put-me-through-the-wall - Tumblr blog

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I really thought this would be closer…

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Imagine Retired!Price who has nothing to do in his new found free time

His team was finally able to convince him to put down the gun and rest. He's done more than enough for others.

But after years of constant movement and missions he isn't comfortable with sitting in one place.

He starts to go on long walk in the afternoon to fill his time

Mostly people watching or checking out the local businesses.

One night as chilly afternoon turns into a cold evening he finds himself wondering into retro diner all lit up by neon lights.

He finds a booth and takes a look around at the polished but dated looking restaurant.

it brought him a feeling of comfort he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Hello sir, can I get you a drink to start?" A sweet voice chirps

He turn to meet your sunny smile all dressed up in a baby pink button up dress, waist cinched with a mini apron. Hair pulled back with a matching bow.

"Hello..." John looks down to your name tag. "Bunny?"

"Oh" you laugh, "It's just a nickname. The old timers think it's cute"

"What does that say about me, then?"

"You don't look too old to me."

"Let me get a coffee, bunny"

From that point on John made sure to come by the diner every night.

Rain, sleet, or shine you could bet he would be there.

You weren't there every night of course but it thrilled him to think of the possibility of seeing you again.

Always greeting him with a, "Hey stranger" or "You come here often?"

Always dressed in that little faded pink dress.

Your conversation started to take up more of your shift as time went on.

Evolving from cordial to friendly and occasionally flirty.

"Bunny, what does your boyfriend think of you working all the time?"

"I don't have a boyfriend, John"

"Then what do you do all day when you're not here?"

"Waiting for you to ask me on a date"

Then you both laugh but John knows his time will come and he's a patient man.

He was always a generous tipper, even before the flirting

He loved to watch you run around the place, espically when it was busy.

You handled yourself well under pressure. Never letting a difficult customer get under your skin.

He love to way you look after a long shift with your hair slightly tousled with a pen or two stuck somewhere in your hair or behind your ear.

He'll stack his empty plates up nicely to make it easier for you to pick up.

Pushing them to the edge of the table signaling to you he was finished up.

He made sure they were steady too, especially so after one unlucky afternoon that had you sweeping up the shards of glass under his table with an embarassed blush warming your cheeks.

But seeing you on your knees sweeping up your mess made unpure thoughts flood his mind.

He began thinking about what you wear outside of work.

What you wear when you go out.

What you look like when you don't wear anything at all.

Then one rainy afternoon, John blows in to find his usual booth vacant and waits patiently for your typical sweet greeting.

Instead you rush over and drop his coffee on the table with a thud causing tiny brown droplets to splatter over the thick rim of the diner mug.

"What's crawled up your skirt, little rabbit?" John chuckles.

You frown down at him, pulling your notebook and a pen from your apron pocket. "I'm not in the mood today. What do you want to eat?"

"I know I was a little late but, the it's pouring outside. Don't be upset with me, bunny" He says, refusing to drop his joking tone.

"John" You snip.

He likes the way you say his name when you're angry.

"What's wrong?" He looks up at you with sincerity and you finally drop your arms and sigh.

"It's been a hard day. My boss is just being a total tool. The other waitresses are shit and no one is tipping well. Don't say anything but, I think I'm gonna put in my two weeks" You're words tumble from you in a rush.

"You're going to quit?"

"I can't keep working like this. I hardly make enough for rent and I still have no time to myself," You take a breath and shake your head. "Sorry, I shouldn't talk about money stuff with you. You're just here for dinner."

"Let me help you,"

"No, I don't need help. I'm fine, just a little overworked. I shouldn't have brought it up. Forget it."

"Let me take care of you"

You laugh but he does not.

"Come live with me, you'll never have to work again."

"Okay stop now, this isn't funny."

"Do you see me laughing?"

"You don't even know my real name"

"Aren't you tired? You're far too pretty to be so stressed. This job will always be here if you change your mind. I don't think you will though."

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A/N: This turned out longer than anticipated but hope you enjoy. I just want a Price to sweep me off my feet and make me a house wife :'-)

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Join my taglist:

@azkza @miss-mistinguett @contractedcriteria @hidden-treasures21 @sprokat @ebodebo @coooookie15 @from-vuka

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this man needs a lower back massage

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Surrender

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Alt version of my previous ghost portrait

Edit: I made this into a print

2nd edit: I don’t even know why I bother anymore because I think this is my first cod related post to get over 1k notes and not even then can I get a single person to buy a print 💀

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Girl next door is feeding my family for generations thank you <3 more pls!!

It's my duty to serve 🫡

Continue the nice comments and I may just have to turn this into a whole novel <3

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Girl Next Door- Pt. 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Simon finally accept your offer for dinner. Did you mention you can cook?

A/N: I was a little slow on this but the idea of them getting close was stressing me out, okay? Also my MIL was in town and I couldn't get in the groove. All the support so far is amazing, thank you guys so much! If y'all like it there will be more to come. Warning: still slow burning

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Part I

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Simon sits across from you at your tiny dining table pressed against the wall of your cramped kitchen. You managed to lure him in with a fairly nice bottle of unopened scotch you found in the back of your cabinet that had potentially fallen into one of your own boxes when moving from your ex's house.��

He looks around your quaint little one bedroom apartment. It was a lot different than his own. The literal layout was the same. No extra rooms or walls but you’d done something different in here. The whole space had a cozy feeling to it. Every surface was decorated with useless gadgets and trinkets that he didn't understand the purpose of. Lots of blankets, pillows, soft things. You had music quietly playing through your TV speakers in the living room. A few lamps fill the dim room creating a subtle yellow glow that hits the high points of your face, softening your tired features.

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" you suddenly blurt out.

"S'cuse me?" Simon asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Lately I've been feeling like there's something inside of me that attracts horrible guys. Like, is there a beacon coming out my head that says 'hey, come over here. I'm vulnerable and easy'."

Simon pauses, unsure how to respond. He watches your face closely. You're sad eyes looking to him for an answer he doesn't have. "I think you're...nice," but he has a feeling that's not what you wanted to hear.

"nice?" You let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe that's the problem. Nice must translate to doormat," You sigh and drop your head into your hands. 

Simon takes a sip of his drink. He's growing concerned this is entering too friendly territory. Then you pop your head back up.

"So, how much did you hear?"

"Not much"

"Yeah right," You toss him a coy smile. “Can I tell you what happened?”

“Sure,”

“Alright, so” you take a sip of your own drink and a deep breath before recounting your story. "I met him at work. He was really nice and offered to pick me up a coffee on his way in one day. I haven’t made any friends at work yet so it was nice just to chat over a coffee. Then we started having lunch together. Nothing serious just in the break room but it felt good to hear about something other than notes from my editor. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I mean I moved here to focus on myself not continue dating more crappy guys. So of course he started texting me and he was really sweet. He complimented my outfits and thought all my jokes were hilarious apparently. I really wasn’t trying to get involved with this guy though. He said something about hearing I can cook and of course I said I do. It’s part of my job, duh. He’s giving my shit about it so I invited him over for dinner. I made this creamy potato gnocchi with Italian sausage that I got from that great butcher on the corner. I even hand rolled the gnocchi. I mean, who wouldn't kill for an authentic Italian meal?"

"He's sounds like some guy"

"Not really, I was testing out a new recipe for the column so, two birds one stone. Anyways, he comes up and we have some wine and listen to some music. It was going really well so far. Then I go to bring out a nice charcuterie board for an appetizer while the pasta finishes baking. While I'm bringing it to him I can see he's on his phone, texting someone and literally giggling. I walk up behind him and he is sexting. On my couch!" you throw you hands up incredulously. "Well, I thought he was. He’s looking at a picture of some girl bent over then I realize it’s me. He took a picture of my ass, while I was making him dinner. I couldn't fucking believe it. What kind of a scumbag does that to a woman preparing a fucking meal for him? Now, this is not something I'm proud of so let the record show this is very out of character for me but these were extraordinary circumstances. So, I dropped the fig chutney on his head. Right in his stupid quaffed hair. He jumps up and he's all mad and starts yelling and I'm yelling back. He calls me a crazy bitch then I call him a perv. After that he left." you conclude with a shrug.

"Wow" Simon responds, truly taken aback by the series of events. 

"Yeah, then you know the rest from there. I don't know what came over me. I guess after my last breakup I haven't felt very good about myself and this guy made me feel, I don't know- fun? That feels silly to say. I should’ve known better from a guy that works the celebrity gossip section. I probably looked like a big baby out there, how dramatic. I'm sorry about that, again."

"You don't need to apologize."

"After I moved here I thought things would be different. I thought guys in the city were classier I guess. Turns out all guys are the same. Just take what they want and go. Do you want another drink?" You point to his now empty glass. 

"Sure." You snag his cup and stand. He watches you walk over to the counter in your silky slip dress. The sleek fabric clings to your waist. Flaring around your hips and down your thighs. The warm light reflects on the shiny material, shifting with each step you take. It tightens perfectly about your waist and cinched with a neat little bow in the back. He wonders why you would wear a dress like that for this guy.

"So, do you date?" you question in a seemingly casual tone.

"No" 

"Yeah right," you laugh and look over your shoulder to see his stoney expression and your smile fades. "Oh, sorry, I just- I find that hard to believe."

"Why is that?" He tilts his head and you focus back on filling his glass. 

"It's just, you're a good looking guy. I would think you'd get plenty of female attention," You pivot back around and place the glass before him. You lean on the table with one hand and prop the other on your waist. 

"'M not interested," his gaze stays fixed on the brown liquid, grabbing it and taking another sip. He doesn't miss the way you deflated the slightest bit. 

"Maybe I should take a page out of your book, as in maybe swearing off men completely" The oven timer dings. "Oh! pasta!" You jump over and grab your oven mitts. You drop the oven door and slide out the sizzling dish. An aroma of cheese and basil fills the air. Your stomach audibly growls.

You pull down two plates from your cabinet. You serve up the steaming pasta, sprinkling parmesan and fresh chopped herbs for garnish. You proudly carry over the two dishes and place them carefully on the table. You place your hands on your hips while gazing down at the platter.

"This looks...great." Simon is truly taken aback by the incredible looking dish. 

"Wait, don't eat yet. Let me get a picture." You scamper into your living room, grabbing your phone off the coffee table and scurrying back. You hold your phone high above for a birds eye view. Simon scoots his chair back to avoid the gaze of the lens. The camera clicks with a flash. You examine the photo, seeming satisfied with the quality and finally taking a seat in your own chair. "It was okay if you were in the picture. I don't mind." 

"I do," he says simply. 

To anyone else, Simon comes off as rude or callous but you, you never seem to let his shortness affect you. You take his words and just keep going. You don't mind his lack of conversation. It seems you are totally satisfied with having someone there to listen. He was starting to think he didn't mind listening so much. 

"Oh," You shift uncomfortably in your chair. "Sorry then. Well, let me know what you think. Try to be detailed with your feelings about it if you can. You're my guinea pig and be honest. I don't want to put this out when it's garbage."

He proceeds to take a forkful in his mouth. He cannot control the groan that escapes his throat as the bold flavor hits his tongue. This is far cry from his usual take away food. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal now that he thinks about it. 

"This is quite good." He grumbled between bites. Not caring to finish chewing before he's stabbing at the pasta on the plate once again. 

"Really? You don't need to be nice to spare my feelings. I don't mind criticism."

He shoves more in his mouth. "I’m serious"

"Thank you" You giggle watching him scarf down the still steaming hot meal. 

The two of you finish your respective plates without much more conversation to be had. On your last few bites you meet Simon's eyes as he reclines back in the creaky wooden chair, hands laying across his stomach. His head tips back with a satisfied grumble making a proud smile play across your lips. This may be the first time you've seen him express a true human emotion in your presence. 

"There's more if you want?"

"No, I'm stuffed." 

If you know one thing as a part time chef, food is the way to a man's heart. You knew if Simon tasted what you could make his ice exterior would melt away. You stand up and walk to the fridge. 

"Too stuffed for dessert?" you pull out a glass bowl filled with layers of custard, strawberries, cake, and whipped cream. "I made a traditional English trifle. Y'know for the holidays coming up and who doesn't love custard?" you shrug while carrying the bowl over to the table. You hurry back to the kitchen to grab two saucers and plate up the dessert.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to butter me up." he comments, intently watching as you carefully slice through the layers. "What do you know about English food?" 

"Not much, which is why this is a special occasion. I can get some insight from a genuine Englishman," you slide the saucer to him. "Everything happens for a reason, I guess you were meant to be here tonight" you don’t realize how weird that comment is until it's already left your mouth. You suppress the feeling and internally cringe. You take a seat with your own plate and try a bite. "Hey, that's not too bad. I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud"

Simon actually chuckles when you compliment yourself making you giggle in return. This whole night is very different than you expected. Not that you were complaining.

Your leg bumps his underneath the narrow table. Your bare foot brushing up the edge of his pant leg for the briefest moment. A deep blush rises to your cheeks the second you realize it's his leg instead of the table's. 

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly draw your legs underneath your chair. Simon pauses his eating and meets your gaze. 

"S'alright," he slowly slides his long leg across the distance and nudges the shin of your tucked legs with the toe of his boot. "You scared?"

"What?" you allow your legs to relax, your calves sitting on either side of his outstretched leg. It felt natural, almost domestic. "You don't scare me." you're lying paired with an anxious laugh.

"No?" As he says this his foot shifts underneath the supports of your chair and yanks it forward causing your chair to skid a few inches across the tile, pressing you further into the table as you let you a surprised yelp. Hands brace against the edge of the table. Simon maintains his calm composure. "Are you sure?" he takes another bite of the fluffy dessert. 

You weren't sure if it was the liquor going to your head or the rush of adrenaline but you felt bold. You rest your cheek on your propped up hand, offering the most innocent eyes you can muster, as you delicately slide your foot along the smooth leather of his boot. Simon swallows and gently places his fork back on the table.

"What do you think of it?" you question in a hushed tone. your foot travels further up his ankle, dipping under his pant leg to feel his hot skin underneath. 

"It's sweet," He states simply but his words roll off his tongue smooth as butter. 

"Not too sweet?" You tilt your head the slightest bit.

"Hm," he hums in contemplation. Your eyes drift down to watch his hands grasp his drink. He grips the glass in his large palm. The rolled sleeves of his long sleeve reveal the muscles in his arm shifting when he raises the glass to his mouth. For the first time you notice a faint raised scar cutting through the outer corner of his lip and stopping just shy of the edge of his nose. He takes a long swig of the brown liquid, not quite finishing the drink. As he pulls back his lips glisten in the warm light. "Not bad when it's paired with a stiff drink," his tongue is quick to swipe across, collecting the residue. 

"I'll be sure to make a note of that." you smile sweetly. "Can I get you another drink?" You look down at the last sip coating the bottom of the glass. You make sure to flutter your lashes when you look back up at him. 

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" A smirk raises the corner of his mouth.

"No," you laugh. "Why, do you want me to?" 

He releases a deep gravelly laugh that makes your stomach stir. Then he glances at his watch and your stomach drops. 

"I need to get going." He mumbles. He pulls his leg away from yours and rises out of his chair. 

"Wait," you rush to stand, almost knocking your seat over in the process. "Can I- uh- get you a bit of pasta to go? There’s plenty left" Trying to think of any excuse to keep him here a moment longer. 

"S'okay, save it. Maybe I'll come by another time." He turns and steps out of your kitchen and into the hallway leading to your front door in only a few wide strides. 

"Are you sure?" You don't intend for your voice to come out as needy as it does. You follow on his heels like a lost puppy.

"I've got an early morning." Before he reaches the door he turns, seemingly surprised by how close you are to him. He looks down at your big round eyes. 

"Okay," you smile trying not to look defeated. "Well, you're welcome over anytime. I mean it, just knock and I'll probably be home. I'm gonna try writing at home more. Try to avoid that guy." You let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Maybe, you should get my number. Y'know, in case you want to check if I'm home."

"I'm alright, I'll just knock" His hand finds the doorknob. "Thanks for dinner, it was nice" Then he turns to go. Closing the door politely behind him. 

You rush to the peephole, watching his distorted figure step out of sight followed by the sound of his own door shutting. You rest your hot forehead against the cool wood grain of your door. 

You step back in the kitchen and begin putting away the leftovers. Piling the pasta into tupperware, rinsing the plates, collecting silverware. His glass remains in place with a sliver of scotch leftover. You hold the glass up in the light and see a faint smudge on its rim. You twist the cup around so your own mouth lines up with the imprint he left. You swallow the last bit slowly, savoring the way the sharp burn eases into a smooth, smoky aftertaste. You never liked scotch, but now you are starting to understand the meaning of an acquired taste.

The low atmospheric music is abruptly interrupted by an ad loudly cutting through the calm space. You rush into the living room to find the remote, hiding among the cushions and various throw pillows. Growing frustrated you end up walking over and manually hitting the power button. The silence that replaces it isn’t much better though. You step back and let your weak legs carry you until you collapse onto the comfort of your couch. The wine followed by the glass of scotch you polished off makes your head feel light but your limbs so heavy. You turn from your back to your side, realizing the used glass is still clutched in your hand. 

You reach across the gap and set it down on the coffee table with a thud. Your hand retreats back to rest under your head. You stare at it, taking in all the imperfections left on its reflective surface. Your eyes trace the rim once again looking for the smudge. On the corner you see the shadow of an impression peeking out underneath the red lipstick mark you have smeared over it. 

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Across the wall Simon falls back on his own couch. He looks around his dull apartment wondering what you have done differently to make your place look so welcoming. He never minded the minimal decorations he had. A photo frame with his team that his buddy gifted him and a couple of books always seemed like enough. After comparison though it just feels empty. 

He can hear you stomp across your floor. Footstep rushing from the kitchen until you're straight ahead. The sound of your TV turning off bathes the room in sudden silence. Only thing he can hear now is the rushing of his air conditioning unit. He considered your music annoying but now he couldn’t deny the way it added an unconscious energy to the small unit. Now sitting here, the cool tone of the overhead kitchen light illuminating into the living room he feels as though something is missing. Maybe a nice lamp would help. 

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@azkza @neurolept @contractedcriteria @hidden-treasures21 @sprokat @stark-red19

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I cannot figure it out, all the photos of him are in terrible lighting.

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please please please I'm going insane I desperately need more neighbor ghost

or frankly just any ghost written by you. i feel like angst would tear my heart out and I need to have that hurt no comfort feeling

Okay listen, if you keep being such a goddamn little angel I'm gonna have to hurry up and finish part 2!

Fr tho, ily bestie thank you for this. I needed it. Now tell me this, would you like it saucey or slow burn? <3

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me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

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Join my tag list!

Here is a collection of anyone who would like to be tagged in my upcoming stories :)

I currently write for Konig, Simon "Ghost" Riley, and Ct John Price. Although, I am always open to suggestions.

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@azkza @neurolept @miss-mistinguett @contractedcriteria @hidden-treasures21

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If you would like to be added feel free to send me a message, send an ask, or fill out my tag list form here!

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Neighbor!Simon who can't help but roll his eyes the moment he hears the annoying peppy music play at exactly 9:30 every morning through the paper thin walls.

Though he's already been up for hours he missed being able to enjoy his coffee and newspaper quietly.

Simon hearing the bumping and thudding as you get ready for your day and slamming the door on your way out.

Hearing you every time talk on the phone, laughing loudly and talking a million miles a minute.

You getting excited after the multiple failures to strike up a conversation, he finally tells you his name.

Knowing when you came back home by the smell of your dinner wafting through the air vents. He can't deny it made his stomach ache as he munched on his leftover takeout.

His silent appreciation of how you become silent at a decent hour, seemingly out of respect for the quiet hours of the building.

Holding his breath whenever he opening the doors and whispering a prayer hoping not to run into you again and get held hostage in a thirty minute conversation.

How he has begun to memorize your schedule from the types of sounds resonating from your unit so he could dodge you in the halls.

He had to stop using the apartment gym after learning your enjoyment of the treadmill to blow off steam after a long day

As well as your habit of forgetting your headphones causing you to chatter about nonsense the whole time.

Resorting to running a few blocks around the neighborhood instead.

One day jogging his route and catching you in the corner of his eye, hanging on the arm of some guy, around the corner of the building

The irritation rising in him as he considered the noises he would be hearing tonight.

Coming home and taking a shower. When he shuts off the water he hears more noises from across the wall. He can hear you... crying?

He remains still as he hears you sob in your own bathroom, mumbling incoherently to yourself, followed by a few sniffles then starting the shower.

Him, unable to control the pang of sympathy that tightens his chest.

Starting to feel bad about the constant avoidance he decides to let himself be caught up in your conversation in the hallway.

Going to the gym but only on rainy days, and letting you yap on about your friends and how work was going.

Feeling excited when he recognizes a song through the shared wall. Maybe it wasn't that annoying.

One night hearing more strange noises while he sits reading a book in bed.

He hears a quiet whimpering making him feel bad again as it gradually grows louder.

Realizing the whimpering is not from tears when he can make a distinct word clearly slip through the layers of drywall and paint. separating your bed from his.

"S-simon.."

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A/N: Consider this a 2.5 part to my neighbor!Simon series so far. If this is sloppy I apologize, I am two glasses of wine deep on an empty stomach. I needed to put out something. Simon has been haunting me. Also, I'm sorry part two is taking so long. My mother-in-law has been in town and it's hard to get writing done when there is an extra guest in the house. If you want to be added to a taglist lmk! I believe I am 3/4 done with part two now. <3

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I know you mean good but fat girls can also break easily. I also don’t mean to sound rude or offend you but it’s rare for fat girls to be 6 foot, I know you might be fat and 6 foot but it’s pretty rare. I think most people stick to petite girls in cod stories because it would be scary if they gave reader their sweater and all the sudden reader fits or barely fits in it and it only works as a crop top on them. And please try to remember just because their fat doesn’t mean they aren’t clean fat girls bathe too and do their eyebrows too they aren’t slobs. Fat girls can break when they get laid and yes I believe they also will jiggle around in the process so please try to be mindful when bringing up cod guys with a fat girl

Wdym?

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survivalist! john price stumbles across a girl on his month long alaskan retreat and recognises her from the plane that disappeared half a year ago. she’s the only survivor left and practically crumbles at the sign of another human, but he’s so crazed at the opportunity to keep this girl to himself while doing what he loves most (raw-dogging the wilderness) that he lies to her and says he’s lost too!! she’s so grateful for the end of her solitude that she doesn’t even question it, just goes along with this capable strong man who promises to keep her safe :(((

okay. okay. i’ll write it

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