You quickly finish your work outside making your way inside. Once in your living room you notice the absence of masked stranger. He is nowhere in the house. You put down the basket you filled with fresh vegetables on the kitchen table and approach the sofa. The little girl stirs awake and looks curiously at you.

'How are you feeling, darling?' you ask in a warm tone smiling gently at her. The little girl rubs her eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep in them. She then looks up at you once again with her adorable big eyes. ‘A bit tired’ she says before yawning.

'It's understandable, you went through a lot out there. What happened to you?' you ask pointing at her bandaged arm The little girl looks at you for a moment as if thinking what to tell you. 'I got hurt by a bad guy's dog...It bit me.' She tries to sound brave but you hear the quiver in her voice.

'Oh... that's awful. Would you let me take a look at it?' you say softly siting down on the couch next to her. ‘Yeah…’ she nods. She holds out her arm for you to take a look at.

On her arm, you can see the puncture marks. They don't look like a human bite mark and that makes you sigh in relief. They were telling the truth. But what worries you is the yellowish liquid oozing out of it. That and the fever indicate that the wound got infected. 'How long ago did that dog bite you?'

‘About three days ago...’ She says quietly. ‘...It hurts now more than before.’ her soft, innocent eyes are filled with concern, fear and worry. ‘...I feel hot...’ she added. 'Let's clean it and rebandage it, okay?'

'Okay' she says with a small, relieved smile. You fetch a med-kit and some disinfectant and begin to clean the wound. It's a bit irritated from the infection. She seems to be in good spirits despite the pain.

You try to comfort her by keeping her mind occupied with conversation while treating her wound.

'How old are you?' you ask her as you wipe her arm with some alcohol blowing a little over it to ease the burn. 'Nine!' she answers earnestly with a toothy smile as she looks up at you, still enduring the sting of the disinfectant. 'What's your name?' you ask remembering that you haven’t been properly introduced so far. 'Olivia' she says with a soft, cute smile. 'What's your name?'

You tell her. 'I haven't met anyone else with that name before' she says pensively. 'Well, we don't really meet many people anyway. Just infected.' she says with a sad sigh. 'Yeah, me either.'

You finish treating her wound and re-bandage it. A shiver runs through her little body causing her to tremble. ‘Are you cold?’ you ask, reaching your palm to her forehead. She is indeed a little feverish. ‘...A bit.’ She mumbles with a small shiver.

You stand up making your way toward a small closet where you keep some blankets. You pick a fluffy one and hand it to Olivia. 'Here you go, sweety'. She smiles brightly as she accepts the extra layer and buries herself in it. 'I'll go grab some firewood to get a fire started.' You announce heading for the door. Just as you reach for the door handle, the door opens and there stands the tall dark figure of the man, his hands full of firewood. 'Oh...' you say in surprise as you step aside making way for him to enter. Outside rain is pouring. He puts the wood in the fireplace and starts working on the fire. You close the door and watch in silence as he works. In no time a well-built fire heats the small house casting a warm glow from the fireplace. The shadows flicker on his face, the white mask adding a level of horror to the otherwise cozy scene.

‘Thanks,’ The little girl says softly to him, to which he only grunts in acknowledgement.

You quietly make your way to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Bellamy lays on the kitchen floor quietly supervising the two strangers in your house through the open door. The dinner you had in mind this morning included fish but you were rudely interrupted, so you'll have to settle on chicken with a side of veggies. You work quietly and efficiently, casting a glance once every few minutes in the living room. You see Olivia tiredly saying something to the masked man and him leaning back, the chair reclined, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching you prepare dinner. Soon, everything is ready, and three plates of steaming food lay neatly on the kitchen table. You walk into the living room to invite your involuntary guests to dinner.

The tall man is sitting on the comfortable armchair, the little girl lays on the sofa next to him, propped up by the pillows. As you enter, they quiet down and stare at you. He slowly stands up, holding out a hand to the girl, but she swats at it and raises by herself with a huff. He says nothing and he follows you two the kitchen. For how big he is he his movements are fluid, calm and quiet. You can barely hear his footfalls.

The little girl sits next to her father and digs into her plate burning herself in the process. 'Take it easy, kid.' he gently admonishes her. It's a weird scene seeing him at the other end of your small table, still in full gear watching the two of you eat in silence. Earlier he was threatening to kill you, now he sits in your kitchen hands rested on his knees watching like a hawk and frozen like a statue. You cast a few glances at him wondering if he'll take the mask of to eat but he remains unmoving. Perhaps later when I’m not around you think to yourself.

You try subtly glancing at the masked man, now that you sit in awkward silence. The little girl eats hungrily, she seems to love the food. Her blue eyes are focused on her plate, but you notice that she also seems to sneak in a few glances at her father while she chews. They look at each other as if communicating solely with their eyes. Perhaps they could, after spending so much time together in situations that require keeping quiet and nonverbal communication. You’ve notice so far that he prefers gestures instead of words. Once she’s finished eating the girl turns to look at you 'Is there any dessert?' her question is followed by a small burp and a quiet laugh. Her father pumps his knee audibly into hers under the table and throws her a pointed look. ‘What?’ she feigns innocence. You chuckle at their antics watching them bicker.

'I have some cherry jam if you're interested.' you offer with a smile.

'A bit, please.' she replies. Olivia’s eyes are sparkling while her father looks as unimpressed as ever, while you prepare a few slices of homemade bread and spread jam on it. She sits closer to him whispering something in his ear. He bands down and you watch as he whispers back.

She seems to be a very attached child, and you wonder if that is a consequence of all the trauma she has gone through. His manners on the other hand seem a bit less harsh, slightly more relaxed, although his dark gaze still lingers on you as if his prepared for you to rush him or something.

After you finish eating you collect yours and Olivia's plates and dump them in the sink to wash them later. You then turn towards Olivia 'How about we get you out of those dirty clothes and give you a warm shower? you ask motioning upstairs were your bedroom and personal bathroom are. She looks at her father with a look of silent plea.

'Go on.' he says quietly with a nod. She gets up, excited to get a warm shower, the prospect of getting cleaned and changing clothes is too much for her to resist. Olivia runs up the stairs followed quickly by you, leaving the man alone to eat.

A few moments after you are out of sight, Simon takes off his balaclava and puts it on the chair where his daughter sat. he grabs the cutlery and just as he’s a bout to start cutting into the chicken he stops, feeling eyes on him. He casts his eyes at the door where your dog watches him curiously head tilted to the side and years pointed up. ‘What?’ he grunts in annoyance, and the dog gets up and leaves the room. With a sigh Simon starts eating, he can’t remember his last proper meal that didn’t involve expired cans of beans.

-   

Once in the bathroom, you turn on the shower and set the necessary water temperature before stepping out to wait for her. You go inside your bedroom searching for some clothes that will fit her better than what she has. Her soiled clothes go straight to the bin. They’ll need a proper wash for sure. You wait by the door for her to finish. You can hear her saying something to you through the cracked door.

'I don't remember the last time we had warm water' she says from behind the shower curtain. 'Were you on the road for a long time?' you inquire curious to know more about them, and now taking your chances with Olivia who is chattier than her father.

'Yeah...We've been on the move and camping for a while now in abandoned houses.' she replies as she turns off the shower and steps out. She is wrapped in the towel, her wet hair sticking to her forehead and with a shy, bashful look on her face to which you can't help but smile at.

'Come' you motion for her to go inside your bedroom 'let's get you dry.' She happily obliges and you both step into the bedroom.

You help her dry her hair and then you give her some privacy for her to change into the new clothes. By the time you are done, she is completely dry and wrapped in a cozy sweater and shorts. She looks really pretty now that she’s clean, her pixie cut framing her round face perfectly.

She smiles at you and then starts looking around the room. Your bed is made, covered in cream linen bedsheets, your bedside table is nicely decorated with some flowers from your garden, and your desk is neatly organized.

A few books and magazines laying at the corner of the desk that catch her attention. She walks closer looking at the covers curiously. You notice her looking at a particular magazine cover, it shows a woman holding some gardening tools and a child playing nearby.

'Do you like gardening?' you ask her.

She shrugs. 'I don't know', she answers sincerely. Right, if they were moving from place to place, they didn't have time for that. Probably didn’t have time for many other things. The realization dawns on you. Growing on the run in a world full of monsters must’ve been rough on her, not really being able to be a child, always on high alert.

'Maybe you can help me tomorrow in the garden if you feel better.' you offer kindly. 'That would be nice.' she replies earnestly, her warm smile lighting up her adorable face, making her look like a normal kid.

'Okay, for now, let's get you settled in the bedroom downstairs.'

'Alright… but can I ask you something?'' she looks up at you scuffling her feet, the wool socks you gave her sliding and pooling at her ankles. 'Sure thing.' You turn towards her and wait for her to voice her question. There's a brief pause in which she mulls over, seemingly struggling to form the right words.

Finally, she speaks, 'Why did you accept us in your house? She takes you by surprise. You pause, looking around, giving yourself time to think before you answer. 'It was the right thing to do. You needed help.' You say conviction in your tone.

She nods a little bit, still unsure. 'But you don't know us...you could have just closed the door on our faces. It happened before. People keep their things for themselves out there.' She arguments.

Your heart falls a little, your hopes in humanity crumbling. You knew people could be selfish at times, but now they really turned borderline savage and hysteric. 'People can be like that when they feel threatened.' you admit.

'But you aren't?' she follows up your statement with a question. You hesitate a bit, her eyes are focused solely on you, their innocence and naïveté are so endearing it somehow breaks your heart.

'I try not to be.' Your answer seems to have raised even more questions. She is curious to know more. 'Why? Why do you try not to be like the others?' she tilts her head as if trying to solve you like one does a riddle. 'I don't know. It just doesn't feel right to me. I think people should be kind or at the very least not violent with one another.' Your philosophical reply is met with more confusion. '..So why did you let us in?' she asks earnestly. She doesn't understand why someone like you would extend a warm generosity to perfect strangers who have nothing to offer when the same kindness is so scarce.

'Well, your father did threaten me with a gun.' you give her a more appropriate answer, something she understands better: violence. She sighs. Her adorable little face drops as she realizes that her father's actions might have put you in danger. 'Oh.' She remembers your earlier encounter, her father's less-than-friendly approach to strangers seems nothing new to her. ‘Right…. He's protective, he has to be.' she promptly excuses his actions, her expression a little troubled but at the same time, she seems to understand. 'But he's not a bad person' she quickly adds.

'I didn't say he was.' you remind her. She nods her head a little, still thinking about it all.

She is very smart, it is evident that she is much more aware of her surroundings than the average kid her age, you wonder what she would grow up to be, and what kind of adult she would turn out to be in such a harsh world. You imagine she will be a spitting image of her father, cold and ruthless.

You gently lead her down the stairs and to the guest bedroom ending your conversation. Once you reach downstairs you notice that her father is missing yet again. 'He's probably outside smoking. He never does it when I'm around though. He says it's bad for the lungs. But I don't understand why he keeps doing it' she confesses. She sounds more like an adult than a child. She has probably matured fast due to the circumstances, but that doesn't change the fact that she is still so young.

She still needs guidance, she still needs help figuring things out. Even as she speaks of his flaws, she is quick to excuse him and defend him, she loves him and looks up to him so much. It's almost like she sees him as two different people, one good and one not-so-good. You wonder if that is just her way of trying to cope with his actions.

'It's a bad habit people tend to have when they are stressed' you tell her. You remember your college years going to bars with colleagues and smoking a few cigarettes from your friends. But you never bought a packet.

'Do you get stressed?' she asks you, seemingly trying to see if you are the same as her father.

You take a few seconds to think it over, but her innocent, naïve gaze is hard to lie to.

'I do.' you confess, '…Sometimes. But I do other things to relieve the stress.'

She looks at you curiously, you can tell that she is looking to you for advice on how to deal with stress or she’s just looking for options for her father. 'What kind of things?' she asks, her voice filled with childlike wonder and curiosity.

'Well, gardening is a good way. Bellamy likes to help.' at the mention of her name, your companion leaves her guarding post by the fireplace and approaches the two of you. Olivia hides a little behind you at the sight of the dog. 'Don't worry, she won't bite you, I promise. She's really friendly with people. Look...' You crouch next to her and stretch your palm towards her nose. Bellamy starts wagging her tail eager to be petted.

Olivia watches you cautiously, but then sees how Bellamy loves to be petted and she can't help herself from being curious. She cautiously puts her soft little hand forward, hesitantly touching Bellamy on the cheek. The dog allows it, and soon Olivia warms up to her and starts petting her.

She smiles at you as she does that, then she speaks. '...Does she like me?' she whispers loudly as if the dog might understand her. 'I think she does' you playfully match her tone.

Olivia smiles even more, petting Bellamy even more enthusiastically. 'What kind is she?' she asks, showing a bit more enthusiasm in her voice. 'She's a Border Collie. She is a dog meant to herd sheep and keep guard from other animals.' '…She must be very smart.' Olivia says as she continues petting her, her voice is full of curiosity and admiration as she says that. 'She is' you say with a tone of love for your sole companion. ‘Dad told me that the dog that bite me was German Hepard. A guard dog.’ She informs you the way children do to prove they are just as knowledgeable as adults. ‘Shepherd. German Shepherd.’ You correct her with a small laugh. ‘That’s what I said.’ She counters with an incredulous look on her face at you for not taking her seriously.  

Olivia slowly yawns her eyes hooded with exhaustion. 'Let's get you in bed' You guide her towards the bed pulling the covers and allowing her to get in. Once she settles comfortably you put the back of your hand on her forehead checking for any signs of increased temperature. to your relief, her fever went down a little. It means that the pills still have an effect even after all these years. 'Good night' you whisper to her as her eyes flutter closed. She nods, tired from the day's events, and slowly closes her eyes as the sleep starts to take over her. '..Good night..' she whispers to you with a sleepy voice before she falls asleep.

You quietly sneak out of the room, closing her door softly behind you. You can still hear her soft snoring coming from inside the room, and a little smile forms on your face. You know she feels safe with you, and that warms your heart a little. You then head towards the kitchen, Bellamy in tow, only to discover that there are freshly washed dishes on the drying rack. You hum to yourself in appreciation. He may be a hulking terrifying military man but he has manners. You chuckle at the thought, despite the cold and aloof vibe he gives off, he still manages to surprise you with small gestures like these. It's clear that no matter how rough he seems, he does have a softer side to him.

Bellamy follows you next, and the two of you make your way outside. The rain has stopped, but there is still no sign of the man. He seems to like to disappear like a ghost. you scan the area around your garden, which is now damp with the fresh rain. Further outside, from the fence to the outside world, the darkness envelops everything. The light from your house is not strong enough to penetrate outside your garden. You take a deep breath the air humid and refreshing. The clouds hide the stars, you wish the sky was clear so you could map out the constellations with your finger, a favourite pastime of yours during the summer nights when the air is too stuffy for you to fall asleep.

After a while, the gate opens, and the masked man walks in, rifle slung on his shoulder, strap gripped tightly in his hand. The white skull on his face is the only thing that reflects enough light for you to make it out. A shiver runs down your back at his frightening attire. No wonder other people turned them down. He looks more like a serial killer from a horror movie than a human being. As he comes towards you, you can't help but wonder out loud 'Why the mask?' you watch him as he approaches you.

He doesn't respond to your question. Instead, he looks you up and down, studying you for a moment before he speaks with a firm voice. '..To hide my face.' He states in an obvious manner.

You stare at him dumbfounded the look on your face most likely betraying your confusion at his answer. He walks past you a small chuckle audible enough for you to catch it. He goes inside without another word. He's such a hardass... you think to yourself but you follow after him locking the door behind you. He looks around, most likely looking for his daughter. 'Olivia is asleep in the guestroom.' you point your thumb over your shoulder at the door. He stares at you silently which makes you really uncomfortable. 'You can make yourself comfortable here. My bedroom is upstairs...' you inform him awkwardly.

He stands there, not uttering a word, not even moving an inch, just looking at you, his eyes searching your skin and face, analysing your body and appearance with a prodding, cold, and distant gaze.

After what seems like an eternity, he finally utters a few words in response to you. '..That'll do..' he dismisses you with his usual monotonous and stern voice.

You nod and go up the stairs. once inside the room, you lock the door and sit on your bed. You stay like that for a while trying to comprehend today's events. You're unsure how things will play out between you and the masked man downstairs. You only hope that it won't interfere with the peaceful life you've built for yourself here. After what feels like hours have passed, you rise and start digging in your closet for pyjamas and a towel. You'll take a shower, hoping it will wash away the unease that seems to overtake you.

As you strip away your clothes and step into the shower, the warmth of the water fills your body as it washes away the cold. You let the hot water run over you for a while, allowing yourself to relax and forget the tension still lingering around you. After a few minutes, you step out and dry off by sliding your towel along your wet skin. Feeling refreshed and cleaner, you pull on a comfy set of pyjamas before returning to bed.

Once under the sheets, you close your eyes and try to fall asleep. Unlike Bellamy who snores peacefully on the rug next to your bed, you don't have such luck. You stare at the wooden ceiling above you. The house is dead quiet and you try to focus your hearing in hopes you'll catch something from outside your room. A few minutes pass when you can distinctly hear the faucet of the downstairs bathroom sink. You keep listening trying to imagine what he's doing. He's probably washing up, you think. The house creeks as the wind outside starts to blow. Soon after the rain starts once again, the sound of raindrops hitting your window finally lulls you to sleep.

Echoes of Salvation: The Deal (Part I). Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab reader  (Zombie AU)

Part II

The story starts after the dash.

Warnings: some gore, some mistakes, some bad writing (eh… we all have to start somewhere), not proof read, some independent woman surviving on her own without the need of help from men (cause I like self reliant women and people in general, they are a great inspiration to us all, really).

Disclaimer:

Dear readers,

Please be kind. This is my first fanfiction ever that I wrote and posted, so please be kind and overlook any potential inaccuracies, mistakes, grammatical errors as I’m not a professional writer and also English isn’t my native tongue. Though I have studied British English I am sure I haven’t really managed to accurately portray the British way of speaking, so please, feel free to point out anything that might poke you in the eye while reading this.

Also, I would like to tell you that this fan-fic is the love child of my obsession with our favourite masked man Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, and my love for anything zombie apocalypse or world-ending alternate universe or actual universe. Tbh If I wasn’t a poor student I would probably be a prepper, just like Frank from HBO’s TLoU. Most likely will be. I’m a little weird like that, you’ll see more in the future.

To close this little rant, I hope you’ll enjoy it, even if it’s short, I would really like to continue this if you deem it worth it enough. This will probably be a slow-burn kind of romance: 1. because I’m a sucker for the kind of slow-burn strangers/enemies to lovers fanfics, and 2. because it’s more realistic, let’s calm the whore-y instincts and be reasonable people that don’t climb masked 6-feet-tall strangers like trees.

With everything said I do not own the Call of Duty character Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley (*whispers*Though I wish I did*) BUT I do own this piece of fanfic. Please don’t steal it. Repost it but please do give credit to other people’s work. You may notice some similarities to other fanfics, cause duh, I also read a lot of that, (isn’t that one of the incipient stages to becoming a fanfic writer?), but I would really like to give a shout out to the fanfic author that really inspired me to put fingers to keyboard and a fanfic into Tumblr, please, *drum rolls* a round of applause for @nsharks with her lovely fanfic ‘Bleeding Blue’. She’s really wonderful and you should really check her out.

Have fun reading and don’t forget to leave a comment or a heart. I wouldn’t mind suggestions of what to name Simons’ daughter. That would really make my day 😊

P.S. Sorry to all the fishing loving people out there, what I said was based on my impression of the fishing experience and should be taken with a grain of salt.

            Yours truly <3

Synopsis:

It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.

You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.

One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.                     

-

The sky is cloudy above but some sunbeams break through to warm the crisp air this fine early spring morning. It’s a good time for fishing now that the water is warmer, they come closer to the bank in search of food. It’s a boring task after you arrange all your tools and launch the line in the water. It’s a game of waiting and watching for any small tugs or movement of the neon-coloured fishing line. You picked up fishing after a couple of months into moving here, when everything was a mess and so many repairs and renovations had to be made around the house. The guy from the tutorials you used to watch on YouTube talked about the calmness and relaxation fishing brought to him. Maybe you weren’t cut out to stand all day on shore and gawk like an idiot for hours at the thin plastic line submerged in the lake water. But you cannot deny the proud feeling catching a fish brought to you when the line finally went taught.

You try and ward off the boredom and instead try to focus on the warmth that spring brings after months of endless cold. The birds are singing in trees, preparing nests for future offspring, and the lake is calm, with bubbles on the surface indicating the abundance of fish. Life is good. Bellamy enjoys sunbathing next to you rolling in a patch of grass. Everything is peaceful. Nothing really happens here anyway. You close your eyes basking in the good feeling that overtakes you.

A branch snapping behind you wakes you from the meditation you have fallen into. You raise and turn from where you are crouched over your equipment. You come face to face with a strange figure.         

‘Show me yer hands’ he tells you in a thick British accent, eyes focused on you and handgun aimed at your chest. He wears all black and a haunting white skull mask. He is tall, at least 6 feet tall, body poised to kill. In his other arm, you can see a little girl hugging his neck.

You slowly raise your hands. At your foot, Bellamy growls baring her teeth at the stranger sensing danger. You shush her grabbing her by the caller to keep her from attacking the armed man. You stand still watching in apprehension as the man studies you. You look at the ground where you left your backpack and your hatchet.

‘Don’t even think about it’ comes the gruff order. You nod trying to convey that you understand the situation. ‘There’s nothing in that bag worth a bullet’ you tell him in an even tone despite fear creeping down your spine. He hums in agreement. ‘And if you wanted to kill me you would’ve done it by now.’ He watches you like a hawk its prey. ‘So…’ you pause carefully measuring your words, ‘what it is that you want from me?’ he gestures you to take a few steps back and you drag Bellamy by her collar.

He kicks at the backpack spilling the contents. A bottle of water and a half-eaten sandwich, a hunting knife, and a rectangular box in which you keep the hooks, lures, fishing lines, and other small fishing equipment. He turns his gaze back at you and nods toward your dog. ‘Put a muzzle on it or I’ll shoot it’. your blood runs cold at the thought of losing your sole companion. You scramble to untie the scarf you keep tied around your wrist that you use to wipe away sweat from your forehead. You wrap the piece of cloth around the dog’s snout tight enough to not slip away. Next, the dark-clad man tells you to pack your fishing gear and collect your backpack, with one hand keeping it outstretched to the side and the other one grabbing at Bellamy’s collar guiding her forward. ‘Move. Eyes forward. Any sudden moves and I drop you.’

He walks a couple paces behind you. For how big he is you can barely hear him walk on the path. You can feel his gaze burning in the back of your head and the gun pointed at your back. As you start down the path you can make out the roof of your small house. Once you get at the gate you stop. ‘open it’ he instructs. ‘The key is in my right pocket’ you say slowly gesturing to said pocket. ‘Mhm,’ you hear him grunt. You slowly release Bellamy and fish for the key in your jacket’s pocket. You slowly take it out and put it in the keyhole turning it and opening the gate.

The familiar sight of your front garden does nothing to appease you in this situation. Bushes full of colourful flowers hug the narrow path toward the house. The wind catcher hung above your porch clinks melodically as a gust of warm wind catches on it. you take a few more steps on the stone path before you and you hear the gate closing behind you. What once was your safe space now traps you in with a stranger ready to shoot you or worse.

‘Tie the dog to that pole’ he orders you again. On your right, there is a small pole stuck in the ground. He throws a roll of paracord next to you. You don’t move at first. You had never tied Bellamy down before. You can’t even remember when you last put a leash on her. She likes to roam free and run around. The click of the gun behind you tells you that you have no choice. You drop the backpack and start to drag her to the pole. She tries to resist but you shush her and urge her to move. Once you finish tying her you turn towards the stranger. He nods towards the house and you start walking hands raised on either side of your head. Once you open the door he urges you inside.

‘Where do you keep the medicine?’ he grumbles urgently. ’Bathroom.’ you nod to the right of your living room. ‘Go get it!’ you don’t wait around you spring toward the white door. After a couple of minutes grabbing most of what you keep in the over-sink cabinet you emerge hands filled with gauze of all sizes and different bottled pills. You return to find the man placing the girl on the couch. She appears to be asleep. You almost forgot about her. She looks about 8-years-old. Brown hair is chopped short in a pixie cut. She’s wearing blue-washed jeans and a dark green hoodie that’s too big on her.

You watch as he peels the hoodie from her limp body. Underneath she wears a striped t-shirt, but what catches your attention is her left upper arm. Red stained gauze is wrapped around. You are still in your approach keeping a safe distance. ‘Was she bit?’ the words rush out in apprehension. From where he kneels next to her his eyes snap at you. ‘No’ he denies the implication of your words. ‘Put that on the table and go sit by the door’ You do as you're told eyes darting between the girl and the man. You drop everything on the coffee table and go sit by the entrance door hugging your knees. You watch as he works on bandaging the kid. Your eyes are glued to the girl’s arm.

Even though you lived so far out into the wilderness you saw pictures on the internet of bites from the infected. You read the posts of the survivors and heard the news broadcast on all channels. Then everything went quiet. The cable didn’t work and your phone had no signal. You knew shit hit the fan and that it was serious. Then, a few weeks later you saw your closest neighbour, Neil, an elderly farmer who lived about half a mile further up the river’s bank, growling and stumbling trying to catch Bellamy who was running scared towards you. You tried to talk him out of the trance-like state but to no avail. He kept stalking towards you, ready to take a bite out of you. You tried to tell him to keep his distance and warned him that you would protect yourself. The rest was a blur. You faintly remember grabbing the hatchet that you used to cut down logs for your stove. And then the struggle with the man, Bellamy barking, you crying out pleas for him to stop. In the cacophony of noises, you hit him with the blade right in the neck. The next thing you knew, your neighbour lay in a pool of dark blood hatchet still. It took you a while to register what you have done. You just killed a man. You couldn’t forget the way he lay there, on the gravel, hands stretched outwards bloodshot eyes staring emptily at the sky. That was the first time you encountered an infected. You distinctly remember the fear and adrenaline that took hold of you. The feelings that gripped your heart so tight and that made you take a life take over you as you watch the little girl, possibly infected, unconscious but on her way to the same madness that turned Neil into a savage monster all those years ago.                                                 

'She's feverish. You got meds or something to bring the fever down?' his question brings down from your rising panic at the thought of being stuck inside with a possible infected. ‘There should be some anti-inflammatory pills and some antibiotics. They are out of date but they could still work.' He grabs hold of the med kit you brought. He sorts through the drugs checking the expiration dates. When he comes across the antibiotics, he studies the pack carefully, his eyes darting back and forth from the label to the girl. 'How much can I give her?' he asks with a hint of concern his stern facade crumbling slightly.

You look at him unsure what to say. Those pills have been bought before the start of the outbreak. You doubt expired drugs have any effect anymore. You refrain from saying that though. He is stressed, he might take his anger on you. ‘She’s a kid, you mumble, so, about half of each.’ He carefully considers his next action. ‘She’ll need water to take them, you add from down the floor. And some food…’ He nods in understanding. ‘May I?’ you don’t know why you offer this stranger help. First, he disturbs you from catching dinner, next, he threatens to kill you and your dog, now he takes over your house and medicine. But you can recognize the desperation in his look, the way he fumbles with the packaging. He is a parent trying to save his kid. Even though you don’t have any of your own you recognize the parental instincts, the same ones you exert on Bellamy.

He looks at you unsure of what to do. He surrenders in defeat and nods at you to go on. You rise to your full height, which doesn’t add up to much compared to him. You walk past them all the way to the back of the living room where you disappear behind a white door. After a couple minutes, you reemerge from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of steaming vegetable soup you made this morning. You slowly approach the couch watching him for any sign that you might cross a line. Instead of any aggression he takes a step back and allows you to go closer to the girl. You place the bowl and the glass on the coffee table and kneel next to the couch.

The girl opens her eyes and looks at you with distrust. Like father like daughter… you think to yourself. But you try to smile at her try to reassure her. ‘I brought you some soup, love’ you say in your most sincere and kind voice. ‘You must eat a little and then take some pills that will make you feel better’. You try to persuade her. She stares at you for a minute then at the man. They are suspicious of you and they have all the reason to be. You are a stranger to them as much as they are to you. Funny you are in the position to try and win their trust in your own home. You take the spoon you brought for her and dip it in the bowl. You take a spoonful and hover it close to your face blowing a little over it and then you swallow it. You can’t help the little moan of appreciation for your own cooking skills. ‘See? It’s good.’ You look at her with a small smile.

You don’t know where this came from; you blame it on the 6-foot-tall armored stranger whose stare drives daggers at the back of your head and your desire to keep your head on your shoulders and all your blood in your body. You don’t outright hate kids but you were never good around them. With a sigh, she sits upright and takes the spoon from you. She eats slowly. You keep watching her. She is a pretty kid. She has blue eyes and freckles on her small button nose. You wonder if she looks anything like the man behind you. She is pale and sweat collects on her little forehead most likely from her fever. She eats half of the soup you brought her and then turns her gaze towards the man. He hands her the two halves of the pills. She takes them in her small hand and grabs the glass. She hesitates. ‘It’s okay’ you reassure her and with a nod, she puts the half tablets on her tongue following up with large gulps from the glass. She scrunches her little nose in disgust at the chalky taste. ‘Atta girl’ you hear him utter from behind you. ‘Now lay down and rest.' he says to the girl in a stern yet gentle voice. He watches her nod and lie back on the couch her eyes half-lidded. He sighs, 'Good for now. ' he mutters under his breath. His eyes are fixed on her as he gestures to you. 'Come with me.' You rise from the floor and follow him outside the front door.

He leads you outside. When you cross the threshold, he takes a deep breath and a look of relief washes over his stern features. He gestures for you to sit on the front porch with him. 'We need to talk...' 'Yeah' you say crossing your arms defensively over your chest and standing as far away as the length of your porch allows. you take a moment to study him as he fixes you with a cold stare. You notice the many pockets on his vest and belt. A patch on his chest reads S.A.S. He's ex-military, you muse. His uniform makes much more sense now. But the mask still unnerves you.

He leans against one of the wooden porch support beams right hand hovering on the pistol holster. You think it's an act to intimidate you, to remind you that he is still armed and ready to strike you down in your own home.  You stare at him a little defiantly. You’ll be damned before you let this weirdo intimidate you on your turf. He studies you from head to boots and back up. You sigh and square your shoulders showing him you are not afraid of him. ‘I’ve been watching you.’ He tells you in a matter-of-fact tone. You try to suppress the surprise on your face. You look down at his boots avoiding his icy gaze.

He’s been stalking you, and the realization dawns on you. You didn’t even notice his presence around the house. Stupid, you think to yourself, I’m growing complacent. But not even Bellamy caught his smell and she usually barks when someone or something comes close to the house. But earlier at the lake, he took you both by surprise. He’s good at keeping his presence concealed, you have to give it to him. You nod to yourself in understanding. He probably knows the layout of your house by now, he knows you are alone, and he waited for you to be outside and ambush you. You start imagining all the horrible things he could have done to you. But no, he instead approached you, gun pointed at you, nevertheless, when he could have already killed you and taken over your house by now. You hum and make eye contact with him.

‘Why keep me alive then?’ you ask him without beating around the bush. You study his mannerisms trying to catch something, anything to prove you he’s human. But he’s as unreadable as a statue. His gaze remains fixed on you, unblinking and stoic. You feel him studying you, taking in every detail of your person. He seems intent on reading into your every move.

In an even tone, he answers, 'Because you’re not a threat.’ His response catches you off guard, ego a little bruised at that, but you can’t argue with his logic. If he wanted to, he could have killed you by now, that’s for sure. You remain silent for a moment, processing his response. ‘But that doesn’t mean I trust you.’ He adds kicking off the beam and taking a step closer to you. He looks down at you tilting his head a little like a bird of prey watching a mouse, waiting for it to give chase and make the hunt more fun. You don’t give in to the urge to run inside and hide in your bedroom. Instead, you take a step towards him and look up at him ‘Because you need me’ you speak quietly. You can imagine a raised brow under that mask. You smile in triumph; even though he acts tough he needs help and all the intimidating façade was in a desperate attempt to get it.

‘I get it’ you continue having him figured out. ‘Your kid is sick and out there dangers are lurking at every turn. You need a place to stay until she gets better.’ You finish voicing your theory on why he’s really here having this conversation with you. His eyes closed in defeat. Gotcha, you smile even more widely at your deduction. ‘You can stay, you say as you turn and walk down the three steps of your porch heading towards the gate. ‘On one condition, you add stopping in your track. You turn fully towards him and he watches you curiously as if you’d have any power to demand him anything. ‘No harm comes to me or my dog’ you say remembering his earlier threats of him offing you both. ‘Do we have a deal?’ it’s not unreasonable, though it irks you that you have to bargain for your safety with a stranger. ‘Deal.’ He says in his usual gruff voice nodding to you in sign of respect for your demand.

‘Good’ you say as you stalk off towards where Bellamy lays muzzled and tied like a prisoner of war. You free her and she jumps at you happy to be in your proximity. She must have been worried sick here all alone. Poor thing. You then go to the gate and slide the too-large bolts meant to keep any unwanted guests outside. Or inside in your case. ‘And to think nothing interesting ever happens around her, right, Bell?’ your rhetorical question is met with a bark of agreement.

You look as beautiful as ever Johnny...

More CoD doodles yuh