COD One Shots [COD - MW]

Ghost X Reader: He finds you bleeding out

You sat against the wall, your rifle held in your grip with as much strength as you could muster.

Blood gushing out from a bullethole just below your ribcage.

The room swayed. Head reeling with all that led you here. The unfairness of it all dangled before you like a taunting light.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Just this morning, you'd been waking up to the sun softly falling over your face, greeting you awake. Rolling over to find Ghost tangled in the sheets beside you.

It had been early, which was good. Ghost still had to sneak out of your room unseen.

You'd held off on waking him for just a moment longer.

Tracing the side of his face with your eyes.

Wondering how you'd gotten here. You, the sergeant assigned to Ghost's squad, where he'd saved your life more times than you could count.

And him, the oh so stoic Lieutenant, whom you now held in the palm of your hand as he risked his job sneaking around to see you late at night.

It felt like a cruel dream right now.

A tear slipped past your lashes and dangled on the edge of your cheek. With no energy left to wipe it away, you felt it fall.

The team must've advanced so far beyond your position by now.

Part of you felt it was for the best.

Still terrified of dragging the team down, like you felt you had since the day you'd join. Imposter syndrome is a tricky thing, especially as it persists while your veins slowly drain empty.

The sound of gunfire is further away now. You knew this meant two things.

They were winning, and you would bleed out.

No one would be coming into the old shed you'd found a way into to relieve your suffering. To put a b-llet in your skull and be done with it.

No one would be coming to save you either.

You shifted your grip on your rifle and let the heavy weapon rest on your lap.

A strange sense of peace swept through you. It was okay. It was enough. You'd lived, and lived to the fullest.

Joining the military had been a whim, but you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

You wouldn't have wanted to miss out on him.

The shared cigarettes outside the barracks, when both of you had fallen victim to insomnia, and the sole solution was sharing cheeky jokes beneath the stars until the sun peeked its head back over the horizon.

It's okay.

That's what you're telling yourself.

It was okay.

Another tear rolls down your cheek, then another, and then you're crying. Wasting the last bit of fluid still in your body as your vision develops dark spots.

It wasn't okay.

It was so, so cruel.

Your head slumps against the side of the wall, unable to keep yourself upright anymore. The pressure you'd managed to keep against the wound falters, and through your hazed state you vaguely register the continuous flow of blood soaking your clothes.

Your mind on him. Always on him.

It was when you couldn't sleep. When you laid in your bed at night, staring up at the plain ceiling, you thought of him.