Summary: On a mission to locate and capture the elusive South American mafia drug lord, Alvarez, Ghost stumbles upon the only person whose ever seen the mafia leader’s face, and who can properly identify him. Keeping her close - and safe - are imperative for this mission’s success. But having the need the sink his teeth in the soft flesh of her neck - oh no, that’s not a part of the mission.
WARNINGS: DUB-CON themes, topics, and scenes. I REPEAT, DUB-CON. DNI if that’s not your thing. Eventual smut. Language, violence, gore, and mentions and scenes of weapons - knives, guns, weapons of mass destruction, etc. This is COD, BUT WILL NOT FOLLOW THE EVENTS OF THE CAMPAIGN, so before the cod boys come for my wig, no, this won’t follow anything.
Character pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Original female character
Appearing characters: Laswell, Price, Soap, Alejandro, and Gaz.
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Pairing: Simon Riley aka Ghost x Original female character
Warnings: Rated M for Mature. Violence. Gore. Eventual smut. Language. Mentions of abuse. Ghost being Ghost. Dub-con.
Chapter Summary: In the dark of an abandoned building, Ghost comes across the most delicious site of all. A prey.
A/N: Here I am, coming out of my cave after almost what, two years of absence to write some fanfiction about a masked assassin who would probably kill me in an instant if he had the choice. But hey, we gotta do what we gotta do!
This is one part of an ongoing series. SLOW BURN. Yes, this is just plot so i can get to smut, but i’m a sucker for slow burns.
DUB-CON topics and scenes in upcoming chapters. I must TRIGGER WARN everyone that this story is loosely based on the events of COD, but will NOT follow campaign. AGAIN, DUB-CON topics and themes in this story, so if that is not your thing, please DNI.
Masterlist
Taglist: Open
Will be posting on AO3.
Chapter one
Bangkok - June 16th, 2022. Operation Prince.
Ghost knew the trap he laid was one even Laswell would congratulate him for. It was meticulous. It was cunning.
Adjusting his mask so that it didn’t block his line of sight, Ghost settled into the far corner of the building, crouched, his back against the cement wall. An echo of a bird taking flight travelled through the abandoned floors, where dust collected at the soldier’s feet, his boots imprinting in the soot.
He’d had to wait before. He’d spent hours, days, weeks holed up in the tiniest of places for recon. This - this little trap set for no other than an annoyance - was nothing to him.
He watched the bag, the one he was instructed not to touch but to surveil. His eyes scanned the building, methodical and practiced. Hunting was fun.
Inside the bag was an amalgamation of Thai currency, lethal drugs, and two ingots of pure, cold gold. Some Chilean drug lord, that taskforce 141 had followed all the way here, had hidden this bag in this building, niched deep within a Bangkok village. Only Alvarez’s crew would come pick this up, and that’s when Ghost would pull from the shadows and take only one of them alive.
His favorite sport had always been interrogation, especially when he’d been handed a blank card.
The sun had cooked the walls of this building to dust, and as the rays began to deepen into bruise-like purples and blues, Ghost morphed into the moniker he loved so much.
Somewhere, someone laughed.
It started as a phantom echo, brushing against the shell of Ghost’s ear. A rumble followed, rolling up the walls. Someone was here.
Ghost tactfully pulled a knife from his ankle, silently making his way to the door. He was hidden by the gathering shadows, a lone figure no one would pay attention to. His breath was quiet as he settled, crouched, ready to pounce as the door slowly opened.
The second he was ready to spring forward, every muscle in his body screamed at him to pull away, to revert to the shadows.
A young girl, no older than mid-twenties, sauntered in. For a split second, she turned to see who came behind her, and Ghost caught a glimpse of her smile. Crawling across her face was nothing but innocence, a youth that clung to those who were just that - young and dumb.
She wore black trousers and a black tank top, and the heat of the day had turned her skin to a buzzing, shining hue.
Ghost gripped his weapon, turning the knife in his palm. In the shadows, the setting sun, this girl was just absolutely gorgeous. Midnight hair, loosely curled, dripping down her back like tar. Ghost was hypnotized.
He spiraled back into his thoughts the moment another young man and two others walked in, both male and female. They were four total, two females and two males.
Americans.
How? he thought.
He slunk back into the shadows, calculating, skipping through one tactic and another.
“So where is this thing?” one of the girls asked, the dirty blonde one. Ghost’s eyes scanned from one American to the other.
The tall, brown-haired boy shrugged. “I bet this is it,” he said, pointing to the bag.
The girl with the midnight hair stood beside it, hip jutted out, arms crossed over her chest. “So this is what that weird dude from the club asked us to pick up for him?”
Brown-haired boy pushed her aside. “Only I get to touch, Laura,” he growled, and his tone of voice, the way he put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her, made Ghost want to rip his throat out.
The girl - Laura - threw her hands in the air, brows furrowed. “Then why did you even ask us to come, Ben?”
Ben chuckled. “He asked me to do it, right?” He turned to face the other two, who were just standing there, eyes wide, frozen in half fear and awe as Ben opened the bag. “And I’m going to bring that back to him.”
The second after Laura let out an exasperated sigh, a loud shot echoed furiously across the room, Ben’s head snapping back, blood spraying gloriously across the dust. As his body flew back, Laura screamed, backing away, watching as her friend went limp on the ground.
Ghost’s instincts kicked in, dropping the knife and gripping his assault rifle, bringing the visor up to his eye. But there was no one else, and as the girl scrambled for her friend, another shot clipped the air and the other girl crumbled dead to the floor.
“Ghost!” It was Soap. “Shots! What’s your ETA?”
But Ghost didn’t answer. As soon as he saw the body of the other boy snap back, blood dripping from a hole in his head, Ghost sprang forward.
He was like lightning, scrambling across the small expanse of dust and wooden floorboards, wrapping an arm around Laura’s waist and sending both him and her sprawling to the floor.
She weighed as much as a bag of flour, and when she hit the ground below him, the air was sucked from her lungs, a scream lodged somewhere between her ribs.
Methodically, acting on pure instinct, Ghost hooked an arm under her shoulder, dragging her away from the windows. A clear shot ripped the air, nipping his ear. Blood was copper on his tongue, acid in his nose.
Laura thrashed, trying to wiggle herself out of his grip. In the light of the setting sun, he saw her face, contorted in fear, glistening with tears.
“I’ve got an American civilian with me!” Ghost yelled into comms. “No sign of Alvarez!”
Another shot sliced the air, lodging into the wall next to his shoulder, pieces of drywall falling in chunks.
Laura screamed. Ghost hauled her into a corner, crouching down in front of her. She tried to scrambled further, back pressed against the wall. The soldier reached out, grasped her face in his hand, and pulled her eyes to his. “I’m not here to hurt you!” he shouted, shaking her by the jaw. Her mouth was agape, hiccupping, her big brown eyes shot wide open. She was assessing his mask, drinking in the sight of his gear, his helmet, his arm stretched out to grasp her face.
She didn’t say anything, but she nodded, and let him pull her to her feet.
“Soap,” the solider drawled into comms. “Sniper. North end of the building. Can you root him out?”
“Sure thing, L.T,” Soap answered.
He shuffled the girl down the stairs, holding her by the bicep in a bruising grip. She followed silently, trying to keep up with his long strides. Ghost was so much taller than her, dwarfing her arm in his hand, basically dragging her along the walls. Avoiding the windows. Keeping their heads down.
Right before the door to the back alleys was visible, Ghost rounded on the girl, crowding her to the wall.
She breathed in hard, chest heaving, skin of her neck stretching along a gulp. Ghost didn’t care. He had a job to do.
He forced her against the wall, one hand beside her head, the other pushing her shoulder into the cement. She looked up, and something sharp glided in her eyes. With the darkening night, Ghost couldn’t tell what it was. It snapped across her features like a bolt of lightning. And so soon, it was gone, only her big doe eyes staring up at him in fear.
“Who sent you here?” he asked.
She swallowed again, and Ghost had to fight the urge to press his thumb across her windpipe.
“Some guy we met at a bar,” she whispered, fear lacing her tone, drowning out her eyes as a few lone tears fell on her cheeks. “He said to come here, to this place, that we just had to pick up a bag. Ben was going to do it. He said he’d get a cut from what was in it.” She was starting to panic, her voice quivering.
Ghost used his hand to jerk her chin, guiding her eyes to his. She was quivering in his grasp, one hand bracing against his belly, the other curled against her chest. “Who sent you?” the soldier asked again.
“This guy from the bar!” she reiterated, but this time her voice wavered on a sob, and Ghost believed her. He’d get the rest out of her later. Now, he had to get them both out, alive.
“Soap. How copy?”
There was a crackle. And then shots. “Ghost!” Across comms, a few gun shots. Across the vacant expanse of the building, echoes of bullets spraying against cement. “They’re everywhere! It was a trap!”
“Get out of there, now, Sergeant!” Ghost ordered, grasping the brunette in another vice-like grip, hauling her behind him. He crouched down, dragging her with him. He turned on his heel, examining the street as he slowly opened the door.
A vacant, darkening alley offered no hidden shadows, no lingering mafia, no lone stranger with a gun waiting to kill them both for whatever was in that bag.
He turned back to Laura, putting a big wolf hand over her head. “Keep your head down.”
She sniffled, obeying him.
But as soon as they stepped out into the alley, the girl bolted. Ghost turned, half expecting her to shoot him, half expecting someone else to come for his throat. But all he saw was her retreating form, absolutely gunning it for the next alley.
“The civvy!” he called into comms. “She’s running.”
“Get after her, Lieutenant.” That was Laswell, clear and crisp in his ear. “If she’s telling the truth, she’s the only one who’s seen Alvarez’s face.”
Ghost groaned, slinging his weapon at his back, and took off after the midnight-haired girl.
She’d made quiet the ruckus as she bolted through the alleys, knocking back tin cans, accidentally kicking crates, and making a few lone souls shout in surprise. Ghost followed the trail, but she was fast. She was tiny, but she had managed to put enough distance between her and him that Ghost feared he could lose her in the maze of Bangkok alleys.
But she was a lost little American girl, far from home, who’d just witnessed her friends being shot to death before her very eyes. She’d start to panic eventually.
He caught up to her, Northeast, seeing her form skid across gravel and bolt down another street. She was breathless, Ghost could almost hear her panting, but she kept going, pumping her arms, her shoes kicking up rocks and dirt.
Ghost groaned every time she made a last minute dip n turn into a new alley. “Laswell,” he called. “I need to ambush her!”
“Take that alley coming on your left,” she answered right away. “If she continues straight, once you take the next right, you’ll run right into her.”
And like magic, Ghost wrapped his arms around her entire form, wrenching a god-awful cry from her lips as he tackled her to the ground. Rocks and dirt scratched at his face, but he slithered her little body underneath him, trapping her under his thighs, both her wrists in one of his hands.
She was crying, hair mussed from running and the dirt he’d thrown her in. Her neck was badly scratched, bleeding from her fall. Her shoulder was dripping red as well, and when Ghost shook her, she cried out.
“Stop it!” he commanded.
“Let me go!” She bucked her hips, but the soldier weighed so much more than her that all it did was cause her to cry even harder.
“Why did you run?” Ghost asked, leaning down so that the edge of his balaclava brushed her nose. They were so close, her hot, heavy breath fanning his eyes. He could see every fleck on her skin, the waterline of her endless black eyes, and the way her eyelashes stuck together from the salt of her tears. “Why!” He shook her, and she cursed loudly, opening her mouth, clamping her teeth on his wrist.
It stung. She had a mean, mean bite, and when she tasted blood, she did the one thing any cornered prey would do. She smacked her elbow right between his legs.
Ghost was used to pain. He’d lived it countless times, endless hours, spiraling down every form of torment possible to mankind. He’d inflicted it to himself, he’d seen it done to others, some he loved, some he didn’t. He’d felt every needle, every knife, every bullet wound possible for him to still be standing.
But God damn, getting elbowed in the balls was some type of pain.
The initial bolt of pain snapping across his spine loosened his grip, instinct guiding his hands to shield his crotch. He leaned forward slightly, and Laura used that advantage to wiggle from under him, muttering something that sounded French, and then staggered to her feet.
Ghost struggled to get to his feet, and by the time he was fully standing, his balls throbbing harshly, he was back to running after that damned girl.
“Ghost, please tell me she didn’t do what I think she did,” Laswell drawled.
“You’re God damn right, she did!” he yelled, chasing Laura to a building door, which she wrenched open and disappeared inside.
“She’s a civvy, just be careful,” Laswell muttered. “But by all means, apprehend her.”
“Copy,” Ghost grumbled, following the girl, slamming the door shut. “Going dark,” he mumbled, sliding on his night vision.
From then on, it was easy to spot her. It was night, all their shenanigans through the streets had wasted enough daylight, and Laura had made the dumbest decision ever. She was crouching by the far wall, eyes wide open, blindly searching the darkness. Her hands goaded on the floor, feeling but not seeing.
Ghost slid across the empty room, taking the night vision off at the same time that he grabbed her bicep, hauled her up, and slammed her hard against the wall.
“Easy, L.T,” he heard Soap’s drawl in his ear. He must have heard either Laura’s sob or the force of her body meeting the cement.
“Stop running,” Ghost growled. “Or this is going to get so much worse for you, love.”
“You’re wearing a skull mask,” she whined, hiccupping on a sob. “Of course I’m going to run!” She tried to kick him, so he slid his hand under her knee, lifted it, and sent her tumbling down to the ground.
“I’m just trying to help you,” he breathed out. “But now you’re just being difficult.” He bent down and retrieved her, sliding a hand around her belly and pressing her back against the length of his chest. The top of her head knocked against his collar bone, and Ghost sneered despite his aching testicles.
“I’m just scared,” she mumbled, pressing one of her hands against his gloved digits, trying to pry his hand from its spot on her belly button.
“Are you going to behave?” he asked.
She was heaving, chest rising hard, her breath echoing sharply in the air. And deep down, under the instinct and the decades of trauma and training, Ghost registered the way her body fit against his. Niched against his chest, despite his tactical vest and the millions of things hanging from him, she pressed against all the right places.
“I don’t wanna die,” she mumbled, falling limp against him, giving up.
Ghost sighed, clenching his teeth. “You won’t if you stay with me, now come on.”
He grabbed her bicep again, ignoring the look she threw up at him, and hauled her once again behind him. “Leaving the premises,” he mumbled into comms. “Laswell, get me out of here.”
“Copy Lieutenant.” There was a pause. “Evac site is eight clicks north.”
Pairing: Simon Riley aka Ghost x Original female character
Warnings: Rated M for Mature. Violence. Gore. Eventual smut. Language. Mentions of abuse. Ghost being Ghost. Dub-con.
Chapter Summary: After watching her friends die, Laura is taken back to base with Ghost, but not after causing him some slight annoyance.
A/N: Character build up. SLOW BURN. So here I am with chapter 2. what an accomplishment. seriously, this man has me by the throat, day n night!
Masterlist
Taglist: Open
Will be posting on AO3.
Chapter two:
Bangkok, June 16th 2022, Operation Prince
Everything just happened so God damn fast. Ben meeting this weird dude with a tiger tattoo on his neck, who invited us to his private lounge. And then Ben, ecstatic as always, dragging us all to this weird part of the city that was definitely not for tourists!
And then... Ben's head snapping back, quick as lightning, blood spraying from his hair as his body thudded awkwardly to the ground. His hands had curled in such strange claws. And then Nora went down similarly, and I didn't have the time to gasp, a scream lodged between my ribs, that Jack was shot right through the eye.
And what came next, a shadow peeling from the darkness, slamming me against the ground, a gut wrenching scream being sucked out of me. Across the dust motes clinging to the setting sun rays, a cacophony of bullets, pulling chunks from the drywall, as I was dragged.
His face. A mask, a skull. Something dark, like tar or charcoal, smeared across his eyes to darken his gaze. And that glare, cold as ice, reaching into my throat and freezing the yell from within my lungs.
I'd never been so fucking afraid in my life.
Of course I ran.
If a masked man came charging at you from the shadows, after your three friends were shot to death before your very eyes, you would have run too. Don't try and fucking lie to me.
I thought I was quick, skidding across the pebbles on the ground, finding a door to slither through. But of course, he'd found me. Shadows stick to the darkness, pulling victims into the abyss.
And now, he was waiting with me in some damp field, bruising my bicep in his grasp. Above me, the sky was littered with stars thrown across the bruised-black darkness like sugar.
The air was humid, heavy, hanging in my lung like a ton of bricks, curling my hair. The cuts on my shoulder and neck were throbbing.
"How much longer?" I asked.
He turned and looked down at me. I met his glare. His eyes were so dark, so empty and devoid of any emotion, that a shiver snapped from the base of my spine all the way up to the back of my head. I noticed the way his gaze flicked down to my neck and then back to my eyes.
I'd noticed his wandering gaze even before, when he was pulling me through the streets. He'd stopped and looked back, lingering on my hands, my mouth, my neck way too long to be an assessing glance.
"A few minutes," he answered. British. Rough, deep voice with a tinge of hurt lingering on every octave. It made goosebumps pepper my flesh.
He also seemed to be talking to someone else sometimes, and by his military uniform, I just deduced it was some kind of communication system.
"I don't have to held, you know," I mumbled.
His head snapped back to me, mask giving no inch to what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
"I'm aware."
"Then let me go."
"Can't do that, I'm afraid."
I tugged harshly on his grip, surprising him, but not enough to loosen his digits from their bruising hold on my skin.
Roughly, quickly, ripping breath from my lungs, he pulled me flush against him. "Behave," he warned, the sound rumbling deep within his chest.
I was awkwardly pressed up against his tactical vest, the many pockets filled with an amalgamation of weaponry and ammunition. And under that, his bullet proof vest. And under that, layers and layers and layers of ice over his cold, dead heart... I suppose.
I looked up, jerking my head to move a strand of hair out of my eyes. "I'm not going to run, sir," I tried, and his gaze wavered for a split second, flicking down to my mouth. "I just witnessed my... friends being killed." I tried to get that feeling back, that hole that dug into my chest and pulled a terrified scream from me. I tried to get my lower lip to tremble, frowning, watering my eyes.
He grunted, tugging on my arm, wrenching a groan from me. "That's not going to work, princess," he said. "You can't play pretty with me."
I huffed, pushing on his chest to put distance between us. "I didn't do anything wrong," I said.
"No," he answered. "But you're the only one whose seen Alvarez and lived to tell the tale. Thanks to me."
I opened my mouth, but he tugged on my arm again, hushing me.
"Ow," I whispered.
In the distance, a low, rhythmic whump whump rose above the tall grass.
“I’m going to catch a tick,” I protested as he dragged me through the plain.
The helicopter hovered above the horizon, buzzing its way until it landed a few yards before us. My hair flew back, the wind pulling at all my clothing, and as this man dragged me to the helicopter, I was forced to go along.
Inside, a woman waited. I barely had the time to register her seemingly normal attire before the man pushed me down into a seat. The door closed, and this man crouched to tie me up. His hands glanced across my thighs, raising a trail of fire as I watched his gloved digits tie the straps around my shoulders, down to the lock at my waist.
He glanced up quickly, assessing my gaze, which was probably round in horror because I’ve never taken a helicopter in my life. Briefly, almost endearingly, he reached up, his thumb brushing swiftly across my lower lip.
I stared at him, at those impossibly dark eyes behind the mask, at the way he lingered his gaze in mine a few seconds longer than he should. The way fire seemed to blaze in his irises, his brows furrowing slightly, as his thumb left my mouth and he got up quickly. He took a seat across from me, the woman to his right.
She looked at me and nodded, but I was caught between terror and surprise, and as the heli lifted off into the air, I was in suspense.
To be honest, I was fighting nausea and the pressure in my ears the entire journey, which was pretty short. And by the time the man was unbuckling me, I was probably green and pale all at once. When I stood, dizzy and silent, he wrapped a hand around my waist and another under my knees, effortlessly picking me up.
Somewhere during the trip, he’d taken his tactical and bulletproof vests off, and my head rested against a firm, warm chest as he carried me off the helicopter. The woman followed behind, but I was fighting not to puke and/or pass out, so the sound of her boots on the tarmac did not register. Only the sound of this strange man’s breathing and the warmth seeping through the fabric of his uniform. His arms held he so effortlessly, momentarily squeezing me closer to him every few seconds.
I swayed in his arms. The woman was talking to me, but with my eyes closed, curled up against his chest, smelling something between cologne and a unique human smell, I couldn’t process a word she was saying.
Only when the man above me rumbled my name did I look up. He knew my name?
“Laura, is it?” the woman asked.
I squinted, nodded, and then nuzzled back against his chest.
“My name is Kate Laswell,” she said, and she opened a door to a building. “I’m the station chief for this military operation. Ghost and I are taking you to the infirmary. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I smirked. Of course this guy’s military nickname was Ghost. “I’m fine,” I said.
“We’re still taking you in for observation.”
She led the way through a short hallway, lined with metallic frames and a few other doors, but otherwise very, very bare. When she finally got to a double door, she pushed it open to expose the internal workings of a military base infirmary.
Ghost put me down - surprisingly - gently onto a cot, and I sat, gripping the edges to stop my head from spinning off my shoulders.
The woman - Laswell - sat beside me, putting a gentle hand on my back. “Sweetheart, you’re not in any danger,” she said, easing the quiet, rumbling fire of fear slowly gaining vengeance in my chest. “You’re on a small, pop-up military base, heavily guarded. I really want you to know you’re safe.”
“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say.
She was quiet for a few seconds, and when I opened my eyes, Ghost was gone. Wow, surprising.
“I’m going to ask you something,” Laswell continued, taking my wrist gingerly into her palm. A man came to my other side quickly, dressed in a white lab coat, scrubs, and a mask. His eyes crinkled, smiling. “What I’m going to say might sound crazy, even stupid to you, but hear me out.”
The doctor took my pressure, the band sore on my skin where Ghost’s fingers were surely imprinted.
I nodded absentmindedly at Laswell.
“The man that had your friends killed, Alvarez, you said you saw him?” she asked. I nodded again. “Is there something particular about him that you can tell me?”
“He has a tiger tattoo on his neck with big red eyes and a ridiculous gold chain,” I answered, watching as the doctor tore free a few alcohol swabs.
Laswell tensed. “That’s him.” A few beats of silence passed as the swabs were pressed along the scratches and burns on my shoulder. I hissed, clutching the edge of the bed again. “Look, Laura. You’re not safe leaving the base as long as Alvarez lives.”
My neck hurt with how fast I turned to look at her.
Her blue eyes widened for a split second. “We’re working around the clock to catch him, Miss.” She forced a smile. “But you’re the only one who can identify him. Now, I can’t force an American civilian to stay here, but I can strongly advise you do. My taskforce has plans in place, controls and protocols to root him out. But he’s elusive. He has body doubles pose as him. His own men would eat an entire mag of bullets before they ever tell us where he is or what he looks like. And everyone, every undercover agent, every spy, has been killed once they’ve seen his face. The only reason why we know he has that tattoo is because of one of our own, risking his life to infiltrate Alvarez’s compound, and just before being shot, he made a final communication.”
By the time she was done, my shoulder and neck were patched up, and I was sat, the floor barreling towards me, my head aching and pounding, my chest weighed down by the force of death that had surrounded me.
I was tired, afraid, on unknown ground with unknown people, and my trust meter had run out a few miles back.
“I just wanna go home,” I mumbled, feeling a sob claw its way up my throat, my eyes watering.
Laswell nodded, looking up at the doctor, pressing a hand on my back again. Her fingers were cold.
“Rest a bit in here,” she said, obviously disappointed. “You’re safe in here. I promise.”
I looked up at her. “Okay.”
She pinched her lips, nodded, and stood. “I’ll have my men check up on you,” she said, but her entire demeanor had changed from coaxing to military cold. She hadn’t gotten what she wanted. “Please let me know fast if you’re willing to help us. But please, by all means, remain here. You even step a foot outside, and you’ll be hunted.”
I nodded and watched as she left. I was handed a thick, scratchy blanket and told to lay back on a plush pillow. Before the doctor had left after shining a light in my eyes, I was already drifting off, my body’s tension melting into the cot beneath me. But my head, my dreams, the world behind my closed lids was plagued by the sight of my friends being shot, of their blood coating the underside of my shoes, and a tall shadow pulling me into the dark.
