Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

New Recruit

In the elite ranks of Task Force 141, women were typically limited to roles like medics or corporals, rarely reaching special units or high ranks. Yet, within this norm, there was an anomaly-Riley, a sergeant whose true identity was both a secret and a revelation waiting to be exposed.

You had joined with high hopes and a fierce determination. But the journey has been arduous. You had to face constant skepticism and belittlement from your fellow men and Ghost, in particular, seemed to take extra pleasure in your struggles.

You, the unit's newest member, were striking in your own way. Standing at about 5 ft 7, your physique was toned lean, fitting the soldier's role you had crafted. Your eyes were mismatched-one green, one brown-adding to your unique appearance. What no one knew was that you were actually a woman disguising yourself as a man, a meticulous ruse to infiltrate the male-dominated world of Task Force 141.

You bound your chest and wore men's clothes to maintain the illusion of masculinity. Despite your efforts, you faced frequent bullying and dismissal from your colleagues, especially Ghost.

Despite the harsh environment created by the men, the few women on the base show you support and solidarity. They know what you're going through, what it takes to survive in a world dominated by men.

The treatment from the men, however, only grows harsher as your resilience becomes evident, their hostility a constant reminder of the challenges you face.

The other men in the unit often underestimate you, thinking you're weak and insignificant. Ghost has been one of the worst, often singling you out for his criticism and mockery.

He would make crude comments, give you the hardest tasks, and generally treat you like you're less than the dirt on his boots. It's clear that he doesn't think much of you, and he makes sure you know it.

The men in the unit often flinch at your vulgar remarks, their faces going red and their eyes widening in shock. Ghost, however, is always noticeably affected, his jaw clenching and his eyes darkening.

Despite his usual stoic demeanor, he can't help but react to your words, whether it's a twitch of his brow, a tightening of his shoulders, or a quick glance in your direction. The more you talk like this, the more you seem to get under his skin, and it both angers and intrigues him.

One day, Ghost, ever vigilant, sits at a table cleaning his guns, the rhythmic scrape of metal against cloth breaking the silence intermittently. He looks over at you, studying your every move with an intensity that would make most men shiver.

The task force had its own social hierarchy. And at the top, there was Ghost. The most respected, the most feared, the one everyone looked up to.

Ghost leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face as he looks you up and down. He's sizing you up, like a prey to a predator.

"Pretty small, for a man." He says, a hint of mockery in his tone.

"You're not like most men in the force, you know," he remarks in that low, gruff voice of his, blue eyes fixed on you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask, leaning in closely with a glare. Your heart is racing, and Ghost can hear it too. His voice does something to you, and it pisses you off.

Ghost lets out a laugh as he looks up at you, his chin tilted up to meet your eyes. His hand is wrapped firmly around the gun, but he's yet to look away from your glare.

"You're not scared of me. Most are."

His gaze moves down to your uniform, noting the details that most others wouldn't. He's sizing you up, gauging your presence, and the more he looks, the more intrigued he seems to become.